Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

“And your boyfriend has to do abnormal things to be with you,” Maximoff says. “And I saw you smiling when he answered 102 times a day.” I did. And Thatcher looked enamored by me when I answered, 81 times.

“Did you ever imagine our first time in Scotland would be with your fiancé and my boyfriend and we’d be preparing for your wedding?” It bursts love into my heart just thinking this. Maximoff tries to restrain an uncontrollable smile.

“Would you really want Thatcher to be the man I’m with forever?” Thatcher has been Farrow’s least favorite person, and Maximoff hasn’t been too fond of him in the past either. “Weirdly, yeah. He’s good to you, and he makes you happy.” He nods. “But if he hurts you, I’ll slit his throat with a hacksaw—a rusted hacksaw.”

Maximoff smiles. “This is surreal—you and me in serious relationships and traveling with our men.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and I feel that same overwhelming feeling breach the surface inside me. “I’m glad you’re here, Janie.” His chest rises. “I couldn’t do this without you.” Emotion wells my eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

I sip my whiskey with a smile. I never thought I could even mentally joke about the incest rumor, and one year later…

“Nope. A real peanut butter and banana sandwich. Eliot, Tom and I crashed some senior’s party, and I hung out in the kitchen with this guy named Mike…or maybe it was Rogan.” She shrugs, unconcerned. “Never saw him again.” “You’re a badass.” Sulli fist-bumps Luna,

The Four Drunk Stages of Jane Eleanor Cobalt are as follows: Feel-Good Drunk Jane Flirty Drunk Jane Sloppy Drunk Jane Black-Out (SOS) Jane My sloppy-drunk-self can’t come out. I haven’t reached Flirty Drunk Jane yet. Skipping from one to three is like sipping the milk froth of a cappuccino and dumping out the coffee. The actual coffee is undoubtedly the best part.

I wonder if it’s possible to make yourself fall out of love with someone, as a precautionary measure. Like a button you can press to evacuate in case love goes too far, and I find myself sweeping the pub for him.

She’s not naïve, and she’s cautious when confronted with real life dangers. She nods. “You’re the best, Jane.” Sulli hugs me, and we bring in Luna for a three-way hug. We all sway, laughing, and I try not to spill my drink on my cousins. When we part, Moffy slips into our huddle with a mug of tea. He doesn’t ask for a recap, but we all quickly provide one.

Luna looks between them with such happiness.

He’s now seated on the sofa with quiet confidence that hooks me tenfold. I could so easily walk over to him. Kiss him. Straddle him.

Luna and Maximoff do the running man move together, and then he twirls her in a circle.

Being a voyeur to love is easier than being in love, I think.

“No.” Charlie tugs at his hair, possibly irritated that I’m even asking the important questions that he believes are obvious. Feel-Good Drunk Jane doesn’t care if they’re obvious or not. Beckett lights a cigarette between his lips. “Are we just going to forget his younger brother is a dick?”

“We all bear the sins of our parents every day we breathe, and so why aren’t the sins of a brother or sister or cousin the same?” “Because,” Maximoff says, “being a dick isn’t hereditary.” We reach no real conclusion on the subject, and I’m not sure that Charlie or Beckett will ever accept Will, the older brother of someone who has wronged me. Maximoff is far more forgiving, and I see that in how he’s let Thatcher back into his life and my life and his fiancé’s life.

“How am I an asshole?” Tony rebuts. “I don’t care that she mixed ‘em up. It doesn’t even matter what anyone calls them. Banks responds to both names.”

“Thatcher?” I’m scared. “Thatcher?” “Jane—I’m right here.” He cups my cheeks. It alarms me, more than anything, that I didn’t call for Maximoff. I called for him. For a man I… I love him.

She blinks a hell of a lot, panic behind her blue eyes. I tuck her to my sturdy chest. Protective. One of my hands is lost in her blue skirt. Really, I’m cupping her ass, an effortless hold, and I press my other palm to the back of her head, whispering against her ear, “I have you, honey.” She eases into me.

Before I came along, he’d be the one holding Jane, and the fact that he’s not upset that I’ve taken over—it means we’re making good strides. For once I’m not trekking twenty klicks in the wrong fucking direction.

but she’s breathing normal and the longer she realizes I have her, the more she smiles and smooths her lips together. Blushing.

I put the glass to her mouth and tilt. Her big blue eyes planted on mine, she takes small, slurping sips like a fucking kitten. Even hammered, she’s an adorable drunk.

Omega tends to integrate with the older famous ones like friends—especially after the FanCon tour—but we’re all on. Alert. Always. No bodyguards are posted at the entrance or exits, so we’ve all been scouting the pub at various intervals. We’re in a town with a population of 50. I hate to think it, let alone believe it, but the bigger threat to Jane is another bodyguard.

He exchanges a strong look with me. One that we used to never share, but it comes naturally tonight and says, we’re on the same side and I’ve got you. There’s a chance that Tony will insert himself in this situation. And I need someone to have my six so I can have hers.

I’m not as territorial as Farrow, but when it comes to my girlfriend being scared or panicked, my spine would have to be obliterated in a hundred places before I let another man carry her to safety. Especially Tony.

Oscar uses comms, his voice in my ear. “I’m taking a piss. Don’t let Beckett hang around my baby sister.”

we’ve all been intersecting Beckett’s path to Jo. I don’t know if he’s bored or if he has a fucking death wish.

“I have you,” I say strongly. “You don’t need to do anything tonight.” She can be a drunk mess.

He rolls his eyes. “You talk like you’re twenty-feet tall, but you look microscopic. Just back up and leave Banks alone. Jane is safe.”

Jane brushes her nose against mine, romantically. I try to shift my gaze and shove down any visible affection. I’m Banks. I’m my brother. …and she’s gorgeous.

Jane rests her cheek on my chest and toys drunkenly with my mic cord. I have a hard time not watching her. I can’t drown in greed and wish upon every star to kiss her like Farrow did Maximoff. Because I’m here. Easily, I could be back in Philly.

In the darkened corner of the pub, Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you’d see at closing times from trashed guys and girls. But her and him—they’re completely sober. He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I’m holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna.

“Did you pack any lunchmeat on you?” Farrow asks me seriously. Which surprises me because Farrow and SFO have been ribbing me about the ham and turkey I bought when we landed. I’m six-seven. I’m fucking hungry during long travels, and yeah, I stuffed a package of lunchmeat in my winter jacket and kept pulling out slices to eat. Which is why they were losing their shit in laughter. And I caught my lip rising a few times. Receiving the wise-cracks and light-hearted jabs with no malice attached—it feels unreal, and I’m not sure I deserve the brotherhood that I hurt. But every day I plan to prove them, and myself, that I do.

And that emotional trailer just sobered the pub. Maximoff has his arms crossed, and Farrow has a comforting hand on the back of his neck. I hadn’t thought much about what it must be like for Jane, her cousins, and siblings to watch the docuseries. But it must be hard to see their parents so emotionally raw about situations that involve them.

“You could’ve made that a little happier, Jack,” Farrow teases. “Yeah.” Akara smiles. “Way to go, Jack.” “What were you thinkin’, Jack,” Donnelly pipes in. “Dammit, Jack,” Quinn sighs. “Yeah, fuck you, Highland,” Oscar cuts in playfully. Jack is smiling a hundred-watt smile. “I’ll take those as compliments, and honestly, this is one of the best seasons we’ve ever produced. And the longest. The studio gave us twice as many episodes.” I heard that from Jane. She said the season is airing later than expected because they needed more time to edit the footage, and they were given a new air date. April.

It’s good that he asks questions. I’ve led men who try to act cool, pretending they know shit when they know nothing.

Breath smokes the frozen night, and I wrap my jacket over Jane’s shoulders while she burrows her body against my warm chest.

“Were we not just having a good time?” Oscar asks in genuine concern. He opposes his little brother on the stoop of the pub, a twinkling holiday wreath hung on the shut door. Quinn glares. “Bro, just drop it. We’re on-duty.” He tries to walk off, but Oscar grabs his arm, and Quinn rotates and swings. “Quinn!” Joana clutches his waist and drags him back, but his knuckles already met Oscar’s jaw.

“You forced me here,” Beckett sneers at his twin brother. “You want the truth? I expected this from Moffy and Jane, but not from you.” “Are you done?” Charlie glares. Beckett laughs with hurt, breath visible in the cold. “Get me out of here, Charlie.” “No.”

He might hate me right now, but we’re still teammates and willing to die for the same cause.

“Shut…up,” Jane says drunkenly and tries to swat him but she pats the air, and then whacks my cheek. I clasp her hand, almost smiling. In a split-second, she somehow just smothered a raging fire in my body. I don’t lay into him. He hates that.

“Let me give you some advice, Moretti. You should never let girls speak for you and definitely not fight your battles for you. Man the fuck up.”

“Women are better than men. Better fighters, better lovers—and the fact that you come from where I do and can say and believe shit that demeans women makes me sick.” I know his grandma. I know his aunts. I think of my mom, my mom’s wife, my aunts, my grandma, and I wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for a twelve-year-old girl who left Italy with no one ...

I hate passing my drunk girlfriend over to anyone, but she won’t be afraid in his arms. Maximoff cradles Jane while he climbs into the van, and she hangs onto his shoulders and murmurs, “Thatcher?” “It’s me, Janie,” he whispers.

I know basics for car repairs, and I can feel my way through this. But I hate that I have to ease out of the van and drop my boot to the ground. Leaving Jane. Two words I hate thinking. Two words I never want to hear.

“He’s okay.” I take off the washcloth and study her glazed eyes. “Hey, Jane,” Banks says. “You feelin’ any better?” “I suppose…a little.” She presses her fingers to her lips. “I think I’m going to…?” I guide Jane back to the toilet, running my hand up and down her back while she dry heaves.

Banks tells me, “I talked to ma on the phone. She called your number.” Static breaks apart my brother’s voice. “She could tell I wasn’t you within the first three seconds.” My lip rises. “What’d she say?” I’m assuming he explained the twin switch. “She said, you’re a buncha dumbasses, but I love you both the most.”

I laugh, and the sound pulls Jane’s attention onto me. She smiles through the queasy-drunk-feeling. And very definitively, she says, “I love your mom.” The words alm...

my mouth curved up in a permanent smile.

She shivers, the house chilly but I run hot. And she’s only in a blue bra and a skirt that she slowly tries to crawl out of. I help her pull the tutu down her hips and legs, and then I hoist my girlfriend up in my arms. Cradling Jane, I walk back into the cold bedroom. She hangs onto my neck and cuddles up against my body.

I stare at her in my arms with her freckled cheeks and curious eyes, and I can almost see her six years ago.