I can’t help but watch with an infectious smile.
Maximoff nods a few times. “Rewind.” He motions with his mug, and hot tea almost spills again.
My smile grows.
Farrow laughs hard.
“Shut up,” Maximoff groans, nearing a smile. He looks over at me like save me from my bodyguard.
He most definitely does not want to be saved. I cross my ankles and lean forward on the rocking chair. “Tu es tellement amoureux.” You’re so in love. I grab my monstrously large mug off the coffee table.
Maximoff opens his mouth, but then takes a breath. Not protesting or denying, but his lips slowly downturn in deeper thought.
He’s staring at me with greater concern. Maybe, possibly, remembering that I’m closed off and out-of-business to the sort of love he’s found with Farrow.
Or perhaps he’s just remembering all the suitors outside.
Or he could be recalling how last night I quit my assistant position in Calloway Couture, and I hadn’t really even begun. I’m such bad publicity right now with the Cinderella ad, and I don’t want my drama to negatively impact my family’s companies.
So I can’t work for my mom’s fashion line or even Cobalt Inc.
It’s official: I’m back to being jobless, as well as passionless. But I’ll figure something out. One thing at a time.
Whatever is on Moffy’s mind, it’s troubling him. He looks like he wants to dive into deep waters and help me swim to shore.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “We’ve all been through much worse.”
“I don’t care how damn big or small this doomsday is—I don’t like that you’re experiencing one at all.”
I’d feel the same if our positions were reversed right now. Maximoff and Farrow have both been really attentive to my well-being this past week and especially this morning.
“Jaaaaaaane!!”
Our heads turn to the front door. Thankfully the suitors can’t breach the house.
I rest my chin on my knuckles and peek at the staircase. “Should we check on Luna?” My nearly nineteen-year-old cousin is a beautifully brazen, quirky oddball, and I love that she’s been living with us.
Maximoff follows my gaze. “My sister could sleep through a stampede of rhinos. I don’t think she’s dead.” He stiffens, brotherly concern sharpening his cheekbones. “We should go check—”
“You two,” Farrow cuts in, “she’s fine. You checked on her an hour ago.”
“That, we did.” I nod and wrap two palms around my mug.
She was sleeping peacefully. I’m almost positive she stayed up late last night FaceTiming Eliot and Tom, my brothers. Her best friends.
Our bedrooms are on the second-floor, and with both doors cracked, I could hear them talking passionately about my plight. Which includes all the suitors that have now parked their asses on our street.
My brothers think I should change the requirements of the ad. Make “twelve-inch dick” a prerequisite and weed out everyone, and while funny, it’d only cause more headaches and bad press.
Maximoff tries to roll out his stiff neck. “So you saw Thatcher?” He reroutes the topic back to me.
“Oui.” I sip my lukewarm coffee. “We just naturally ran into each other, but he was…a little…well, he was slightly naked.”
“Naked?” Farrow repeats, his brown brows spiking. “Moretti? The fucking hall monitor?”
Maximoff scrunches his face. “What the fuck is slightly naked?”
“Chest high. He was in a towel,” I clarify. “I think I must’ve caught him after a shower.”
Farrow stares up at the ceiling, then looks at me. “You sure you saw Thatcher and not Banks?”
My forehead crinkles in hurt. “Of course I’m sure it was Thatcher. I can tell them apart. Easily.”
Maximoff turns to Farrow. “How’d you even know she ran into Thatcher?”
I’m curious about this too.
He drops his foot off the cushion. “Man, she’s hot and bothered, and there’s only one bodyguard who makes her turn that red.”
Very true.
“But the towel is news to me,” he adds.
Maximoff and Farrow are the only two people I ever told that I’ve been attracted to Thatcher in the past…and the present.
I scratch behind Ophelia’s ears as the fluffy white cat prances by. “It’s nothing, really. Thatcher lives next door, and I went next door, so the probability of an intersection was high.”
I can’t read the room that well at the moment.
So I keep talking, what I shouldn’t do. “It’s not as though I’d ever act on my hot-and-bothered feelings. I don’t trust any dick near my vagina.” Not after Nate. “…although, that’s not completely true because I do trust Thatcher. Naturally. He’s my bodyguard, but he’s off-limits, unattainable, just a man who turns me on. That’s all.” I stop myself.
Thank God.
Maximoff and Farrow are staring at me with piercing concern.
Possibly because I’m speaking about someone they’re not fond of, and I don’t want any of what I just said to feel like betrayal. Like I’m not with them.
I’m with them.
Always.
“You both know my feelings, and they haven’t changed.” I meet their toughened gazes. “I spend so much time with Thatcher, and I want to believe that what he did back in May isn’t who he is. He still shows deep remorse when he’s not as guarded.” I pause. “It’s been four months since he hit you, Farrow, and I don’t think he’s even forgiven himself yet.”
Maximoff and Farrow exchange a strong look together that I can’t understand. Maybe they’ve discussed all-things Thatcher recently without me.
Farrow combs an inked hand through his hair. “I don’t love spending this much energy on a guy that I really don’t give a flying shit about.”
“That’s fair.” I sip my coffee, now cold.
“But,” Farrow says, running a thumb over his hoop lip piercing, “I’m not a petty fucker. He hasn’t even glared at me since your birthday.” Back in June. “And he’s not on my ass while we’re on-duty. Shit, he’s been relatively easy to work with, so something’s changed.” He looks to Maximoff, as though handing the baton over.
Moffy is too rigid to even drink his tea. “Your bodyguard cares about you, Janie. And it’s on a personal level.”
My eyes bug, and shock parts my lips. Of course I notice how considerate Thatcher is. But that’s me seeing my bodyguard hours and hours throughout a single day.
Maximoff and Farrow only witness moments, and I just never thought they’d see even a fraction of his kindness.
“How do you know it’s on a personal level?” I wonder, sweeping both of them for the signs. For the hints and clues that they must’ve read.
Farrow counts off his fingers, beginning with his thumb. “One, Thatcher made an ‘oath’ with you.” He also uses air quotes.
“Just to stay on your detail,” Maximoff adds.
“Correct.” I straighten up a little.
When I told them about the oath, they asked for details but never gave much of an opinion. Not until now, it seems.
“Two.” Farrow raises his pointer finger. “Back in Greece, you weren’t even on speaking terms. It would’ve been easier for that motherfucker to ask for a transfer and just protect someone else. Instead of doing that, he committed to you.”
A smile tugs at my lips, remembering the bonfire. How we took a short walk. How I shivered and he gave me his button-down without a single hesitation.
Maximoff homes in on Farrow’s inked fingers. “Pretty sure your second point is still the oath.”
“Pretty sure I couldn’t care less,” Farrow says easily while taking in all of Maximoff.
He feigns surprise. “I totally forgot you can’t count. I’m sorry, man.”
Farrow rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “Okay, smartass.” They eye each other a little longer, and I’m about to stand to reheat my coffee.
As soon as t
he rocking chair creaks, their heads swerve to me.
“This is about you, ” Maximoff emphasizes. “You time, not us time.” He gestures from his chest to Farrow. “Alright, we’re here for you.”
Farrow rubs his strong jawline, his muscles tensed.
I freeze.
Farrow and I have been deeply concerned about Maximoff feeling guilty about splitting his attention between us. He overthinks about the wrong and right timing and whether he’s being unfair.
In actuality, he’s beyond fair, beyond present for both of us, and Farrow and I just want him to relax and breathe.
I nod confidently and stay seated on the rocking chair. “Let’s hear it then, old chap.” I slide a furtive glance to Farrow, and we share a look of understanding. Protect and love Maximoff Hale.
Maximoff sets down his Batman mug. “By staying on your detail, Thatcher chose the harder path.”
“Right,” I say softly. My cheeks hurt as I try to subdue another smile.
I’m more than appreciative that Thatcher stayed. It shows how much he wanted to be here for me, and I haven’t had that devoted feeling from a bodyguard ever. My first, now-retired, bodyguard never really gave me any hints that he enjoyed my company.
Quinn Oliveira, my second bodyguard, was incredibly kind-hearted, but I was his first client, and so when he was transferred to Luna, he seemed more excited for the new possibilities. Ready to leave.
I love that Thatcher wanted to stay with me, despite all the risks and hardships. Plus, working through a new bodyguard relationship while dealing with the Cinderella ad would’ve been so stressful.
“Three.” Farrow lifts his middle finger. “Bodyguard transfers happen all the time. Guys may have their preferences on who they want to protect, but we all love your family enough to not really give a shit at the end of the day. We’re just happy to be on-duty. You don’t do what Moretti did without liking a client, and I’d know because I’d do whatever it took to stay on Maximoff’s detail.”
I hear what he’s telling me.
So they believe, through the oath, that Thatcher finally showed his cards, and now they know that he must like me on some personal level.
My pulse is on an ascent.
Beating and beating, and I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. “So he likes me on a personal level. I’m attracted to him. It’s not like anything can happen.”
Maximoff pops his knuckles, a bad habit.
Farrow lifts his brows. “Okay, here’s the thing.” He places his oatmeal bowl on the coffee table. “Whatever personal and professional shit that I have going on with Thatcher, that’s between me and him. We’re both twenty-eight, not eighteen. We’d put protecting you two above every fucking thing.”
It’s why Farrow has been okay with Thatcher staying on security, even after the dreaded punch , and why Maximoff was fine with Thatcher remaining on my detail during that time.
They see Thatcher as an experienced, expertly-skilled bodyguard, and they know he’ll keep me safe. Regardless of any bad blood.
So they still trust him, but they don’t like him.
Farrow splays his earpiece cord over his shoulder. “Putting all that shit aside, I’m going to be honest here: Thatcher won’t do what I did. He won’t break the rules for you like I broke them for Maximoff. I can’t even see him breaking a rule for his own twin brother.”
Maximoff brushes a hand through his thick hair. “If he’s unwilling to break those rules, then it’s just going to end badly. Whatever feelings you have for him, Janie, he’s going to crush them.”
I arch my shoulders, inhaling and not exhaling very well. “The only feeling I have is attraction. And I know you want to protect me from heartache, Moffy, but my heart isn’t involved.” I swig a bigger gulp of room temp coffee and lick my lips. “No hearts. No body parts. It’s solely faraway attraction. Love is a two-way street that neither of us are driving down.”
Maximoff stares faraway in thought.
“Famous ones.” Farrow looks between the two of us with slowly rising brows. “Your inexperience is showing.”
I lean forward. “How so?”
Maximoff is still staring off into space, cracking his knuckles.
Farrow has a hard time pulling his gaze off him, but he tells me, “Love can definitely be a one-way street, and trust me, you don’t want to be the one who drives down it.”
“Did you drive down it?” I wonder.
Maximoff tunes in. “Drive where?”
We laugh.
He blinks slowly into a glare. “I apparated to another dimension.”
“Still in Philly, wolf scout.” Farrow smiles wider and then stands up, just to take a seat on the armrest, but he’s much closer to his fiancé.
Maximoff is a wooden board, but his joints reanimate and he wraps a strong arm around Farrow’s shoulders.
Farrow holds Moffy’s waist, his hand dipped beneath his shirt.
They draw closer.
“What were you saying?” Maximoff asks me.
“One-way streets of love,” I explain. “Farrow said they exist, and I asked if he’s driven down one before.”
“Sure,” Farrow answers. “I thought I was in love at thirteen, and that was not reciprocated in the way I wanted.”
“And then Rowin,” Maximoff says, unearthing a name that causes Farrow to roll his eyes into all seven circles of hell.
Farrow’s ex is hated among all of my family and all of security. I was almost tempted to take a page out of my mom’s retaliation handbook, but it’d be like digging up a buried corpse.
Revenge is pointless, my dad would say.
“That fucker was driving down that road all on his own,” Farrow tells Maximoff. “I was nowhere near it.” His palm encases Maximoff’s sharp jaw, and Moffy runs his hand up to the base of Farrow’s skull.
I can tell they’re about to kiss.
Maximoff mutters something under his breath, and Farrow murmurs back, their lips drawing closer—and like he’s injected with a shot of Best Friend Guilt, Maximoff abruptly tears out of the embrace. Stepping to the side, he winces at himself, his nose flaring.
And he plants his apologetic eyes on me.
I wince at Maximoff’s wince. “Moffy—”
“I’m totally focused on you,” he reminds me.
Farrow is nowhere near annoyed. He’s staring more protectively at Maximoff like he just wants to shield him from all his hang-ups and worries.
“Of course you are,” I say with all my heart. “And I don’t mind if you take a minute or even an hour to kiss the man you love.”
His neck reddens. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
Farrow picks up his bowl, trying to stay out of our exchange.
Maximoff’s concern is like a hot blanket. Draping over the whole room. “One-way streets of love—you know those are wrong turns. It’s the do-not-enter street.”
I inhale sharply and try to nod.
He’s afraid I’ll be hurt in this process, and from his vantage, this has to be painful. Here he was able to fall in love with a bodyguard who could reciprocate his feelings tenfold.
And in his mind, here I am—his other half—about to head down a one-way road.
* * *
Ten minutes later, a new pot of coffee is brewing and our plan has officially taken beautiful flight. Like a grasshopper springing off the lawn. “He looks promising.” I pass Maximoff a photograph of a twenty-something athlete with auburn hair, butterscotch eyes, and a hooked nose. “He’s a professional football player.”
I printed out his picture from Instagram. He sent me a direct message last night, along with 4,593 other people.
Not all are suitors.
Reyroo3245 told me to shut up and die.
So unnecessary.
I haven’t checked my DMs since 1 a.m., and I’m sure my inbox is severely bloated. But I’m more timid to sink back into that cesspool.
Maximoff examines the photo. “Yeah
, what kind of twenty-something plays football instead of owning his own sports team. Can we say, underachiever?”
His impression of Grandmother Calloway is spot-on. Those would be her thoughts.
“And he’s not even the star quarterback.”
Maximoff grabs a pushpin. “She’d probably pale at the word football .”
“Far too much tackling,” I note.
He pins the photo onto a corkboard, which we hung on the brick wall. Next to the adjoining door.
I wonder what Thatcher is up to while he’s over there and I’m here. Is he thinking about our run-in from earlier at all?
“Famous ones.”
We look over at the kitchen.
Farrow rests a shoulder casually on the archway, a red apple between his fingers. “While this entire pseudo Criminal Minds episode is entertaining as fuck, what’s the endgame here?”
I rifle through a stack of printed photographs. “Like I said earlier, if we pick a man who our grandmother would absolutely loathe and bring him to her house, she’ll see that the Cinderella ad failed.”
Maximoff studies the twelve photos on the corkboard. “Hopefully once she realizes the ad didn’t work, she’ll back off Janie and stop trying to play matchmaker.”
Our grandmother can’t slide by without understanding how deep this betrayal goes. I don’t want her to ever pull a tactic like this on any of our siblings or cousins.
It ends here.
My mom can be a murderous blizzard, and the day of the ad, she offered to fly straight to Philly from London to chew out her own mother with cold wrath. But I prefer to fight my battles myself, so I’m handling this alone.
Well…with a slight assist from my best friend. And his fiancé. And very soon, I’ll need my bodyguard.
So I’m technically not alone, but as my dad always says, some battles are best fought with a sidekick . These three men are mine.
Farrow rotates his apple in his hand. “Just send your grandmother videos of all the middle-aged dipshits outside trying to harass you, and she’ll regret what she did.”
“My brothers flooded her email and phone last night with clips and articles.” I had my publicist release a statement denying involvement in the Cinderella ad, and most media outlets said I was trying to cowardly backtrack.
Tangled Like Us Page 10