Charming Like Us (Like Us, #7)

by Krista Ritchie

It doesn’t help that he does that thing that most people do when they’re checking me out. The up-down, imperceptible motion. A one-two movement with his eyes. Up-down. Two seconds flat. Barely noticeable.

Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But those two seconds tangle the axons in my brain. Twisting. Pulling. Tying them into a confused knot. So far as I know, he’s straight, but sexuali...

I have a crush on him. A stupid. Silly. Dumbass crush.

I’m the one who nearly choked on my food when Maximoff used that word. Back at his sister’s first Rainbow Brigade outing, he asked me about Jack, “You have a crush on him?” I laughed. Crush.

Is there something different about Jack from all the other women and men I’ve dated? Or is it just because I know this could be unrequited? He’s probably not even attracted to men. But the way he’s looking at me…

His eyes hold mine again. He’s got this way of staring at you like he knows you. Understands you. And I’m not a fucking idiot.

“You’re keeping me company, right?” He’s flirting. He’s definitely flirting.

I glance down at the belt on his waist. My belt. When I raise my gaze to his, his eyes flit to the belt he’s wearing, and then back to me, down my toned build.

“What is it all of you guys say…bodyguards are like spouses to their clients.” You guys.

I usually go for people my age or older. I also would usually never even draw towards a straight guy like I am him. Look at me, making exceptions left and right for Jack Highland.

“First off, I’d never be scrawny. Have you seen me swim?” “I’m suddenly having a hard time remembering. You’ll have to show me again.” “Make the date, I’ll be there.”

I could joke about how the bandana would fit anyone, but he’s not Donnelly or Farrow. I don’t want to rib him like I would a friend.

he jokes with a smile that captivates, that could make the saddest motherfucker on this planet feel some kind of happiness.

“Maybe I’ll just quit packing for these trips. Your clothes always smell good, and you probably have better underwear than me, anyway.” My blood pumps.

“Really, I just enjoy this,” Jack says more quietly, our gazes latched with seriousness. “You and me and…” He breathes in but doesn’t breathe out. Our eyes dance along each other, and I find myself stepping closer. His chest rises in a headier inhale.

My lungs inflate, and I want to take my hand and clutch the back of his neck. To let my fingers thread through his dark hair and up the back of his skull.

I glance at his mouth. My voice husky as I ask, “Can I kiss you?” Jack stiffens. And not like a dick-stiffening kind of way. He morphs into a stone statue, which rocks me back. Fuck.

He blinks. So at least he’s alive.

“Jack,” I say, his name sounding weird on my tongue. I usually call him Highland…or Long Beach.

“Uh…” he breathes out. “Thanks, but I’m straight.” I go rigid.

Thanks, but I’m straight. Thanks, but I’m straight! It blares in my head. Concern is gone. I’m just…fuck.

Jack often throws out platitudes to make sure no one in the room is uncomfortable. Well, that’s not happening here. He’s not saying a fucking thing.

It would have been better if I didn’t feel like a twelve-year-old. I’m thirty-two, and the way I feel around that guy puts me back to preteen eras. I hate it. I hate what I just did. Most importantly, I’d like nothing more than to never see Jack Highland.

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to look him in the eyes ever again.

In any case, I was rejected for a kiss. I’ve never been rejected before. Not like that.

Who has an appointment at 1 a.m. that’s not a booty call or something that could put you in jail? Charlie. That’s who.

I feel my mouth curve. His maverick ass is actually informing our lead about where he is. Albeit, after he’s already started driving to the Smoky Mountains.

“Have fun on your honeymoon, Redford. Don’t be too sad I’m not there to make a good time better.” “I think you mean messier, Oliveira.”

“You mean the ones that say I’ve had the wedding of the century?” I can practically see his smug cheek-to-cheek smile with that ace thrown. He got me.

Farrow and Maximoff’s wedding made every headline, every entertainment site, late-night show, and Instagram feed. I love them, but my friend getting hitched recently, especially to a Hale, has been a painful reminder that I’m…alone.

And I’m about to face my crush that last ended like a...

The door swings open. Jack Highland stands on the other side.

a shower.” I bite back a comment about how he still smells good.

A surfboard is propped in the corner. One that looks old and used. Jack surfs. Didn’t know that.

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.

I have so many fucking questions. But that would involve actually staring him directly in the eyes. Not about to do that. My gaze plants on the only window. Just one. Well, that makes my job easier.

For as much of a pain as Charlie can be, he does listen to me sometimes.

I try not to let my eyes roam to Jack’s personal belongings. Like his brand of shampoo or the magazines in the wicker basket by the door.

I don’t need to know more about him than I already do.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” I tell him. “It’s protocol.” Jack might be trusted in the inner-circle, but his place hasn’t been cleared today.

I slide past his chest, an inch of air between us.

But I can tell we’re both holding our breaths. I barely exhale when I ...

“You could use a bigger apartment, Highland,” I whisper to him as I pass again. “You don’t fit in this one.” The top of his head is barely an inch from the ceiling fan.

But it’s not the time or place and the longer he’s staring at me, the more my stomach knots.

“I can pay whatever you want,” Charlie says casually like his checkbook is open on the table.

Connor's son indeed

Charlie twists the gold ring on his finger. A Faust Academy crest of a falcon and crown rest in the center. He never had to tell me, but I know that’s his father’s high school ring.

Most of the world truly thinks Charlie Cobalt is as narcissistic and self-serving as his father, but I’ve been around him long enough to know that he has motives. And they’re not always egocentric. But does he have the ability to go there? Yeah. It’s in him, sure.

“Deep down,” he says. “I don’t give a shit if people love me. Or hate me. Or think I’m an entitled, spoiled brat. I’d have to care enough about them to care about their opinions—and I don’t give a shit.

And if you think I’m going to care about exposing myself to the world—I won’t. I don’t.”

“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.”