Tangled Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  I glance to Donnelly. He holds up his hands like he doesn’t want to be involved. “I’m cool with whatever she wants to do.”

  I can’t imagine he’d be okay with Maximoff or Farrow knowing. But then again, I’m not that close to Donnelly. He could very well be that confident in his friendship with Farrow. Thinking they can weather this together.

  Turning back to Luna, I realize my heart has been set this whole time. Her brother is my best friend. My brothers are hers. Given the opportunity, I would hope that Luna would keep a secret for me and not spill it to Eliot and Tom.

  And I know Maximoff will understand. My mom taught me that there are some things mightier than friendship.

  Sisterhood.

  “Okay,” I say to Luna. “I won’t say anything to Moffy.”

  Luna charges forward and wraps her gangly arms around my neck, clinging in a tight hug. “If the Thebulan gods were real, they’d anoint you with glitter and a lifetime supply of great sex in thanks for keeping my great sex a secret.”

  I try not to blush. Little does she know, I’ve already been anointed with great sex. And I’m glad her “baseline” has fallen into that category, too.

  We release and I look to Donnelly. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

  “I’d rather die.” Seriousness coats his voice. This is also the same person who has Cobalts Never Die tattooed on his kneecap and is incredibly close to Beckett—my most honest brother. I think there’s a reason for that.

  * * *

  I forgot the condom.

  I return to my bedroom, wide-eyed and dazed. Like possibly I just imagined everything. I close the door behind me, and Thatcher is already on his feet.

  Alert and vigilant, and as soon as he sees me, his concern bears down in a dark wave. “What happened?” He speaks hushed, nearing me. His hand slides along the small of my back, his arm wrapping around me. Pulling me closer to his chest.

  He’s wearing pants now. And a gray crew-neck.

  I crane my head to look up at him, and I start with, “I don’t have a condom.”

  “I don’t fucking care about that.”

  It swells inside of me a little. Because I failed today, as I typically somehow seem to do, and he doesn’t really care.

  “Jane,” he says seriously. “I can tell something happened.”

  I want to share this with him. More than I’ve ever wanted to tell someone anything.

  I haven’t had that feeling with anyone but Moffy before.

  “No one suspected me and you,” I whisper.

  “You ran into someone?”

  “Luna and another person.” I tread carefully because Thatcher is a loyal bodyguard to the entire team. “I’m trusting that what I tell you stays between you and me. A bodyguard is involved.”

  His jaw sets sternly. “Did the bodyguard endanger your family?”

  “No.”

  “Was the bodyguard endangered in some way?”

  “No.”

  “I won’t say anything,” he promises.

  I’ve never been good at brevity. I paint an uncomfortably vivid picture of what I stepped into and all the happenings thereafter.

  Thatcher has a strict hand over his mouth. When I finish, he drops his palm to my hip. Holding me again. “No one can know,” he reaffirms. “Alpha and Epsilon will have Omega by the ass. If they think more of our guys are fucking the clients, no one will be safe.” He’s lumping himself in with the “fucking” part.

  Factually, it’s accurate.

  “She said it was a one-time occasion,” I remind him. “So their risk of being caught again is zero.”

  We stare more knowingly into each other. Our risk is catastrophically high.

  But it will go back to zero once our fake dating ploy ends. And everything will return to the way it was. No more late-night visits from Thatcher Moretti.

  I ignore my sinking stomach.

  36

  THATCHER MORETTI

  We made a plan. One that will unfuck Jane’s guilt.

  The team recently approved her request for a double date. So we’re doing it now. The Tri-Force even threw me a fucking bone and let me pick the double date location in my area of the city.

  South Philly. I chose an old bingo hall—since she’s never been to one before and she asked a million questions when I mentioned how Banks and I used to go as kids with my mom and grandma.

  Bringing her to a place that I remember vividly from my childhood —it’s surreal.

  Jane shifts her metal chair nearer mine during intermission.

  We’re in the middle-left smoking area. I keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings and her, more than my bingo cards.

  She leans close to whisper, “I know we agreed to be direct. But maybe we should be a bit less direct. Subtext could be better.”

  I follow her focus.

  Which is on Maximoff and Farrow, who stand in a winding line several meters away from us. They’re waiting to order hot dogs and nachos at the kitchen window.

  Familiar.

  Everything about this place takes me back.

  The smell: like an old, stuffy wooden gym dipped in an ashtray.

  And the people: disgruntled elderly patrons, who fill most of the long wooden tables and metal foldout chairs.

  Most don’t pay attention to us. Truth is, they’re not interested in twenty-something celebrities. Everyone here is trying to win money. More than ever since Jane and Maximoff made an anonymous donation. They added an extra zero to the end of the winnings.

  The jackpot is five grand.

  They do that wherever they go like its second nature. How they were born and raised and meant to use their wealth.

  My arm is draped around Jane’s shoulders. “There won’t be an easy way to tell them we’re sleeping together.”

  “True.” Jane takes a tense sip of glass-bottled root beer.

  I was going to buy her an actual beer. But I’m on-duty. Farrow is on-duty, and Maximoff doesn’t drink alcohol. Jane said she didn’t want to be the only one drinking tonight. So she asked what I used to get as a kid.

  I came back with two bottles of root beer.

  Jane turns more into my shoulder as she speaks. “But maybe we should ease them in. Start with a simple, we have something to tell you and it’s not terrible. It could be wonderfully funny from certain viewpoints. ”

  I don’t know whose viewpoint would call me fucking Jane wonderfully funny —but it’s definitely not mine. I have a lot of adjectives to describe sex with her and that’s not even a fucking foot near my hundredth list.

  “Direct is better,” I tell Jane. “We don’t want to lead this into a clusterfuck.”

  Ever since Jane swore to protect Luna’s secret, she’s been feeling terrible for keeping two secrets from Maximoff, and I’ve been feeling like shit for keeping one from Banks.

  So we’re unleashing this.

  But looping them in means they have to keep our secret now. Putting a burden on them to relieve ours is selfish. And hard. I know. I already went through this once tonight with my brother.

  I said point-blank, “I’m sleeping with Jane.” Clear-cut. Nothing more, but I was on edge.

  He just laughed and smacked my chest.

  Told me he had a feeling.

  Said he’d never tell a soul.

  And that was that. My relationship with Banks is one of the purest forms of love, and I’m selfishly glad that I have him to confide in again. I’m already thinking about all the shit I want to talk about. Ask him for advice.

  Lord fucking knows I needed his advice weeks ago.

  “They’re on their way back,” Jane says aloud. Straightening up.

  Farrow and Maximoff walk over to the table with four aluminum-wrapped hot dogs and nachos. Their voices audible as they approach.

  “Taste this.” Farrow grins and raises the tray of nachos to Maximoff.

  He glares. “No fucking way. You put jalapeños on it.”

  His lips stretch in a smile
. “In the corner, wolf scout.” He motions to the middle. “Pick a chip over here. Promise you won’t die.” They reach the table.

  “You can’t promise that, man.” Maximoff pulls out two metal chairs. “I could choke on the chip and die.”

  Farrow tilts his head. “I’d give you the Heimlich. I’m your doctor.” They both take their seats.

  Maximoff blinks. “Sounds like you just want to touch me.”

  “I wouldn’t need to be your doctor to touch you. I’m your fiancé ,” he says pointedly.

  Maximoff grimaces, trying not to smile. “I’d rather Janie save me.” He swings his head over to his best friend. His brows suddenly furrow. “You okay? You look super pale.”

  She’s lost some color in her cheeks. “I’m okay. Perfect, actually.”

  Maximoff is more rigid. “You know…lately you’ve been acting seriously weird around me.”

  She gulps her root beer.

  “Like that.” He motions to Jane.

  “Like what?” Her eyes grow.

  He scoots forward and lowers his voice. “You know you can tell me anything. Right?” Both of them look pained.

  And this just started. I can pull this pin for Jane—say what needs to be said in a few words, but I can’t slip into her dynamic with Maximoff. Neither can Farrow.

  “I know I can,” Jane says wholeheartedly to him.

  Farrow scrutinizes me until comms hit us. There’s chatter about crowds amassing outside the bingo hall. We both glance at the extra security posted at the entrance.

  Should be fine.

  His tattooed fingers peel aluminum, and I pick up my bottle of root beer.

  Jane folds her hands on the table. “There is something we’ve been wanting to share with you and Farrow—it’s actually sort of funny…” Her eyes are huge; she didn’t mean to say that, and then she slides me an apologetic look.

  I can’t believe I’m almost smiling. I take a swig of root beer. Keeping my arm around her.

  “By we , you mean…” Maximoff’s eyes drift from me to her. “Thatcher and you—”

  “Take your seats!” the caller announces, a bingo ball just rolled out. “We’re beginning with I-28! I-28!”

  People suddenly shift. The sounds of asses hitting chairs, uncapping paint dabbers, and ripping bingo cards for the next game. And then the hall deadens in silence.

  It’s common courtesy. No one speaks loudly while everyone’s listening to the caller.

  Jane stretches more on the table to stay quiet. “Yes,” she whispers. “Thatcher and I.”

  “G-50! G-50!”

  None of us have started playing this round yet. Numbers light up on the board, and Maximoff puts a hand on the back of Farrow’s neck. Leaning in close so his lips brush his ear. Talking quietly.

  All the while, Farrow is staring at me. I wouldn’t call it a glare.

  Jane leans into my side, and I dip my head down so she can speak to me.

  “I can’t do brief, I’ve realized.” Her breath is warm against my ear.

  “I can,” I remind her.

  She nods. “Please.”

  “I’ll do it,” I confirm. I’d like to rip this off and push forward

  Some people are shooting us looks to shut the fuck up.

  Jane picks up a purple dabber and multitasks while we have to be silent for another minute. Catching up with the numbers.

  She marks my sheets too. Trying to fill-in a postage stamp shape.

  “I-20! I-20!”

  I wait for Maximoff and Farrow to look back at us.

  More numbers are being called, and excitement builds in the hall. People tensing, some smiling the closer they are to a bingo .

  I hear double doors opening from commotion outside. My head turns, and I watch them slam shut. Late arrivals just came in.

  No.

  My eyes sear.

  Jane must sense the strain in my muscles. Because she follows my narrowed gaze to Tony Ramella. He just walked in, his arm hooked around his grandma.

  He’s off-duty. Xander must be safe at home. But Tony has to know we’re all here.

  Seeing him almost instantly pisses me off, and I’m on-duty. I’m on fucking duty. I can’t let my anger or past grievances distract me. My blood simmers, and I roll up my red flannel sleeves.

  “B-5! B-5!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony shuffling slowly at Michelina’s pace. Headed to the long table to buy booklets.

  “N-42!”

  “BINGO!” Two women shout at nearly the same time. Groans fill the hall and tears of paper.

  We have time as the caller verifies the bingo and goes to the next round. Five to ten minutes. People already talk and stand to use the restroom and to grab chow.

  Maximoff and Farrow finally turn their heads back to us.

  I let it out. “Jane and I are having sex.”

  “No shit.” Farrow pops a chip in his mouth.

  “For real,” Jane whispers, probably thinking he thinks we’re playing into the fake dating op. “I love sex, and these past few weeks, Thatcher and I have found ourselves inexplicably tangled together. In bed, and more metaphorically, and because we love sex, which I already mentioned, and…say something, please.” She’s looking at Maximoff, who’s stoic and harder to read.

  He lifts his squared shoulders. “I don’t know…Farrow kept telling me you two were banging, and I feel like a fucking idiot not believing the signs.” He winces, holding her gaze. “But I just thought that you’d tell me, Janie. Nowhere in my mind did I think you wouldn’t. And I know you’re telling me now…I’m just confused why you wouldn’t sooner. You felt like I’d be angry? I’m not, I’m not .” He tries to reassure her quickly.

  “It’s not that.” She shakes her head repeatedly, blinking back tears. “I knew you’d be terribly happy if I’m happy, and I am.”

  Good to hear. Except that this has an ending. You knew this couldn’t last, Thatcher.

  Don’t stop forgetting that.

  I have to partially listen to comms. Farrow looks to his three o’clock. We’re being given details on the crowds outside.

  Growing hostile.

  Jane touches her heart. “You and Farrow just found yourselves free of all secrets. You’re the happiest I’ve seen you, and I didn’t want you to have to skirt around the security team again. Especially while you’re in pre-wedding bliss.”

  Farrow smiles teasingly at Maximoff.

  He groans. “I’m in pre-wedding nothing. We haven’t even figured out a wedding location, and if this is going to put distance between us, then you need to tell me what I can do to fix it. Because I want you to feel like you can come to me and share things with me right when you want to share them. Not because you feel like you can’t.”

  Jane takes a strong breath and reaches out to touch his hand. “Can we make a promise? Don’t shut me out of your wedding planning because you feel like my life takes precedence, and I’ll share my life with you because I want to—and you truly have no idea just how unequivocally I am dying to.”

  They’re both already standing and hugging across the table. They talk to each other more quietly.

  I lower my voice and nod to Farrow who lights a cigarette. “Did you tell anyone else you thought me and her were having sex?”

  “Fuck no,” he says, blowing smoke off to the side. He slides me the pack.

  It’s a small peace offering that I don’t deserve. But I take out a cigarette.

  “Your family is getting harassed in South Philly.” That’s why he’s treating me like a friend. Because he just went through this.

  I nod once. Journalists keep knocking on my mom’s door, and more recently, paparazzi have trailed her car. “My uncles are taking care of it.” I light a cigarette, taking a short drag. Most guys on the team are recreational smokers. Some are habitual, or like my brother, trying to kick it.

  On-duty and off.

  It helps us stay awake.

  I hawk-eye the entrance, and b
efore the bingo caller starts the next round soon, I ask Farrow, “How’d you know about Jane and me?”

  Jane and Maximoff sit back down. Hearing this.

  “We’ve been careful,” Jane whispers to us, “and we’ll continue to be.”

  I’m not bringing up the end-date. Neither is she.

  Farrow blows a line of smoke away from Maximoff. “I’m a bodyguard and I notice shit.”

  I grit down because that doesn’t bode well for keeping this secret from the team. I glance at Jane, and she sends me an alarmed look.

  She scoots forward toward Farrow. “You think the rest of security will find out?”

  “No.” He taps ash. “Because I’m the only bodyguard who lives in the same townhouse as you. See, you came downstairs every morning with a giddy as fuck smile like you just got laid. And not from a sex toy.”

  Jane downs the rest of her root beer, then tells me, “If I’d known I have a terrible post-sex poker-face, I would’ve practiced.”

  I wish I could’ve seen her those mornings.

  Don’t wish that. “It makes this easier,” I tell Jane. She knows I’m referring to them already slightly knowing, but as far as Farrow and me… “You don’t care that I’m sleeping with her?”

  “I’m not your mom or your conscience, Moretti. But you are a fucking hypocrite.”

  I nod. Not disagreeing. “You need me to tattoo it on my ass?”

  His brows spike. “Would you?”

  I wouldn’t care. “Why not?”

  When he sees that I’m serious, because I always fucking am, he laughs into a smile. “This can definitely be arranged—”

  “Can’t you put a different word on his ass?” Jane asks, bartering for me.

  I’m about to speak, Farrow is too. But we both go quiet. Noticing Tony approaching the table from my side.

  I snuff out my cigarette. He has to come say hi or else Michelina will chew him out.

  “Hey.” Tony checks back on the bingo caller, still not ready for the next round, then looks to Jane. “How about them Eagles, huh?” He smiles and tries to perch his hands on the back of her chair.

  I extend my arm, blocking him. “No.”