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“I’m living to see a new world.”
First thing people know about me, I’m tall. Second thing, I’m a twin. Third thing, I’m a pain in your fucking ass. If you’re not giving a hundred shits at rest or in high water, I will hammer you. One further, I’ll volunteer to be the bad guy if it means protecting lives and keeping minds right on the team.
We fulfill our purpose. If we expect more, we’ve failed at our promise to these generous, loving families who just want to live in peace.
Keeping the team informed of changes in positions is important. Only a couple bodyguards have consistent problems with this rule. Like Farrow. Figuring out where he’s fucking off at during regular days is like playing Where’s Waldo.
I’m remarkably nervous. Today, my great and terrible life takes a drastic turn, and I’m trying my best not to be late.
I possess the unfortunate inability to run away from my own mortification.
Thatcher is like a sacred text. I’m tempted to rush through the pages, but something has compelled me to draw out each line, each word. Reading so slowly and carefully so as to never miss a syllable. So a single book, a single person, could last me forever.
Reading into his voice is difficult. Everything sounds cut and dry and simple, and possibly that’s just how it is for Thatcher. I’m used to a family that speaks in riddles and confounding subtext. If a Cobalt is blunt, usually we’re blunt with added flair.
My eyes dart down to his black slacks that mold his butt like perfectly rounded fruit. “Oh my God,” I breathe underneath my breath. I just checked out my bodyguard’s ass. It wouldn’t be the first time. “You’re most surely going to hell, Jane,” I whisper more softly to myself. Two out of my five brothers will certainly be there, so at least I won’t be alone. But knowing Tom and Eliot, those two menaces will destroy all eternal pits of fiery damnation the second they enter.
I won’t devalue her achievements just to find value in myself. My mom is brilliant and beautiful. And so am I. Just in my own way.
His rigorous commanding stride is so familiar by now. I’m terribly used to this view of Thatcher’s peach-perfect ass, and I deeply, deeply wish I could regret how much I’ve stared at his butt.
I know who I am, but sometimes, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
“It’s not checkmate yet,” I say to myself. I’m not a sad little cub about to be eaten. I’m a motherfucking lion.
I haven’t forgotten my brother. Couldn’t forget Banks if my life depended on erasing him from existence.
Heat still ascends my breastbone to my neck to my cheeks, and my breath comes out like I’ve jogged five-miles around the block. In practicality, that’s five-miles more than I would ever jog.
Men who are quick to criticize my physical appearance. I’m not pretty enough. Not busty enough. Not full-assed enough. And I have too wide of hips. Too big of a stomach. But after much consideration, I’ve learned to love my body. Because it’s mine and there is only one of me.
Maximoff puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m pro-Jane.” His intense green eyes speak a thousand promises. To always stick by my side. Through every terrible and wonderful thing. My eyes burn with emotion, and I feel a smile at my lips.
Her room is drenched in pastel colors, sequins, and animal prints. Coming here is like jumping into some type of milkshake-drinking bubblegum-blowing pop era that dresses up as the fucking 80s. Banks says it gives him agita. Makes him want to chug three bottles of Pepto-Bismol, and if it weren’t for Jane, I might feel the same. But I step foot in here and I just see all the sides of Jane Cobalt. Bold and soft. Outlandish and unabashed. Feminine and eager.
“We’ll have a new set of boundaries,” I explain. “The main goal is to make the media and public buy the fact that I’m your boyfriend.” I can’t act like I’ve been set free to do whatever the fuck I want. This is a security operation and a publicity stunt.
Oh and one more: buried beneath all these professional restrictions and complications, I want to bring her to the edge with orgasms so fucking intense they eke out her energy and sink her to sleep. Inappropriate. That’s the circle of hell I’ve been having a picnic in.
She wafts her blouse, clearly hot. “We will,” she agrees. “So what…um, kind of relationship should we have in public?” She talks quickly. “Should we be inseparably cute? Piggyback rides and sharing snow cones. Or scandalously flirty? French kissing and ass squeezes.”
There is only one of Jane, no other person can be all of who she is, and anyone who harasses this girl might as well be tearing the wings off an angel.
I nod, and I study her flushed body, her ankles crossed like she’s squeezing her thighs together. “We should practice.” “We should,” she agrees. “Kissing?” “Kissing,” I confirm. “I’m a whole foot taller than you.” “Exactly,” she notes. “If we just do it in public without proper preparation, it’ll be obvious that we’re fake dating.”
“So…” Her voice is a breathy whisper. “I’ll just stand on my tiptoes.” She rises on her toes, but barefoot, she barely lifts herself past the broad length of my shoulders. I could just lean my head down. I could. But I don’t.
“You’re meant to be in my arms, Jane.” She pulses against me and sets her laced fingers along the back of my neck. “I…um.” She shakes out her scrambled thoughts. “We’ll be experts in the art of fake-dating in no time. Don’t you think?”
Maximoff solidifies in thought. “Your bodyguard has a literal hard-on for you.” I lather cleanser on my cheeks. “And yours, you.”
“Salut, petit diable,” I say brightly. Hello, little devil.
I spent the majority of last night calling each of my siblings and mom and dad, letting them know my plan to fake date my twenty-eight-year-old bodyguard. It was a quick call to each, and they all voiced their approval in their own way. We’re a supportive clan but, more importantly, we all love grandiose displays of loyalty. And nothing screams loyalty like shielding a secret from the entire world.
I left the briefing with Banks, both of us glaring, and I muttered to him what I held back from saying earlier, “Respectfully, sir, shut the fuck up.” Banks bounced his head, up and down. “Amen.”
Farrow puts in his obsidian spear earring. “That could’ve used ten times more clarity, but D-minus for the effort.” Maximoff grimaces. “It’s called A for effort.” “You’re more like a D-minus, wolf scout.” His face falls blank. “Thank you for that inaccurate grading scale.” “Anytime.”
“My announcement,” she continues, “is that I’ve chosen a career. I may be a passionless human being, but I will no longer be aimless.”
Maximoff and Farrow would’ve come along. I wanted them here badly. There is a large absence that only they can fill in my life, and it’s a strange feeling not having them with me on such a huge endeavor.
He reaches back and grabs the collar of his black shirt. He yanks the tee off over his head. I’ve always been extraordinarily curious about why men do that—shed their shirts from the back instead of taking the bottom of the fabric and tugging it up and off. Their way is such an odd method, but it looks extraordinarily sexy. Like they just couldn’t bother with the fabric of a shirt anyway.
I should be concerned about the un-crossable line that I just leapt over with two middle fingers—but I’m not.
Seeing and feeling her that unraveled and lit up took me to a mind-splitting, earth-tilting un-fucking-believable level.
She begins to smile more brightly. “It seems we are dreadfully tangled, you and I.”
He extends an arm over my seat and assesses our surroundings. “You’re still good, honey.” My eyes bug and lips part—he called me honey. So innately and instinctively and with such tenderness. I inhale without exhaling, and I can’t help but turn my head to Thatcher.
We’re not glancing in that direction just yet, and I whisper, “We’re selling this well.” Another small smile tugs my cheeks. “It’s like we’re partners in crime, you and I.”
“I want to know all about you, but I can’t ask fast enough—and when I think about you, I wonder what your hands have held. What your eyes have seen.” My pulse has skyrocketed, but I keep speaking. “What your ears have heard and where your feet have landed.”
“You are very big,” I say what’s on my mind. Oh God. My eyes spring back up to catch his. He’s quiet and hard to read. I continue on. “In a very pleasurable way. The best of ways. I love your dick.” I’ll leave it there. It’s a fine endnote.
I’ve officially decided I enjoy us so plainly and directly telling each other what we love.
He bends down to kiss me. Lips on lips. His hands start to roam my body with an intensity that I thought we left in the bedroom. Apparently, it’s here. Everywhere. As long as we’re together, I’m not sure it will disappear.
I grab at the waistband to his pants. He nears again, his palms on my thighs. “You can’t fight them,” I say into a soft smile. His willingness to slay my enemies and any foe that has ever hurt me is so very attractive.
All I wanted was for someone to reach out of the computer and give me a hug. To tell me that I’m beautiful. And that I never made a mistake. That my body is mine. And it’s unique. And it happened to say you’re going to get stretch marks this month. But that’s okay. Because it loves you. You love it. And really that’s all that matters. And I did eventually hear all of those things. When I went home and my mom hugged me and told them to me.
“Ensemble,” I tell him. Together. All four of my brothers repeat the word. And then Eliot grins, mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he says something I’ve heard him recite a thousand-and-one times. But tonight, it’s never felt truer. “‘Let me play the lion too…I will roar.’”
She’s liked every word I’ve said in Italian. I’m beginning to realize it’s not just the language. She likes me. There aren’t many people that get off on other people’s happiness. Other people’s interests. Jane is that rare kind of person.
bleeds into the car for a second. It’s so different on her detail than Xander’s. He was idolized to the point where he could do no wrong. Jane makes one small decision that someone doesn’t agree with and she’s cancelled, condemned, hated. If this were ancient Sparta, all her enemies would be dead right now. I’d kill them. No question. I felt this way for a long time, but something feels different. Do I want more with her? More than just sex inside a fake dating op?
The bathroom door opens nearby. Splitting my focus. Jane rubs her hands on her leopard-print leggings. She catches me staring. “Out of paper towels,” she explains and kicks off her ballet flats, putting them in a wooden locker. Not why I was staring, honey.
“Go Xander!” Jane cheers. She made pompoms the last session, but Xander was embarrassed, so she hid them in a locker. This girl is heaven-sent, and I’m fucking an angel. And gripping a one-way ticket to hell. Stay frosty. I focus on the ring. And her.
He’s considered the king of this American dynasty—and he’s Jane’s dad. Guys on the team say Connor Cobalt is all-knowing, all-seeing like the Wizard of fucking Oz and if you have the honor of protecting him, you’ll come back with a higher IQ.
