Page 109 of Lovers Like Us

She chucks a pillow at him. “Very fuckingfunny.”

Helaughs.

But she’s smiling. “I know I really fucking miss my parents and sister and everyone else, but I like that we’re all together with our bodyguards…this iscool.”

Jane unzips a baggie. “And there are chocolate cookies.” She passes out three cookies, and everyone accepts them butBeckett.

He picks a holiday playlist for the underwear contest. “Christmas” by Darlene Lovebooms.

Cocoa in the cookie is fucking overpowering. I cough in my fist and swig eggnog.Jesus.

“We’re ready!” Akara calls from the ajardoor.

Jane pretends a candy cane is a microphone, angling towards Beckett’s phone as he films, the footage just for us. “I’m your host and one of four judgesJane Kitten.” She bats her lashes. “The Hot, Hot,HotSanta Underwear Contest features the bodyguards of Security Force Omega. Who will win the ultimate prize this Christmas Eve? Let’s see. Starting in alphabetical order, we have…AkaraKitsuwon.”

Akara slips out of the second lounge. Shirtless, muscles cut, and fire-engine red boxer-briefs hug his thighs. He walks the length of the hall towards us, and Sulli whistles in a cat-call.

He mock beauty pageantwaves.

I smile as Jane narrates a bio on the fly, “A Muay Thai pro, this strapping bodyguard just turned twenty-six this December and owns theextraordinaryStudio 9 gym. He’s a bossy boss and a friendlyfriend.”

Akara puts a hand to his heart. He halts at the coffee pot counter, and Beckett tosses him a candycane.

“Akara,” Jane says, “what do you want most thisChristmas?”

Candy cane to his mouth, he says, “Worldpeace.”

We applaud, and Sulli already marks 10 in therunwayandquestioncategories. And they saidI’dbe fucking biased. Akara takes over driving so Oscar can gochange.

“Next up,” Jane narrates as Donnelly emerges, same red color underwear. Differentstyle.

This time, he has on trunks, similar to boxer-briefs, but higher cut on the thigh. A tattoo I’ve never seen peeks out of the elastic band, a scorpion with fire out of itstail.

He blows kisses to us and the invisibleaudience.

“Donnelly, Paul Donnelly,” Jane says, “a twenty-six-year-old Leo and former tattooist. He hails from an Irish household and knows how to kick serious ass in mixed martialarts.”

Donnelly twirls at the end and thenbows.

I’m subconsciously eating these shitty cookies. I finish my third one, and I’m surprised Sulli likes them enough to grab the bag formore.

Jane straightens. “Donnelly, what word best describesyou?”

“Thirsty.”

Beckett cracks up laughing, and Donnelly blows a kiss to the camera. Then he plops down in the booth, waiting for the nextbodyguard.

Mybodyguard.

“Farrow Redford Keene,” Jane says his full name, and Farrow saunters out with casual confidence. Only wearing redbriefs. The cut shows off his thigh muscles and sculpted waist—Christ, his package…the underwear barely holds himin.

And hismanytattoos are on full display. Blood-red swallows fly through the mast of two pirate ships, symmetrical near his collarbones. Between them, half of a skull is inked on his sternum. A candle burns at his wrist, smoke billowing up his forearm and bicep to swarm another skull and crossbones on hisshoulder.

Plus more. All black and gray except for the colorful birds. Allstriking.

His body is an art piece, and he knowsit.

Lookup.