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“Then you must remember how I returned the shirt to you.” Farrow blinks, rifling through his mind for that moment. “At the…Movie on the Green, for Kinney’s 10th birthday. I was there as your mom’s bodyguard.” I nod strongly. “Yeah.”
“I was surprised you didn’t just hold onto the shirt, tear it up in little pieces and paste it in your diary next to all the hearts around my name.”
“I was so damn stubborn. I still am, I know that—but God, I wish I’d just held onto something of yours that meant something to me. Instead, I let it go out of…morality. Because it was wrong to have your clothing in my possession.”
“I’m not a three-month philosophy major like you.” I groan. He could’ve just said “philosophy major” and not mentioned my short timespan in college.
“But…I love you, Maximoff. That’s it. If you need to wear the knife and bracelet I gave you for years for sentimental preservation, then okay. And maybe one day you’ll let me wear them half the time.” I begin to smile through my tears. “Maybe.”
He makes a silly face at the baby, and Ripley cries almost instantly. It’s not personal.
Just me and my husband, and that’s more than enough.
“If you had the opportunity to adopt him, would you?” The question sucks oxygen from my body.
Oscar is right. I want this. But more importantly, I want him. The baby that hates me. The one that wails unless he gets a dumb parrot or wolf scout’s attention.
He’s shit on me. Laughed at me. And finds Maximoff to be the most precious human in the world. It’s perfect. The entire thing. And fuck, I really love him.
“So you didn’t pick me…” Oscar’s brows furrow, hurt cinching his face. Shit. Fuck.
I don’t blame them for wanting pictures of my bachelor party. All of SFO is here, and we’ve always been the hottest fuckers in security.
I read the words, “Maximoff Motherfucking Hale.”
“How many ‘Maximoff’ blocks are there?” Donnelly smirks. “Coulda put more in there.” I’ve already picked four out.
“Consider it a gift, Redford. We know you love pu...
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“No cheating.” Thatcher reaches over to take my phone. I retract and give him a look. “You planning to take the Cobalt name because you sure as hell act like one?”
He almost rolls his eyes, and Banks shoves a bottle of champagne in his twin brother’s chest.
Our boss has been switching between his cellphone, the champagne, back to h...
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That’s what I get for falling in love with an American prince.
Jack Highland’s turn. He scoots nearer to the Jenga tower. He’s been sitting really close to Oscar at the nightclub,
“Which would you suggest? Top or bottom?” He points between a top and bottom block. Okay, I’m not even sure if Highland knows what he’s saying.
Donnelly mouths to me, straight.
But if Oscar catches feelings for a straight boy, we’ll both be here to pick up the pieces. Always are.
Oscar leans back and narrows his eyes at Jack. “Are you asking for sex advice, Long Beach?” Jack laughs. “I wasn’t. But if I were, I would go to you—I’m sure you do well in that department.” Before Oscar can reply, Jack rotates back to the game and says quickly, “I’m serious about the blocks though. Top or bottom?” “For Jenga. Top.”
“So when’s your sex advice column going out?” “Yeah, sign me up.” Donnelly nods. “Not that I need it. Just curiosity and all.” Oscar and I share a look before we crack up laughing.
Jack reads the block in his hand. “Take a shot.” And Oscar pours him a tequila shot and passes the salt and lime.
Yearning surges through me. To be with Maximoff. To be with Ripley. When I should just be enjoying myself.
I texted back asking if he ever woke up, and the next message was from Rose Calloway. She sent a video of Ripley screaming at the top of his lungs.
He’s
Shit, I miss Ripley. He’s only a twenty-minute drive back to the rental house.
while also scanning the nightclub. I’ve pictured Maximoff over at the other bar around forty-one times now. Make it forty-two.
I also agreed to have fun. I am, but it’s harder with him not around. Can’t lie, I like Maximoff’s company. Love it, even.
“Did Maximoff Hale tell a joke to the paparazzi and ask, What do you call a woman with four legs? And he answered his own joke with, doggy style.”
He told that joke when he was five-years-old to a passing cameraman, and he thought doggy style referred to a girl dog. He was just a little innocent kid.
Akara, Banks, Thatcher, and Jack all clap together, most smiling—the Moretti brothers pull off a serious brood too well—and Oscar shoves the champagne back in my chest.
“OSLIE! OSLIEEEE!” a fan screams so loud, we can hear them over the bass. Damn. Oscar’s face sobers. Oslie = Oscar and Charlie.
Banks raises a shot glass. “I’m Team Kitsulli.” Akara punctures him with a glare. There it is. A crooked smile edges Banks’ mouth, and he pounds back the shot.
Akara glances back at Banks, but not with another glare. With a look that I honestly can’t read, and it’s not my business.
Donnelly blows a middle-finger kiss.
“He broke it, so we can all break it?” Donnelly’s fingers hover over his mic, seconds from calling for an update on Xander.
“You boys want to migrate?” I broke one rule tonight. What’s another one? Immediately, they all stand, willing to break this one too.
“You wanna slut, come get me!” Donnelly shouts back. Luna grins.
“You’re mine to take care of, wolf scout.”
“You know what we call you.” “Kinney,” I warn. Charlie mock smiles at my sister. “Something annoying, I presume.” “Audrey, Vada, Nona, and me—we all call you The Wretch.”
What can I say? I crave to protect Maximoff Hale more than I crave tequila shots and a four-hour buzz.
“I was just thinking what we’d do if Ripley snuck out to a bar at fourteen.”
“Fizz Life,” Maximoff amends, gaze faraway. “It’s better for him.”
“It’s the Hale Curse,” Xander says adamantly, speaking louder. Stealing our attention. “What goes wrong will go wrong to a Hale. Why else would the strippers only be sent to Moffy and not Farrow?” Maximoff cuts in, “The Hale Curse is a made-up thing, Summers.”
He’ll go to his grave telling his siblings that it’s bullshit, but I know he somewhat believes in that bullshit too. “I don’t know.” Luna slurps from a dick straw. “Sounds like a Hale conspiracy to me.” Kinney shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m not afraid of any curse.”
“I don’t need your permission to save my husband.” Technically, we’re not married yet, but I don’t give a flying fuck right now.
