Page 123 of Alphas Like Us

Jane slides over the dirty martini. “Here, Sulli,” she says. “I’ve named this drink You Can’t Say No To A StubbornMaximoff.”

Sulli smiles. “Yeah, fucking feels that way.” She tilts her head to me and holds the martini. “You know you’re as hardheaded as my dad.” She cringes. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean—”to compare me tohim.

“It’s alright,” I say truthfully, and I catch Jack’s warm smile behind thecamera.

I know how much I’m like Ryke Meadows, and I’ve been reaching a place where I can be proud of the similarities. I no longer feel like who I am is a knock against my dad. And I’ve realizedsomething.

My dad raised me to be like Ryke. Because he loved his brother more than he lovedhimself.

That’s the hard truth. Because I just wish I could reach back in time and tell my dad that he’d have a son who loves him so goddamn much, and then maybe he’d realize that he’s worthy of being lovedtoo.

Sulli sips the dirtymartini.

“How is it?” I ask while Jane shakes another nonalcoholic one forme.

“Strong.” Sulli smacks her lips together. “But most drinks taste fucking strong to me.” She goes in for anothersip.

“Good sign,” I tell Jane while Sulli gulps theliquor.

My best friend smiles brightly and procures a clean martiniglass.

Sulli rotates slightly to Akara. “You want to drink, Kits? I can get a temp bodyguard for the night. You can go off-duty.”

Akara fixes his earpiece. “Not tonight, Sul. But I appreciate theoffer.”

She faces the bar, lost in thought, and then she takes anothersip.

Jane polishes a glass and makes a concerted effort to angle away from Thatcher. About this time, she’d be chatting to her bodyguard and tripping over her words like she normally does around him. I almost feel badly that she’s lost someone to talk to, even if he doesn’t say a lot back, but then I picture the welt on Farrow’sface.

And my sympathydies.

Thatcher braves another glance at Janie, and his hand slides over his hard, scruffy jaw. The longer he looks at her, the more frazzled my best friendbecomes.

She fumbles with a shaker. “Thatc—” Her voices dies in a croak, and she clears her throat. “Thatdrink”—she motions to the polished glass—“is…empty. But just wait, Moffy, it’ll be dreadfullybeautiful.”

“Je n'ai aucun doute,” I say.I have nodoubt.

All I know is that Janie deserves the best, and Thatcher is one of the only names on my very short shit list. He’s not the fuckingbest.

He’s far fromit.

On impulse, I glance at my wristwatch. Thirty minutes have passed, and Farrow still isn’there.

I just hope he’sokay.

21

FARROW KEENE

“Farrow, look here! Look here!”

I’m not looking at these fuckers. Paparazzi try to be blood-sucking ticks, but for me, they’re more like gnats. Cameras swarm me and my parked motorcycle while I pull off myhelmet.

“Lookhere!!”

“What’d you do at thehospital?!”

“How are you,Farrow?!”