Nobody Like Us (Like Us #13)

by Krista Ritchie

“This ass-whatever isn’t wearing a radio.” My gun is also safely stored in the guest room of the Hale House. “I’m not her bodyguard.” Confusion hasn’t left his face, but he starts to push past me.

“If you aren’t her bodyguard, then get the hell out of my way,” he says, as though he’s entitled to Luna just ‘cause they’ve met and maybe fooled around. “She’s not interested,” I retort. His eyes flash hot. “Says who?” “Says me.” He laughs like I’m a joke. “You? You’re nobody.” “Nah, I am someone.” I look him dead in the eye. “I’m Luna’s boyfriend.”

clapping screaming cheering 🎉

“Were you just marking your territory, or do you really want to be my boyfriend?” She heard everything then. I exhale a breath and fly through green lights. “I was definitely marking my territory, and I also wanna be your boyfriend.” I try to hold her gaze, too eager for her response. And ever so slowly, her lips hoist in the cutest smile. “I guess that makes me your girlfriend.” I grin back. “Looks like it.”

Relief follows the elation. She’s mine. I take another big breath. One goal down. Gotta create more. Goal: keep your girlfriend happy.

No glitz and glam like the Cobalt Estate. I can’t believe just how much I love it here, and I think it has more to do with her than anything else.

“Sparkle on, Hale.” Glitter shimmers on her cheeks and in her damp hair. Scrubbing did nothing to remove the power of the craft supply for me either. She smiles, a softer one, and her gaze travels over me. “I knew I’d find you in the light.” I’m standing in the blue glow of the open fridge.

I edge closer, and she naturally spreads her legs for me. Fuck. What’s that cliché saying? A moth to a flame? Yeah, I’m the moth, and my hand slides against her soft thigh as I fit in the space between them. Her lips part in a breathy noise.

Luna has gathered water in her cheeks like a chipmunk storing nuts, and she almost spits it out in a laugh.

“Life’s mysteries. What came first? My parents’ love of Peter Pan or their love of the peanut butter brand? You know…this is the first time I’ve ever thought about it.” “Really? I’m shocked.” I easily undo the lid with one twist. “I woulda thought peanut butter ideologies would rank pretty high for you.” “Jelly surpassed it.” She caps her water, only to open the bag of pretzels. “Smucker’s or Welch’s?” “Smucker’s,” she sing-songs. I cup her cheek. “I knew I loved you.”

I almost couldn’t believe we were doing the things we imagined doing together. Somehow, she led us to Thirsty Goose, to drinking green shots, to dancing in the middle of the bar (that might’ve been more me), but we’re living the fiction that she would’ve written about us. Our story is real.

“What if that’s all I can ever see? Just these cloudy moments? What if they never feel real and they never look vivid? It’s taunting. I wonder if it’d be better to see nothing at all.”

“A part of me still wants the full picture, the good and the bad and not the blurry.”

“I don’t want to read about it,” Luna admits, her voice rising with short breaths. “I don’t want to read about how I slept with that guy in the back of his car. I don’t even want to read about how I first met you.” It punches me in the gut. “Why not?” “Because I met you in a hospital, and reading about a moment I forgot might change how I see you now. I don’t want it to shade my perception of you.”

“What about having someone else read it front-to-back?” I ask her. “You can ask them the questions you want answered without having to read the diary yourself. That way it won’t shape your own experiences.” Luna brightens. “It’d be like…a guardian of my memories.”

“It can’t be me.” Every word is a weight in my body. It can’t be me. I hate every fucking syllable, every letter, the mere sound of each one strung together.

I almost yield and say I’ll do it—it’s harder to say I can’t. But the truth is, it’d kill me to read her diary. A knot is in my throat, and I swallow hard before saying, “I don’t know if I’d survive reading it.”

“I’d love to read about your happiness, but it’s a diary and I know your pain is in there—and I can’t read about it. It’ll tear me up in ways I’m not sure I can handle right now.” I feel like a dick even saying it—like I should be more for her.

Disappointing Luna feels inevitable, and I’m terrified this is the moment where she sees I’m not the Superman of her dreams. Though she’s never asked me to be Clark Kent. Still, I say, “You can scratch off the hero part if you want. I can just be your human.” She shakes her head vigorously. “You’ve done a lot for me this past month, and I don’t even know everything you’ve done for me the past three years. This doesn’t change that.”

She reaches up and slips a pretzel stick behind my ear.

“I’m gonna think on it,” she muses with a nod. I grin. “I love a thinker.” Her smile returns. “My brain waves turn you on?” “Straight to my cock.”

Her neck isn’t the only thing I’m dying to taste. God, give me her pussy. I need it.

My lips are against her ear again. “You feel how hard I am?” “Uh-huh,” she rasps. “I’m only hard like this for you, because of you,” I breathe. “You’ve been bad, you know why?” She squirms, more so in pleasure. “Why?” “You missed your daily fucking.” I let go of one hand and lift her black dress, exposing her ass. I hook my finger through the side of her bright yellow thong and tug it upward.

“You ever forget this again—that you need to be fucked every single day by me just to stay alive—I’ll remind you.”

Her high-pitch noise is too loud, and I cover her mouth with my hand, not stopping the friction. My cock rubs against her clit, and she shudders into an actual climax.

It’d be so easy to slip inside her pussy from behind. Been at the perfect angle this whole time, but I told myself we’d go slow—and despite usually listening to my cock and not my big brain, I think I need to consider that she has had trauma.

Going slow is the only way I can make sense of not hurting Luna. There is no magical Band-Aid, no wand I can wave to ensure I don’t ruin her. I’d never forgive myself if I caused more harm than good, and I’m sure a bunch of people already believe I’ve check-marked that box. She’s not one of them. She’s who matters most to me.

I pull her thong aside. “Try to be quiet.” She nods repeatedly, falling back on her elbows. “I can be quiet.” I grin, and she watches me flick my tongue over her clit, then farther down. Her thighs tremble, but she cages a noise. Then I go to town, sucking, licking—the taste of her is soul-soothing. A breakfast-lunch-dinner-dessert craving that I can’t find on this planet. Just hers. Only hers.

It’s Luna’s mom. She’s shielding her eyes with one hand and already feeling for the door with the other. “I’m so sorry! OhmyGod. Why did I come down here?”

BC ITS YOUR HOUSE AND YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO ENTER YOUR KITCHEN WITHOUT THIS 😩😩😩

Her eyes are reddened, but she sniffs, then lifts a Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper.” I kiss her cheek. “It’s never goodbye, space babe.” And then I walk away.

Also! How do fans know I’ve been transferred to Epsilon? It’s sus. That’s not anything we advertise. Brought it up to Price. He thought it wasn’t important. But idk, we *could* have a rat among us. Don’t trust all of Epsilon tbh.

Water: GF’s Pussy: Better than Evian. It’s all I need to survive.

Frog spins to Oscar and Farrow for input. “Ah ah, that’s his girlfriend.” Oscar points at me. “He knows her the best.” “Oh, now my instincts to go to him first are correct,” Frog deadpans. I smile. “He’d give you a cookie, but Audrey stopped making them for him a year ago.”

I’m about to check my phone for a missed text, but Quinn is shaking his head. “Just making sure you didn’t leave without me.” “That was one time.” “Seven times,” Quinn refutes. “Just slow down. Why are you always in such a hurry?”

It’s odd to be cast out from SFO but also standing in a room with them. They’re people I love, who I’ve relied on and who’ve relied on me, and maybe spilling this is like hanging on to the essence of a fact I want to be true: They’ll always be here for me. Have they really left? Will they really leave?

“Lily thought it’d be good if I left the Hale House.” “Why?” Thatcher asks. “She might’ve caught me eating Luna out in the kitchen.” Frog gasps. “Donnelly,” Akara says like a disappointed parent. Banks is laughing. Thatcher is shaking his head. And Quinn asks me, “Is Luna okay?” “I didn’t get to finish her, so in that sense no.” Quinn glares.

Eliot washes down his food, then stands. “We can’t have this.” He slides an iron fireplace poker out of its ornate stand. “What are we going to do?” Tom asks, slipping his fingers through his golden-brown hair. “We can’t stab Aunt Lily into liking Donnelly with Luna.”

He’s plotting, and I’m not sure being tangled in an Eliot Alice Cobalt fix-it plot is a good thing. Eliot is fueled by chaos and revenge. Asking him to smooth over a situation is like enlisting a tornado to help restore a flattened city.

“Calvin Cross,” Eliot informs me. “They went to prom as ‘just’ friends.” He uses air quotes. Tom rolls his eyes. “Dude, he’s boring. I’d rather listen to Ben read the ingredients on a sour cream label than listen to Calvin discuss the fermentation of wine. He’s going to knock the socks off some dude, but not me.”

“I didn’t, however, like that he chose to leave Moffy’s wedding rather than stick around.” “No one did,” Eliot says to his brother, but then to me, he explains, “He left with Grandmother Calloway. He said he couldn’t let her fly back to Philly alone.”

“Did he not trust her?” I ask. Their relationship has never made much sense to me. I imagine finding answers would be like trying to play a dusty Jumanji board game. You’d need to battle monkeys and killer vines to reach the bizarre end.

“Or did he love her?” Eliot muses. “He loved her so much that he’d rather be at her side in her distress than be apart.” “I’ve never even seen them smile at each other, dude,” Tom says. “If...

Eliot would drive a sword through his heart just for family, and I can’t even imagine the lengths Eliot would go to for a woman he love...

“I think she had dirt on him,” Tom says. “Something that’d hurt his reputation, and he chose money over being there for Moffy. That’s all I’m saying.” Eliot nudges a log with the poker. “I can only hope at my funeral there’s drama.”

“I’m such an asshole,” Beckett says, smearing his hands down his face. He rests his palms on his thighs, then shakes his head at me, apologies in his eyes. “I assumed—I shouldn’t have assumed—that you didn’t have history with Donnelly.” I’m startled. “It’s not like I can remember it.” “Exactly,” Beckett says. “It’s not like you could defend yourself against the shit I said to you.” Guilt impales his face, and his hand returns to his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Luna.”

Charlie states, “I’d think sharing is a defining aspect of a friendship.” “Sharing.” Eliot holds the poker over his broad shoulders like a barbell. “Like how often you share your life with us, Charlie? We live with you, and we don’t even know where you go half the time.” “We’re not friends. We’re brothers.” “Cold.”

Beckett struggles for the words, before he admits, “I chose drugs over him.” The bottom of my stomach falls. That…would’ve definitely hurt Donnelly. Even knowing Donnelly for only a short amount of time, I can see how deeply he loves his friends. To not receive the love back would be crushing for most, but for the source to be drugs is devastating. Because he has addicts as parents. How many times have they chosen drugs over him? To have that happen again…

“Donnelly might not have told me about you,” Beckett says to me, “but I doubt it’s because you meant nothing to him. I think it’s likely because you meant the most, and I know…the deeper things were always harder for him to share. It was like if he did, they were more at risk of being taken, and I can’t fault him for keeping what he loved close. I’m really in no place to fault him for anything.” He glances to Charlie. “And you shouldn’t either.”

They know. My heart hammers again, and I breathe unsteadily. “Is it…is it about me?” Why else did they come into the library? They have no pastries! They’re not even eating with us. They came in here…for what? Clearly not to grieve with friends, when Charlie doesn’t even consider Eliot and Tom worthy of friendship. And as Beckett’s calm eyes rest on me, and Charlie’s more prickly ones meet mine, I suddenly feel as though they found me…to protect me. “It only took…” Charlie glances at his watch. “Five minutes longer than I thought.”

“What did?” I’m barely breathing. “The night of our grandfather’s death, your mom walked in on you and Donnelly. And the news just spread to the whole family.” Blood rushes out of my face. “H-how?” I stammer. “Yeah, how?” Eliot snaps. “No one heard us talking about it.” “You mean outside that door?” Charlie motions to the library door. “The one we so casually walked through without all three of you noticing?” He cocks his head like we are very, very dumb.

“Who heard?” Beckett more calmly says, “Our baby sister.” Tom groans. Eliot loosens his grip on the weapon. “Hasn’t she learned that loose lips sink the Cobalt ships?” “She’s sixteen,” Beckett says. “That’s old enough,” Charlie snaps, then tells me, “Audrey told Winona, Vada, and Kinney, and then they told me.” “They wanted to see his reaction,” Beckett says to me, “but we knew it’d reach everyone in a matter of minutes.”

okay for real I’m done with Audrey. she’s on my dunzo list now