He opens the cap to a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “It’s your normal,” he tells me. “It doesn’t have to be everyone else’s.” He sips the drink, then offers me the slender can.
I take a swig and pass it back, remembering how non-judgmental and open-minded Farrow is—and yeah, I like it. I can’t have someone in my private life belittling me for not being perfect. I get that too much online.
Farrow merges onto another freeway. “What would you’ve done if you weren’t rich and famous?” he asks me. “For a career?”
That alternate universe. “You don’t know?”
“Why would I?”
“It’s public knowledge. Every time press interviews me, they ask that question.” It reminds me of something Beckett said in the bathroom. Something that I’ve tried not to let creep into my brain like a parasitic insecurity.
Beckett told me, “For every 200 facts Farrow knows about you, you only know 2 facts about him. So what do you really even know about Farrow? I’m not trying to be a dick. Just be careful. You’re not the kind of person who lets anyone in, and he’s slipped past all your guards, hasn’t he?”
He has, and maybe I haven’t grilled Farrow enough or fucking quizzed him as much as Beckett would. But I hate being indecisive or even doubtful about my own actions. I like to move and speak with assuredness, and even this morsel of uncertainty makes me cringe.
Farrow is quiet trying to find a memory. “Didn’t you joke around in those interviews?” He switches lanes. “Unless you were serious when you said you wanted to be an intergalactic bounty hunter.”
“I was serious, and I was four,” I say.
He pops his gum, about to laugh. “When I asked, I was asking the twenty-two-year-old in the passenger seat. Not the four-year-old.”
“Right.” I lick my lips, restraining a smile. “Truthfully, I try not to think about that alternate universe, but sometimes…I know where I’d be.”
Farrow holds my gaze for a longer moment, understanding in his brown eyes. “The military,” he says with a nod, beating me to the answer.
“Yeah, the military,” I say. He knows me. Really well. I rake a hand through my hair, my gray paracord bracelet still tied around my wrist. I don’t take it off that often. “So your past relationships…”
He checks the directions on his phone’s GPS. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
So he knew Beckett’s words would seep into my brain somehow. Some fucking way.
Farrow sets his phone down. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll answer.” He’s always said as much.
I instinctively shake my head. “It’s not that big of a deal. A huge, colossal part of me hasn’t wanted details about your exes, which is why I haven’t pried before.”
Picturing him with other guys when I have strong feelings for him—I start scowling, then wincing. Almost like I’ve sprayed Pam or Lysol in my eyes. No, actually, I’d rather spray my eyes with household products than hear in grave-fucking-detail how Farrow fell in love with another man.
My brows furrow with another thought. “I don’t know what people typically do in serious relationships.” My shoulders tighten. “I don’t know…should I ask you and pry? Is that the right thing?”
His smile breaks through. “Wolf scout, just do what you feel. There’s no right or wrong here. And there aren’t any ‘best boyfriend’ merit badges on the line or even ‘worst boyfriend’—I promise, you’re safe either way.”
My carriage rises in a deeper breath, confidence surging back. I rotate some, just to face him. “I don’t need to know any of your exes’ names or anything like that. But I’m just curious…did you break it off or did they?”
“One was a mutual break up.” He takes a larger gulp of energy drink. “The other three, I ended things first.” He glances at me, and I listen intently, interested in his past. “One had to move out of the country for work, and I didn’t want to do a long-distance relationship. The other two, I wasn’t feeling after a while.”
“You grew bored or something?” I ask.
Farrow tosses his head from side-to-side, considering this. “Or something.” He places his drink back down. “I never actively looked for a forever guy, but at some point, I’d wake up and I’d think, can I do this for another year, two years, three? And if the answer was constantly no, then I broke it off.”
Huh.
I stare faraway for a long beat. “Even if you loved the guy?” Our eyes catch.
Then he focuses on the road again, but his body is still completely relaxed. “I don’t think I loved them as much as I could’ve or else I’d still be with them and not talking in the past tense.”
I ease back. I don’t need extra reassurance or for him to promise that I’ll be the forever guy. Because this is fucking brand new for me, and I can’t foresee the future either. But right now, he’s mine.
I’m his, and there’s no better feeling than that.
“Is that it?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“You usually go for jocks or am I an outlier?”
His smile stretches wider and wider. Fuck me. I want his mouth wrapped around my cock like yesterday.
“Are you an outlier?” he repeats my words with a husky voice, and his gum chewing habit somehow bolsters his casual confidence to the umpteenth degree. In a boiling glance, his gaze just scorches down my body. “I’ve gone for jocks before, but not a lot look like you.” He motions to my face. “Supermodel.” Then points to my abs. “Athlete.”
“So you’re saying I’m hotter than you.”
His smile reaches cheek-to-cheek. “I’m absolutely still hotter than you, wolf scout.”
I believe it, but I also want to contest it. Just to prolong this damn moment. “Says who?”
“Your cock.”
My muscles contract. We both stare at each other’s mouths. I want to kiss the fuck out of him. Until his body welds against my body and separating would take a century.
I grab his hand that rests on his knee, and he must sense my next action because he takes control and places his palm on my thigh, jean fabric between his skin and my skin.
He slides his hand towards the inside, closer to my pulsing cock—he’s teasing but not able to do anything real while behind the wheel.
We’re both used to no touching while driving in Philly, but on this tinted bus, it’s safer. So Farrow touching me—in any capacity—I’ll hungrily take.
He gives me another long once-over before watching the highway. “What kind of guys do you usually go for?” he asks.
“I was only looking for sex, a one-night stand,” I remind him. “But I gravitated towards men the same size as me or bigger. Pretty much any guy who looked like they’d want to manhandle me.”
Farrow chews his gum slowly in thought. “But you wouldn’t let them take control in bed.” He knows how aggressive I am.
“Right.”
He sucks in a breath. “Damn.”
I hear something more in his voice. “What?”
“That’s a fine line, especially since you’re famous.” His eyes flit to me. “They could’ve easily hurt you.”
“They didn’t,” I assure him.
He nods, and his hand slides towards my knee. He rubs my leg, almost comfortingly. In a way that relaxes me against my seat. He cares about me.
I could get way too used to this.
We start talking about nineties bands when he raises the stereo volume. Not loud enough to wake everyone else. Halfway through, he off-handily mentions Thatcher being a stickin-the-mud asshole.
“What’s your deal with Thatcher anyway?”
I ask and swig from a bottle of Ziff.
“The fucker tased me.”
I choke on my sports drink. “What?” I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he says. “We worked an event together a couple years ago in New York—”
“What event?” It had to be related to my family.
“You weren’t there,” he prefaces. “It was a cover photo-shoot for Forbes magazine, and paparazzi leaked our location.”
I remember my parents, Aunt Rose and Uncle Connor, and Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ryke were all on that cover together. “Why was Thatcher there if he was assigned to Xander?”
“We took extra security that day.” Farrow looks to me, then the road. “Once we exited the building, all hell broke loose. Paparazzi stormed Lily’s car before I led her to the door. Hecklers appeared, and one tried to grab your Aunt Rose’s purse.” He shakes his head. “By that time, I’d already safely locked Lily in her car without me. I could see this dickhole behind me, messing with Rose. I turned, cold-cocked him, and as soon as I put a hand on Rose’s back—I was tased.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Thatcher said he ‘mistook’ me for the shithead I punched. But it just so happens that the only mistake he’s ever made sent electric volts through my body. Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re not supposed to take out our weapons in crowded areas. It causes fear, panic—and we’re hired to deescalate these situations. Thatcher knew that. Yet, the rule-abider did it.”
My mouth parts in shock. “Fuck…I can’t believe he tased you.”
Farrow lets out a short laugh. “My first day on the job, he made me do a 19K in the Poconos Mountains. Alone. In the dark. The first day for Donnelly, a pancake breakfast. I can’t fabricate this shit.” He flips on his blinker and switches lanes. Letting a speeding car pass.
Since Thatcher is a lead, he has power over Farrow. Just picturing him using his position against my boyfriend—my jaw sharpens. “And now, I want to go kick his ass.”
His lips quirk. “That’s sweet that you think I need protecting.”
“Maybe you do.”