Maximoff gesticulates from his chest to Sulli, speaking extremely fucking empathetically to his cousin.
I skim him, a smile playing at my lips, and I take a swig of coffee. “He’s about to hug her.” On cue, Maximoff wraps his arms around his cousin, and she squeezes him back.
Akara bounces his ball. “She’ll buy a Sagittarius something for me. Wait for it…” We watch Sulli scan the shelves and then veer to a display of zodiac jewelry. She plucks a silver Sagittarius keychain off a hook.
Spending 24/7 with a person has this effect.
“Bodyguard powers on point,” Donnelly says and switches his beanie for a demon-horn headband.
Sulli checks over her shoulder to ensure Akara isn’t looking. She can’t tell that he notices everything she’s doing. She tries to slyly head to the register.
I almost laugh.
Akara points at me with the bouncy ball. “She’s not the only one who does that.”
True. I stand off the table and really laugh at a thought. “I love when our clients think we’re oblivious to what’s happening.”
Our job description: watch them.
Donnelly checks himself out in a full-length mirror. “They must think we’re plannin’ tea parties and brushing each other’s hair.” While I toss my empty bowl in a nearby trashcan, he adds to me, “Maximoff is looking over here for the third time.”
“Fifth,” I correct and fix my earring. “It’s like he likes me, he really likes me.” I turn and purposefully catch my boyfriend staring. I raise my brows at him.
He tries to hold a scowl.
I’m tempted to mime something dirty. Especially since the store is empty and the cashier isn’t in sight. But instead, I call out, “Need anything, wolf scout?”
Maximoff watches me lift my coffee to my mouth, and he tells me, “I already got what I wanted last night.” His forest-greens make a show of descending my build. “Thanks anyway.”
Damn. Heat clenches my muscles.
Donnelly grins. “He likes that Farrow di—”
I cover his mouth. Teasing Maximoff is my job. I study my boyfriend as his eyes dart between me and Donnelly, then the cashier appears, and he turns his back to us.
Donnelly licks my palm, and I wipe my hand on the side of his face. “You motherfucker.”
He grasps the hat rack. “True. I’ve fucked moms before.” His blue eyes drift to Akara. “Boss didn’t like that.”
I notice Akara sending me a disapproving look.
Why he’s upset: we’re in public and made off-handed comments about Maximoff and me being together. “That was nothing,” I assure him. “Don’t be Thatcher and overreact here.”
“Farrow.” Akara adjusts the wire to his radio, abs showing in a red muscle shirt. “Not all of us chill in hurricanes.” He’s saying I never “overreact” when I should. “And keeping your relationship secret is serious.”
I rest against the table again, arms loosely crossed. “Then trust me that I’ll keep it secret. Because I’d rather all of Omega be more concerned about the Instagram threat than this shit.” I continue, “I was the one who had to suggest and coordinate metal detectors and extra security at the entrances. If that were Sulli in a pic being butchered on a Cleveland sign, it would’ve been a priority.”
Akara inhales a short breath and tries to temper his reaction. “Look…” He returns the bouncy ball to an aquarium bowl full of rubber balls. “I can’t imagine what it’s like seeing those pictures, but we don’t have enough intel yet.” He looks away, thinking.
“And if that were Sulli,” I tell him, “the whole tour would be shut down by now.”
Since it’s Maximoff Hale—the one in charge, the leader of three families, a guy who can convince the Tri-Force that he’s capable of anything—we’re letting him put himself in more harm’s way than we would anyone else.
Akara nods. “I’ll ramp up the extra security when he exits the venue.” He takes outs his phone.
“Thanks,” I say but we all eagle-eye an incoming hoard of preteen girls. Giggling and shrieking at the celebrity sighting.
Donnelly flings his headband off. “See ya.” He lowers his middle and ring finger into a hand-gesture that means love. And he beelines for Beckett at the cash register with Sulli and Maximoff.
Akara and I reach them before the girls are halfway into the gift shop. Sulli collects her receipt and bag, hesitant. “Are we leaving?” She glances at Akara.
See, Beckett and Sulli only greet fans in controlled, pre-secured environments. Not every day life.
“It’s up to you,” Akara says.
Beckett shoves a fry in his mouth. “I’m not staying, Sul.” He waits for his cousin to make a decision.
Maximoff is definitely staying. It’s what he always chooses, and it’s more dangerous with the Instagram threat. But that’s why I’m here.
He already waves to the twelve girls, and they scream in unison. Snapping selfies with Maximoff towering in the background. “DO YOU SEE HIM!?!?”
I smile.
I see him.
Maximoff gives me a look like would you scream like that for me?
I shake my head. No. At the very least, he’d have to work for it.
Sulli turns to Maximoff and whispers, “How pissed will they be if I leave?”
“It’s not a reason to stay,” he says quietly. “Some people will hate you no matter what. It’s just what happens when you’re more public.”
She nods. “Right. Fuck, okay. I’m going. Beckett?” He clasps her hand, and they move out of the store. Akara and Donnelly create a barrier between their clients and the fans. No one able to approach them.
I stand right next to Maximoff.
He gestures the girls forward. “Want a photo?”
More screaming. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”
I increase my radio volume to drown them out, and I eye their pockets and purses and hands. Staying alert. Eh, I don’t typically do this for preteens.
The chance is low.
The risk is low.
But I realize I’m more vigilant than I’ve ever been. Most bodyguards would add precautions. And I don’t mean extra security. They’d tell Maximoff to change his lifestyle. Sacrifice these interactions. Be less public.
He’d feel choked, and I still want to provide him that safe middle-ground. Shit, I love giving him what other people can’t.
I’m not forcing him into a cushioned room with no windows unless it’s dire.
I just can’t do that to him.
16
FARROW KEENE
We’ve reached the one-hour mark of the Cleveland FanCon. The crowds are massive. Crew and assistants buzz around the conference room like invisible insects, and temporary security manages the long, weaving lines of excited fans.
My sole focus: Maximoff Hale.
Five velvet-roped aisles lead to plain-white backdrops. Jane, Maximoff, Sullivan, Beckett, and Charlie stand in separate aisles.
Different lines.
Less chaos.
Fans cue up and wait for their turn to meet their favorite celebrity. A line coordinator motions for a twenty-something brunette girl to approach Maximoff. She wears a FanCon shirt and eagerly sprints towards him, throwing an arm around his neck like they’re long-lost friends.
He hugs back, smiling genuinely.
I stand only a few feet away, hands cupped in front of me. I’m out of the photos, but close enough in case there’s trouble.
“I’m such a big fan. I love you so much!” She speaks hurriedly. “Are you okay? How’s your nose? Who brought you breakfast? Did you have a nice shower? Oh my God, I can’t believe this is real. I’m meeting you right now.” She pets his arm.
I chew my gum a little harder. This is the sixty-seventh time I wish I could say he’s mine. I know what I like and what I don’t like, and I’ve never been into people “caressing” a boyfriend.
But I’ve also never dated a celebrity.
“I’m good,
I promise.” He squeezes her shoulders in a side-hug. “What’s your name?”
“Penny. Oh my God, please say my name.”
“Penny,” he says with a bigger smile.
She squeals.
“Want a picture or autograph?” he asks. “Q&A will be later. Hopefully we’ll be able to answer some of your questions then.”
“Yes, yes! Can you sign my shirt?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
An assistant is ready and passes Maximoff a Sharpie.
Penny clutches his bicep while he uncaps the pen. I hone in on her hand that veers to his chest, dives down his waist, and even reaches his belt. I wait, wait, and her hand moves south—I step in, my mere presence an electric shock.
She jolts backwards, wide-eyed at me and my tattoos.
“Try to keep your hands above his waist.” I’ve repeated this phrase too many times today.
Before she pales, Maximoff smiles again like nothing is awry. Distracting her from being called out. “Where do you want the signature?”
“The back of my shirt. Thank you so, so much.”
When she leaves, his eyes briefly flit to me in thanks.
I nod. Dick-grabbing crisis averted. The only person touching his cock will be me.
Oscar’s voice floods comms. “Now confirmed, this is taking forever.”
We’ve barely made a dent in the lines.
“It’s Sulli,” Quinn says through mics. “Someone tell her to stop having twenty-minute conversations with fans.”