Charming Like Us (Like Us, #7)

by Krista Ritchie

What are you worried about, dude? It’s not like Oscar wants me to meet his parents. But yeah, I’d want to be liked by them. Accepted. Welcomed.

“I definitely felt pressure to belong my Freshman year of college. I overcompensated at first. My dorm room had rainbow flags, rainbow coasters, rainbow pillows—don’t get me wrong, I love rainbow, but not when it looks like a Care Bear took a shit in my dorm.”

Lol

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Oscar shooting daggers at Ernest like he almost seized my baby from me. I begin to smile. I’m not used to a bodyguard being on my side.

“He’s a Hale,” Charlie tells Ernest. “Last time I checked, H.M.C. Philanthropies stood for Hale, Meadows, Cobalt. You’re an idiot if you think he wouldn’t be here.” Ernest’s eyes darken. “Watch yourself, Charlie.” His voice lowers. “I own the board. I could remove you tomorrow if I wanted.” “You do already want that,” he says flatly. “But you won’t. You know why?” Charlie tilts his head, avoiding a ray of sun. “Because I’m the son of Connor Cobalt. And the only reason this company hasn’t dissolved is because I’m still a part of it. I will concede—you do own the board, Ernest. I have no control over them. But you don’t own me.”

rate. Oscar keeps the same pace on the other side of my subject. “What was that?” I ask Charlie. “A prick.”

“Hey, let me get out front, Charlie,” Oscar tells his client. “You don’t know where I’m going,” he refutes. “Do you know where you’re going?” Oscar counters. Charlie grins and glances back at both of us. “Do I?” His brows rise. “Maybe? Maybe not. Isn’t that the fun of it?”

“Getting lost in the woods together—one of my favorite romance tropes,” he muses and sticks the blunt in his mouth. Oscar and I share a tense look.

Oscar watches me attach my walkie, and surprisingly, he tells me under his breath, “Donnelly made a joke about Wawa catering the event on comms.” We draw closer together. Quietly, I tell him, “My brother needed to take a shit in the woods.” He laughs hard.

“I have a question,” I tell Charlie. “And the sky is blue.” Charlie flips the page of his book, smiling at something he’s reading.

I prod further. “If you hate Ernest, why don’t you just quit the board?” “It’s not a job. It’s an obligation,” Charlie tells me for the umpteenth time.

“You can quit a job,” I realize. “You can’t quit an obligation.” Charlie flips another page. “I suppose I could quit an obligation, but it’d have far reaching consequences.” “The company would dissolve?” Charlie nods. “My parents, my aunts, and uncles would pull their money out. Something Maximoff built from the ground up would be destroyed overnight.”

We breach the thick, tall trees, and I’m surprised no crowds are here. The only runners who’ve completed the 5k loop are Sullivan, Ryke, and Maximoff.

Lol

But Tyson blurts out, “I was joking. That guy Jesse can’t take a joke.” “What happened?” Sinclair questions. “I was fake-humping the table, and Jesse got bent-out-of-shape over it because another person—not me—said that’s how I should ride Winona Meadows.”

Tyson scratches a pink bumpy patch on his fair skin, and what do you know—I think I gave the douchebro poison ivy.

Lmao

Comms crackle. “Farrow to Oscar, that’s a yes.”

“You think Charlie knew he was leading us into poison ivy?” He pulls his tee over his head. “Just to get you and me naked together?” I let out a laugh. “Now that would be some 5D-chess.” I step out of my pants. “It is working,” Jack notes,

Jack unscrews the ointment. “Charlie ran through the poison ivy too, so if he did it on purpose, he’s knowingly making himself suffer.” “Yeah.” I nod slowly. “He doesn’t have much care for his own life.”

“You’re killing me, Os.” Os? I sit up off Jack in a jolt. He has another hand on his head, face frozen in too many emotions. “I, uh…sorry.” He straightens up too, breath knotted. “It just came out.” He tries to smile. “You don’t like nicknames?” I love them. I’d give him a hundred corny, sappy nicknames if I could.

I can’t lie to the guy though. “Just don’t call me Ozzy.” “Why not?” “My college boyfriend wore that one down.” “Noted.” He stiffens,

But I’m a coward and too afraid of his reaction to those words. So I don’t utter a single one. He could either run scared because he doesn’t think we’re sexually compatible. Or worse, he could believe we are. And then what? We have mind-blowing sex, the best sex of my life? We find out we’re too good together in every aspect. Too perfect for each other, a match orchestrated by a twenty-one-year-old genius named Charlie Cobalt and maybe even a higher power. Fate. The stars in the sky. Aligning for him and me.

And then Jack could call this a stepping-stone. Short-term fling. Maybe that’s all I’m good for while I’m in security. Insecurities are such assholes, and I know I’m riding this one hard and dry.

“So,” I say, “when exactly did you know you were into me, Highland?” He chokes on a sound that I think was supposed to be a laugh. “When I met you.” I rock back, my skull touching the wall. “That was…five years ago.” His fingers rake through his thick hair. “I didn’t know what it meant—my feelings for you. I couldn’t process them beyond the fact that they were so different than anything I’d felt before.”

He nods, understanding. “Leo Valavanis. Beckett’s rival in the company.” He smiles more as he asks, “Who is we? You, Donnelly, and Farrow?” “No, no, no.” I hold up a hand. “At least not Farrow. Donnelly, yeah. We encompasses anyone who’s Team Cobalt, and Farrow has always been Team Hale, even before the Husband.” I tease, “Choose your sides wisely, Highland.”

Charlie bought out the box for a whole year…for the past four years. Same box. Same chairs. My ass probably has a permanent imprint in this one. And I explain how Charlie and Jane made a bet to see who can attend the most performances to watch Beckett dance.

“Basta ikaw,” I say in Tagalog and translate casually, “as long as I’m with you, because it’s you.” I swig my beer. “Baseball isn’t so bad in your company.”

Oscar rests the bottom of his beer bottle on his thigh. “Look, I just have to ask…are you interested in Joana?” My brows shoot up. “She’s nineteen. She’s your sister.” He groans at himself. “I know. I know.” He rubs a hand down his face. “I’m just reexamining this”—he motions between us—“way too much.” He’s reexamining us?

“Because you’re Jack Highland!” he shouts in frustration. “You’re too captivating, too hopeful, too sexy, too determined and bold. You’re the total package—you’re a knockout, bro, and maybe I’m afraid you’re going to knock me out.” Pulse racing, I step closer. “You think I’m not scared too? I’m running at a half-open window that you almost keep closing!” He chokes on emotion. “What do you have to lose?” “You!” I yell from my core, eyes stinging. “I could lose you!”

Gabe’s delts are the size of honey baked hams. This kid is only twenty-two, same age as Quinn, and he’s built like a bulldozer. Security doesn’t usually hire guys this built because their endurance tends to be in the gutter, but Gabe passed all the entry-level tests. Too bad he’s an idiot.

Lmao

I just hope Gabe can retain some of the shit I’m throwing at him. He can’t be such a lost cause if Thatcher Moretti referred him to Kitsuwon Securities. Apparently, he’s fresh out of the Navy and friend of a friend of a family member. If you ask me, we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel these days.

“Can you wipe your memory?” Maximoff asks the guy with a near-perfect photographic memory. “Scrub the last two minutes and tack on another century. Except don’t erase all the parts where I remind you that I’m smarter and hotter.” “You mean the parts where you lie?” I laugh, and it draws half of their attention to me while they approach.

“I heard a fan outside ask who your celebrity crush is,” Farrow grins wider, “and I definitely heard you answer, my husband.” “Aww,” I pile on the teasing with the bat of my lashes. Maximoff is bright red. He looks to Farrow. “It’s like you want me to shove you in a gym locker or something.” “Or something,” Farrow laughs.

I have a theory that no one taught Maximoff Hale how to flirt. He literally does the kindergarten sandbox “I hate you” maneuver with Farrow, and largely, it’s probably because he’s never needed to flirt to get cock or pussy. He’s a fucking celebrity.

Our heads turn when Ripley drops his stuffed pirate parrot. I pick up the toy that I bought him and rattle it. “No doubt, you love Uncle Oscar the best.” Ripley hugs onto the toy with a giggle. He’s a cute baby.

I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I wish I could ask Farrow for advice. He’s the “relationship guy”—the one who establishes boundaries up front before hopping into bed. He won’t even sleep with someone unless there is potential for an actual relationship.

The trainee ends the run with sweat streaming down his jaw. “Really?” he pants, out of breath. “I can go another ten.” I take it back. Tweedledum isn’t so bad.

Lol

“He’s huge,” Farrow says. “But fast.” Farrow whistles and looks back at Gabe. “No shit.” Maximoff makes a face at Farrow like he just cat-called another guy. I laugh. “Shit,” Farrow says between his teeth, but he’s smiling. They’re both territorial motherfuckers.

“Wanna bet that Kitsuwon’s going to fight over the temp for Sulli’s detail?” Akara always puts the best temps on her whenever Banks is unavailable. “No. Because I don’t want to lose a bet.” Smart, Redford.

Before we leave the gym, Farrow says to me, “We have to drop off the phone, and then we’re grabbing the furball before we head out to Woody’s.” The furball is their weird Newfoundland puppy. Arkham thinks a pint-sized bird is a pterodactyl.

My smile hurts my face. “Someone looks like they got dicked down real nice.” Donnelly appears behind me with a lopsided grin. He fists a slender can of a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “You wanna spill?” He leans into my shoulder to try and read the text.

Lol love him

“You into anyone lately?” He shrugs, then sips his energy drink. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” I glance past him. “Where’s the gentleman?” Donnelly laughs. “He’s one.” He points to his dick. “And he’s in need of some nice warm love.” “Rub harder next time.” “My hand is nothin’ compared to a…” He mimes a blow job with his hand and tongue against the inside of his cheek. A lady shoots Donnelly a scathing glare from a picnic table. “There are kids here,” she sneers, a hand covering her daughter’s eyes. “Nah, really?” Donnelly lights a cigarette even with a can in his hand. “I just thought that was a mini adult.”

LMAO

Donnelly and I watch as an on-duty Farrow blocks cameramen from crowding his son and husband. Ripley wiggles his legs in a tactical vest on his chest, and Maximoff is actually carrying Arkham. The puppy acts like a scared, furry baby. At this point, their son braves the paparazzi better than their dog.

Lol

A smile lifts my lips. “Yeah, I invited him,” I say and leave it at that. Farrow nods and begins to grin. “You’re hopeless.” “I’d like a six-pack of the best beer when my heart breaks.” “Nice try, one beer. Warm. Not even chilled.”

“Thought you didn’t want us calling you Moffy as a nickname?” Donnelly questions. Farrow raises his brows at Maximoff. “Jack is different,” he explains,

“Been wondering why we’re here, though. Better ones are in South Philly.” Jack glows, his grin blinding. “Someone told me they’re better here.” “Who?” Donnelly barks. “Me.” Donnelly shoots me a look and then points to me with his can/cigarette hand. “Sustained.” Farrow and I share a look. “What the fuck,” I say into a laugh. “When did Donnelly go to law school?” Farrow banters, his smile stretching. “Not a good one either.” Donnelly blows a middle-finger kiss. “Xander’s been watching a bunch of Law & Order.”

“Could he have just forgotten his wallet?” “He would’ve asked us to cover him,” I say as we reroute and walk back to Woody’s. “This has to be about what he did…” I trail off. Everyone’s eyes fall to Ripley against Farrow’s chest.

His soft laugh sounds breathless. “Okay, promise me that whatever happens next, you won’t shut the window on me. Promise that it’s wide open and I’m on the other side with you—that it’s you and me and anyone who tries to come in, you’ll help me keep out?”

Strongly, undoubtedly, I tell him, “I promise. It’s Oscar and Jack take on Philly, New York, California, the world—you and me, Long Beach.” I point from my chest to his chest, tears threatening to well.

Our foreheads touch as our lips break, arms around one another’s shoulders, and we’re not escaping our embrace yet. He’s smiling brighter. I’m grinning stronger. My heart beats outside my ribcage, and I breathe, “You just kissed me in public, Highland.” In the middle of a sidewalk. In front of a packed cheesesteak restaurant. In front of my friends. In front of paparazzi. He kissed me. “You kissed me back,”

“So we can officially say that we’re dating, right?” I’m so fucking happy. “Come on, dude,” he breathes, his eyes sparkling with the light that I feel illuminate inside me. “Oh yeah, I’m dating the hell out of you.”

“Let go of him!” the milkshake girl cries. “You’re hurting Oscar!” I thought I was largely desensitized to emotional outbursts, but this one is kicking my frustrated ass into rage territory. “I’m holding his hand,” I growl hotly. “Charlie is my client. We’re not together!” “Stop lying!” she cries.

Shes fucking dumb