Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

Donnelly might actually be good for him. Even if Xander goes outside just to impress a bodyguard, it means he’s braving the world.

“You can room with my brother.” “Nah.” Donnelly picks up his hoagie. “He already offered, and Farrow even said I could crash in his room. But the couch is fire.” He takes a huge bite and mumbles, “Just like this hoagie.”

The title: Sexy Like Us This photo isn’t missing. I’m with Jane. We’re leaving a cat shelter, and I’m putting my brown leather jacket on her shoulders. She was cold.

Donnelly grins. “You’re making a collage?” “Yeah.” Xander cringes. “I know, it’s dumb—” “It’s dope, man.” Donnelly rises with me. “Farrow will love this shit.” He laughs. “Oh…right. Awesome.” Xander starts to smile.

The couples: Sullivan Meadows & Akara Kitsuwon Charlie Cobalt & Oscar Oliveira Beckett Cobalt & Paul Donnelly Luna Hale & Quinn Oliveira

I’m afraid that I won’t be enough to help him. That I will fail in epic glory, as I always seem to do in the end.

“We’re right here with you, Janie.” Maximoff has squared shoulders and these tough green eyes that say, we can power through anything. And with Farrow at total ease next to him, that resilience doubles.

Thatcher is behind me, his sculpted arm protectively wrapped around my collarbones while I lean back against his chest. I look up, and he looks down. His narrowed gaze carries unadulterated confidence that washes over me.

I’m leeching his strength, and I don’t want to rely solely on him. Or anyone for that matter. Not my parents, not Maximoff and Farrow, not bodyguards, siblings, cousins, or strangers—I need to offer something and be of use and value.

Eyes still fixed together, his lips lower and meet mine. In an upside-down kiss, brief and explosive. Detonating an emotional meteor in my heart, my body swells, and I breathe and breathe.

I drop my hands off Thatcher, and I find strength to move. Whether it’s the right kind of strength, I’m not certain. I’m so confused, but I step out of his hold anyway. His arm tears off my collarbones. It hurts. I can feel the air slice painfully, and I struggle to even look him in the eyes. I glance over at my best friend, and Maximoff shakes his head with a wince. Feeling my unease, possibly. Farrow is eyeing Thatcher, then me. I think he sees a strain that my leech-insecurities just created.

But none of us could formulate a better solution.

“No,” I emphasize, my stomach lurching. “You have no idea how much…” I exhale, my pulse hiking to devastating speeds. “…how many times it’s dawned on me and overwhelmed me—that Moffy and I have fallen for two men who fight to help us protect who we love.” My eyes burn. “Not just half-heartedly or out of loyalty to us, but because you deeply love our siblings and cousins. And if we weren’t here, you’d still fight for them as deeply as we would, and that is priceless to me.”

His eyes cradle mine, offering comfort from afar.

“Try not to wake Eliot and Tom,” Charlie whispers,

He holds the pillow beneath his head, colorful floral tattoos sprawling down his right arm. Donnelly inked every single one of Beckett’s tattoos, and all are flowers from roses to daisies to lilies and poppies, as homage to our mom and aunts. It reminds me that he loves our family so greatly, despite having such little time to spend with us.

“Beckett,” I whisper. “Beckett.” I reach the bed and lightly jostle his arm. He jolts and flinches, eyes snapping open.

“Jane.” He’s just dressed in gray Calvin Klein underwear. And for his privacy, I keep my gaze above his neck, thank you very much.

Beckett lies back down, smoothly like silk resting on an idle lake. Even in his anger, he’s graceful.

Maximoff is careful with Beckett’s clothes as he opens each drawer. He tries to maintain the crisp shape of each folded item.

Slowly, Beckett sits up against the headboard, aghast. He rests his elbows on his bent knees, fingers interlaced on his neck. Staring down at the bare mattress. If I pushed him over, he’d be in a fetal position, and it makes me terribly sad. “Beckett, please,” I whisper. “We just want to help you.”

“You’re hurting me.” His eyes are raw and red. “I’m sorry.” I am...

“You’re not leaving without us,” Charlie says hotly. Beckett lets out a pained laugh. “You’re one to talk, Charlie. How many times have you ditched this family?” Charlie looks to me, needing an assist.

Beckett pinches his eyes. When he drops his hand, he zeroes in on Thatcher and Farrow who block the doorway. I can tell he’s hurt and confused. “You plan to have your boyfriend drag me onto a plane? Is that it?”

I snap a fuzzy blue handcuff on his wrist, and the other end, I lock onto mine. “Congratulations, you’re now very much attached to me.” Beckett looks slightly impressed but mostly resigned and upset. He sighs. “Jane…” I smile a sympathetic smile. “Time to go to Scotland and be with family.”

Sulli said she’d rather eat fertilizer than publicize her relationship. That it’s easier for the world to believe she’s with Akara.

Their steadfast nature is a saving grace.

Charlie wanted to use metal handcuffs. He thought Beckett would enjoy the fuzzy ones too much, but I couldn’t bear to physically hurt him. We’re already puncturing his emotions enough as it is.

“Jane,” he whisper-hisses and yanks my wrist toward his chest. “I’m not a fucking addict.”

But the only reason you wouldn’t go for the door is because you’d be afraid one of those massive bodyguards could accidentally break your leg or your arm stopping you, and then you’d be out of ballet. Tell me I’m wrong about that.” He doesn’t deny a thing. He just leans back, staring ahead again, away from me. And so softly, under his breath, he says, “I hate you, you know.”

I have to remember what Charlie said, “He’s going to be an asshole. A real dick. Don’t listen to him.” Beckett and I rarely feud, and so I pictured a Charlie spat. Some flowery insults with added flair and then a cold-hearted bomb. But I should have known better. Beckett has always been honest and pointed. But he’s still my little brother, even if he’s just two years younger. I have an obligation to protect him, and no matter how many blades I take, I’ll keep going. I also have to remember—he’s a Cobalt. Beckett is cunning and smart, and he’ll use my emotions and love for him against me. Maybe he doesn’t really hate me. What’s more probable: he’s just trying to manipulate his way out of the handcuff.

Packing on my battle armor, I straighten up and channel a surge of confidence. I am a motherfucking lion. I am my mother’s daughter. Even if I only have one-tenth of Rose Calloway Cobalt in me, that’s one-tenth of fire and brimstone that I can wield.

My smile rises, a rush of hope cascading over me. Helping subdue the pit in my stomach. Despite all my hang-ups and personal fears, I’m so very glad he’s here. I want him beside me. More than anyone. His stoic eyes stay on mine, which most likely display tangled affections and curiosities. Thatcher does a much better job of acting like I’m his brother’s girlfriend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Thatcher nearly smiles. I’d say we both enjoy being in cahoots again. It isn’t so bad this time because all the people we love are in on the secret.

Merde—the bottle tips backwards, spilling onto my breasts and soaking my zebra blouse. Thatcher has quick reflexes and rights the bottle before I’m completely doused, and I stand up and glance at Beckett. A fraction of remorse flits in his eyes.

His voice has changed, almost panicked. “Can you please…?” He extends his wrist. Thatcher and I exchange a look, one full of apprehension. Something isn’t right. My brother hasn’t been this hostile since I spoke to him back in the apartment. And then I notice the change: the door to the airplane. The flight crew has finally boarded, which means we only have about ten minutes before takeoff. If Beckett were to make a move to leave, it’s now or never. Thatcher must see this too because he narrows a look on me and shakes his head. Silently telling me don’t do it.

“I have to go now, Jane.” He usually calls me sis. My name sounds like a thousand-pound brick on his tongue, weighted with anger.

When we were devising this strategy, Charlie refused to be handcuffed to him. He said he couldn’t do it. That it’d be five minutes before he uncuffed his twin brother. Instead, Charlie looked at me and said, “It has to be you.”

For once, there is another person, another option, another someone who has nerves of steel and who stands so close to my side. I eye Thatcher. His strong gaze returns to me. For some reason, my heart is beating wildly, uncontrollably, and I can’t slow the pace. “Would you mind…” Breathe. I inhale. “…being handcuffed to Beckett for the next ten minutes?”

usually, I’d ignore the luxuries and focus on my duty. But Jane is my girlfriend. This is the Cobalt family jet, affectionately nicknamed Heathcliff by Audrey, which outsizes all the other private planes and can comfortably carry all three famous families. It’s also outfitted with four bedrooms, five lounges, a twenty-person dining room, cinema and fitness area.

They’ll never accept someone like me. I exhale out of my nose. That out-of-place feeling wants to beat me down, but I have to push forward.

“I didn’t want to worry her, but I have to wash my hands. It’s really bothering me…” He expels a taut, anxious breath.

I realize his distress isn’t some deceptive thing. He’s uncomfortable being this vulnerable in front of me.

he rubs his wrist and approaches the sink. I watch him pump the soap dispenser three times. He methodically lathers his palms, in between his fingers, his forearms—all the way to his elbows. He scrubs his hands, turns the faucet on and off five consecutive times, and glances back at me. “Can you…please just look at the wall?” I shift my narrowed gaze onto the toilet, his nerves suffocating the bathroom, and I feel badly that his OCD is riding him this hard. I have no experience helping Beckett with this, but I understand brothers who want to keep their troubles hidden and private.

I’ll tell her, and she’ll blame herself for pushing Beckett there—but I’ll lift her as high as I can and carry the guilt. It’s what I’m good at.

“When you mention this to Jane, can you add that this isn’t serious?” He comes over and extends his wrist. Carefully, I snap on the cuff. “Why don’t you just tell her yourself?” “Honestly…it’s hard for me to talk to her right now.” He’s still upset that she dragged him here. “I’ll mention it,” I promise. “Thanks.” He stares nervously at the door, like the latch is haunted. I notice how he twiddles his fingers, and I step past him, our wrists connected, and I open the door for Beckett. He exhales in relief but avoids my eyes.

Leave it to Maximoff Hale to transform the work of scouting a wedding location into a vacation for other people.

“The whole family will be there,” my grandma said excitedly. Proud of the family, and Jane beamed up at me, understanding that feeling of pride in a lineage. “And I want to give Jane her baby blanket I’m crocheting. I should be finished by then.”

“Has she crocheted your past girlfriends baby blankets?” “Hell no.” “Oh.” I didn’t expect that reaction. My pulse ratcheted up. “She likes you.” She can tell I love you.

I can’t see the future any better than she can. Mathematically maybe that shit adds up in that direction, but we’re dealing with emotion. Unwieldy, un-fucking-quantifiable, frightening emotion—and I just want to be her safety net. I want her to feel like she can fall into these feelings, and I’ll catch her.