Charming Like Us (Like Us, #7)

by Krista Ritchie

I’m about to be around Jack Highland a hell of a lot more. There’s no avoiding him. No ignoring him.

but his voice is suddenly stilted and lacks the natural warmth it usually carries. Awkward. This whole fucking thing.

Charlie’s phone rings. A quick glance at the screen elicits an eye roll. Has to be one of his brothers.

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… My life has never been more jumbled. Confusing. Messy.

God, I spent three hours in the shower after Oscar and Charlie left my apartment. I just stood there! The hot water ran cold, and I stared at the tile walls in a daze. And I confess, I was thinking about Oscar Oliveira.

I kept replaying how he came into my apartment like a frozen wind. He basically coldshouldered me. Treated me like a co-worke...

Oscar is different. No amount of charm is getting me out of what happened at the wedding reception. I can’t flash a smile and expect him to go back to how we were.

I’d say I’m rarely uptight. I grew up surfing. Patiently waiting for that perfect wave. Breathing in and out, but fuck if I know anything right now about oxygen and patience—because I’ve never felt more asphyxiated and unbalanced.

My brother spills his whole life story to me when we talk on the phone. I literally know when he took a shit yesterday, and not because he called me while he was on the toilet, which he’s also done before.

I want to work towards something big. I always have.

I’m just glad she’s not asking me about dating. Or marriage. Or kids.

That part of my life is starting to be an astronomical who-the-fuck-knows. I blink and picture Oscar, ...

Jesse has broken curfew before, but that was when he had a girlfriend and snuck into her house. My mom knocked on the door demanding for his return, like the girl’s family was holding him captive.

He said he’s straight before. I said I’m straight.

Because I am straight. I can appreciate good-looking guys, and yeah, Oscar is one of the best-looking bodyguards. If not the best.

And I’ve only had sex with women. All of my celebrity crushes have been women. Whenever I’ve envisioned my future, ther...

But at night, my mind wanders to him. I wake up with a massive hard-on that only goes away when I str...

Doesn’t mean I’m gay or bi or anything other...

Am I convincing myself or am I really fucking straight? I need a road map to navigate this uncharted place, and I don’t have it. ...

Yeah right, like he’ll help me. Like he’d even want to after I rejected him. Anyway—I’m straight. There’s nothing to ...

“Long time no chat”—we talked yesterday—“listen to this…” He rolls down the window to his Land Cruiser, and I hear the splash of the ocean.

“Jesse.” “I want to be the first out there when the sun comes up.”

“Fat chance, wild child, it’s a school day.” It may be summer, but he has to repeat British Lit for plagiarizing a paper last year.

“You tell me, Jack.” He puts extra emphasis on my name like I’m a pirate from the Disney franchise.

Jesse is exactly ten years younger than me, and I love him more than life itself.

Do more. Be more. But it has consequences.

I’d think Jesse breaks the rules just to get their attention, but he probably wishes they forgot about him right now. He’s just a free spirit that doesn’t like anything tying him down.

“You’d think differently if you were here, Kuya. The swells are—” “Sick,” I smile. “You already told me.”

His eyes soften, almost sadly. I know he misses me. I miss him every day.

And I still need to talk to security about the show. His bodyguard. Oscar.

Strange heat blankets my skin. Nerves? Anticipation? I hate not knowing the name to this feeling.

I hit green light after green light, and it feels like I’m flying towards Hell’s Kitchen, towards Oscar.

But for the first time, I’m… I’m confused.

And I knew this project with Charlie would be chaotic on multiple fronts. But adding Jesse to the mix brings it to a new level.

Chaos Factor #1: Filming Charlie Cobalt. It’s like trying to catch a firefly on a normal production day, and this show will be anything but routine.

Chaos Factor #2: Being around Oscar Oliveira. At all. For ...

I don’t have time to sort out my feelings.

I practically know everything about the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts.

I’m a treasure trove of their secrets that I’ll always keep locked away, and yet, I can’t name a single secret of Oscar’s that I have.

Oscar is the only SFO bodyguard with a client living in New York, so he’s moved to a studio apartment and lives alone.

But I’ve never been inside this studio apartment. Something solely belonging to Oscar.

I remember Akara telling me security housing in New York costs the most. Weird to think that I’m more friends with Akara than with Oscar.

His fists are playfully up too, but he’s facing his younger brother Quinn, who pretends to box his big brother. A boxing family.

I wonder if he’s as close to his siblings as I am to Jesse. I’ve been around all three of the Oliveiras before. Like at Scotland last Christmas where Oscar, Quinn, and Joana were snowed-in with me and a lot of others.

Quinn punched Oscar. I don’t know why. It’d crush my soul if Jesse even tried to swing at me.

Deep down, I wish this show were about Oscar. I have so many things I want to ask him. I have since the first time he called me Long Beach.

He’s Brazilian-American, born and raised in Philly, but I know the Latin phrase has something to do with Brazil.

and surveying his beauty and washboard abs like he’s the Mona Lisa. I wonder what it’d be like to run my hand across his body, his chest, his unshaven jaw. To hold his face and kiss him. He’s masculine. Hard. Muscled. What am I doing? Get your head in the game, dude. I lift my gaze back to Oscar’s.

“You know, I’d ask you if you find something you like,” Oscar says, trying to be casual but I hear the strained endnote. “But we’ve already covered that. You’re straight, right?”

I hate myself for uttering those words in Italy. But I’ve never questioned myself about my sexuality. Not at ten-years-old, not as a teenager, not in college.