Charming Like Us (Like Us, #7)

by Krista Ritchie

We’re all a lot of where we come from, just as much as we are the people who raised us and who we’ve met along the way.

“If people think that I’m betraying my family, they’re dumber than I thought,” he says. “Which is saying something because I think the human race has a chronic case of idiocy.”

My life has always had structure. I’ve known how it’d start, where I’d go, and where I’d end up. That is, until Oscar…

I’m terrified of our dynamic changing into something uncomfortable, or worse—something cold and empty. Especially now. When it’s looking like we’re about to be around each other a hundred times more.

Anyway—I’m straight. There’s nothing to ask. I’m not into Oscar like that.

Chaos Factor #2: Being around Oscar Oliveira. At all. For any period of time. My pulse pounds hard in my neck. I don’t have time to sort out my feelings. I’m here.

“You do this thing, Jack, where you try to make everyone feel good. I don’t need that kind of emotional baby blanket.” His eyes touch mine. A beat passing between us. His brows rise. “I’m good.”

It brings me back to the wedding reception. When I was bent over the hatchback as the sun set along the coast, and I turned around.

The glow of the waning sun illuminated Oscar Oliveira, and he was gorgeous. I almost told him.

“So Farrow stepped in,” Jack nods, knowing the history. Of course he does. I don’t know why I forgot that he hears and sees a lot. Plus, the famous ones talk to him. “Yeah, that’s how Farrow is. Everyone wants to be his friend because he looks like a cool motherfucker. He’d do anything for his friends, even if you haven’t talked to him in years. If you need him, he’d drop everything and help.”

I just hate how comfortable I am with this guy. I’m already so fucking attracted to Jack, and I don’t want to like him even more. But I’m so used to dating people and meeting solid roadblocks, and I’m starting to realize those don’t exist with him.

My lips quirk. “So you do like my questions?” He shakes his head slowly, and a smile creeps over his mouth. “I didn’t say that, Long Beach.” Long Beach. His tone is sweeter with me when he uses that nickname. It does something to my heartbeat.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say a mean thing about one person. Ever. I’m not missing the moment a sunshine turns into a raincloud, even at my expense.” My cheeks hurt from grinning like him. “Did you just call me a sunshine?”

Cobalts place the bar so high for themselves, they can’t see the ground anymore.

I want someone to just appear out of thin air and tell me what I am. Gay. Straight. Bi. Pan. Somewhere in between. I’d be happy with any of them. But no, I have to figure this answer out on my own, and it sucks knowing that even when I come to a decision, I still may not be a hundred percent certain. For fuck’s sake, I planned out my whole life when I was twelve. I want my binder back. I want to be twelve again and look into the future and rewrite this part of my life out, so I wouldn’t have to face these questions. I’d already know the answers.

“I’m just…asking as a friend.” I laugh a little. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

Then again, Highland loves to wear my clothes. And I’d be a Liar with a capital L if I said I didn’t like him in them.

“Do you ask all your co-workers for a kiss?” he shoots back. I smile, trying not to disintegrate in my seat from this conversation. “Only the cute ones,” I say, popping a chip in my mouth. As smooth as that was, I regret it. Oliveira, stop flirting with the straight boy. Holy fucking shit, I’m hopeless.

My life’s plan—what does that even look like now? I’m used to having the big picture mapped out. High school. Prom King. College. Swim Team. Producer. Wife. Children. Awards. Happiness. Retirement. More happiness. I’ve erased essential parts of my map! But the fuck if I even know what a map is anymore. Or maybe, I’ve added question marks to it.

Flirting again. Twenty points deducted from Slytherin.

The Hale family would be so proud of my geeky ass thoughts.

“Then I made the right decision with this show. Aunt Lily always says she can predict love, but she has nothing on me.”

“L’enfer est vide et tous les diables sont ici.” Hell is empty and all the devils are here. I recognize the Shakespeare quote. The Tempest.

“I’m almost mad at him. You deserve so much better than the mind games he’s making you play.” “I don’t think it’s intentional,” I defend. “It’s Jack. When has he ever been cruel to anyone?” Farrow nods a couple times.

“Not my business.” “I don’t know how you do it, bro.” It’s not my business either, but it’s in my face and I see it. So give me the popcorn.

I’ve barely slept in the past two weeks! I keep thinking about him. I can’t stop thinking about him.

I crave so much with him that I never thought I would or could.

I speak from the core of my being that I never reached until recently. Until I was twenty-seven and fell for him. Maybe I’ve been falling for even longer. I just couldn’t piece it all together.

“I like you so fucking much that the idea of losing what we have makes me sick. I don’t want to shut the door on possibly the greatest opportunity of my life, and it’s right here—it’s you.”

I only want him.

“Oscar…” I hesitate to touch him, my muscles on fire. “Don’t fuck with me⁠—” “I’m not,” he chokes out. “I’m not.” We’re not touching, but it feels like we’re already clinging to each other for dear fucking life. “I promise.” Our foreheads nearly brush, his lips ghosting over mine, and in a husky breath, I whisper, “Can I kiss⁠—” His mouth presses to mine, the tension of this is happening, this is happening, this is happening stretches tendons in our necks and arms and bodies—and when it sinks in, we snap fully together.

Someone needs to come restrain Highland. And I’ll be the first volunteer.

He nods, looking deeper in me for answers to his bottomless pool of questions. He’s a filmmaker. He sees the subtext. I care about your health, Highland. I actually really care about you.

“Who are you not allowed to film?” I ask him while we both fit on our lenses and adjust our camera settings. “Winona Meadows.” His eyes flash briefly over to the Meadows girls.

And still, Oscar has occupied almost 80% of my mind.

Our eyes catch in a beat that says, we’re on the same side. Not necessarily as production and security. But just as myself and him. As Oscar and Jack.

not? I glance down at our interlaced fingers. “You have a good grip, Long Beach.” He smiles that dazzlingly smile. A heady feeling washes over me. Butterflies. I’m thirty-two and still getting butterflies from a handhold, and we’ve already run some bases together.

“Are you calling me old, Highland?” “Would you be flattered if I did?” “No.” “Then no.” We laugh.

Fate. The stars in the sky. Aligning for him and me.

I am in…way too deep. And I don’t want to swim back out.

“You know, if I had to pick a side, I’d just choose yours.”

I wish I could just show affection. Touch is my favorite love language, and I can’t wrap an arm around him like I did in the camp cabin.

And how it’s the pretty sheen of the Cobalt Empire, the romantic one, but underneath it all, there are cracks. But like so many people, the romanticism is needed on heavy days, and sometimes I even try to let it help carry me through.

“I can’t lie, I have reservations and hesitations right now⁠—” “Why?” I question, breathing harder. “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!” His face twists with raw feelings. Please fucking believe me.

We talk until we put the moon to bed and wake the sun. Bright rays cast over the loft, the bed, us. Sleep catches up. Sleep that I don’t want but my body demands. And finally, our eyes begin to shut.

Farrow is grinning at his husband as they stroll in. The Hale prince looks high-key irritated at whatever Farrow said or did. Where’s the popcorn? I dig into my Cheetos.

“I heard a fan outside ask who your celebrity crush is,” Farrow grins wider, “and I definitely heard you answer, my husband.”

while Farrow takes earplugs out of their son’s ears, I hear Maximoff say more quietly, “I just want our son to know I love you. When he sees media footage, I don’t want him to think I don’t care about you.” Must be why he answered the paparazzi too honestly and not jokingly. Farrow whispers something softly, his hand on the back of Maximoff’s skull, and then their lips meet in a tender kiss.

“When’s the Out Loud magazine photoshoot? I heard it’s soon.” “Next week.” He skims my eyes. I hang onto a feeling I love. Pride.

“I promise. It’s Oscar and Jack take on Philly, New York, California, the world—you and me, Long Beach.”