Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I crack open the door.
“Goodnight, Thatcher.”
I leave.
All the while, her voice stays inside my head.
14
JANE COBALT
“It was practice,” I explain to my best friend. “A practice kiss.”
Maximoff stares at me like I’m talking in a foreign language. Hair damp from a morning shower and towel tied around his waist, he rubs a fist against our bathroom’s fogged mirror. I try not to bump him while I take out my basket of skincare products from the sink cabinet.
We went from sharing this townhouse with just each other to now having three extra roommates: Farrow, Luna, and Sulli.
It makes mornings difficult since we all share one bathroom. Later jumpstarts to my day just means more time to chat with Moffy. At least, that’s the bright spot since we’ve both chosen to take the bathroom last.
I can’t keep secrets from Moffy, and Thatcher can’t keep them from Banks. And I need someone to know this happened.
I cannot take it to my grave.
“Say something,” I tell him.
“You and Thatcher kissed.”
“Say something that doesn’t involve stating facts,” I rephrase and squirt cleanser on my palm.
“Did you like it?” He reaches for his toothbrush.
“Oui.”
He looks at me through the mirror. “Did you do anything else?”
“I wanted to, but we’ve just begun fake-dating. It seems…premature and out of bounds.”
His brows furrow. “Did he want to?”
“Most surely.” I smile, liking how Thatcher and I keep finding ourselves on the same page. I remember my leg brushing his bulge as he lowered me off his waist.
That night, I went to bed with a vibrating sex toy. Imagining that he’d just taken me right there. I understand why he didn’t. I respect the boundaries of his job and the parameters that are set.
“He was hard,” I explain to Moffy, but I quickly clarify that I didn’t actually see anything. I pause in another realization. “Unless his bulge feels that big when he’s soft. I suppose I wouldn’t know. But he seemed hard to me.”
Maximoff solidifies in thought. “Your bodyguard has a literal hard-on for you.”
I lather cleanser on my cheeks. “And yours, you.”
He reanimates, pushing aside razors and grabbing a tube of toothpaste. “Say that a little louder next time you see Farrow. He keeps thinking I’m the one who’s obsessed with him.” He lets out a dry laugh. “In his dreams.”
I smile, but it fades as I see more concern swim in his forest-green eyes.
He’s worried about this situation with Thatcher and me.
“He’s very professional,” I remind Moffy. “Even pretending to date me, he somehow found a way to make that professional.”
I explain the boundaries and how Thatcher and I are not to do anything that doesn’t involve practicing to fool the media.
Which means no sex.
“I just want you to be happy,” he reminds me, “and what you two are doing sounds like edging with no climax.” He squirts toothpaste on bristles. “Which is pretty much torture.”
He’s still cautious about me driving down one-way streets and facing heartbreak since Thatcher is too strict to break rules. But that’s not what’s happening here.
We’re in the same car with the same plan with the same destination.
“It was far from torture,” I say distantly as my phone buzzes on the toilet seat. All uninhibited thoughts about Thatcher Moretti vanish from my mind.
I wipe my palms quickly on a hand towel and then pick up my phone. Maximoff glances over while I read the Caller ID.
“It’s Tom,” I tell him.
Most of my siblings call me at least once a day, and if they don’t, I usually seek them out.
I click into the call and put it on speaker.
“Salut, petit diable,” I say brightly. Hello, little devil.
Tom shouts over loud bass and percussion, currently at band practice. “As-tu parlé à Charlie récemment?!” Have you spoken to Charlie recently?
Maximoff’s brows knit together at the mention of my iconoclastic brother.
They’re both at a better place ever since the FanCon, but I try not to have any expectations. It’s best that way. Because if they start fighting again, I won’t be shadowed in disappointment. And if they do rebuild their friendship, I can be pleasantly surprised.
No expectations.
It’s the best solution.
“I spoke to Charlie yesterday,” I tell Tom. “When he told me that I’m officially the most dramatic Cobalt.”
I spent the majority of last night calling each of my siblings and mom and dad, letting them know my plan to fake date my twenty-eight-year-old bodyguard. It was a quick call to each, and they all voiced their approval in their own way.
We’re a supportive clan but, more importantly, we all love grandiose displays of loyalty. And nothing screams loyalty like shielding a secret from the entire world.
Music fades over the line, so my brother must’ve found a quieter spot.
“Charlie said you’re officially the most dramatic?” Tom scoffs. “Give it a day, Jane Eleanor. Tomorrow, Eliot and I will have you beat. And anyway, you haven’t even announced that you’re dating your bodyguard yet. Call me back when your fake boyfriend wears a shirt with your initials on it.”