Page 135 of Lovers Like Us

Hestands.

And we instinctivelyconnect.

My arms slide around his arms, his arms curve around mine. Our gazes neverseparate.

His pink lips rise even more. “The other day, Luna asked me if you were my sidekick or if I wasyours.”

“What’d you say?” We kiss gently, moving closer. Legs threading. Unable to backaway.

“That there’s no Robin to a Batman, and I said we’d probably be two Batmans—she cut me off and said,no.” Maximoff laughs, his eyes carrying more love than I can express. “She said I was moral to a fault and you can be impulsive, headstrong. We’re fucking different but we’re still two superheroes who’d die for each other. In any era, any alternate universe. Like Captain America and the WinterSolider.”

My chest rises against his, and I whisper, “I can believethat.”

Our embrace strengthens. We hug tighter, tighter, his hand lost in my hair. I hold the back of his head. And his heart thuds in a calm rhythm againstmine.

33

MAXIMOFF HALE

January passes into February,and before I even thinkall is well, a figurative storm slams head-first at every damn one ofus.

Evening sun shines through a tinted hotel window. It’s encroaching 24-hours since my cousins, my little sister, and SFO have been trapped in onedouble-bedroom.

I stand rigid at the window. And I stare out at the Los Angeles street below. No one can see me through the opaque glass, but I seethem.

I seeyou.

Hundreds uponhundredsof bodies pack the road. Not a single piece of pavement or sidewalk in sight. Paparazzi mix with the masses, cameras flashing and flashing. Extra security on the ground has been trying to clear the street for hours, but the swelling crowds look like fans preparing for a music festivalheadliner.

We’re not Red Hot ChiliPeppers.

And this isn’tnormal.

I accounted for more paparazzi at the L.A. FanCon because it’s L.A.—but this chaos isn’t because of theFanCon.

People cram at the hotel exits and entrances. Hoping to catch sight of us when we leave, but we can’t step foot into the hysteria. Fingers and cameras point up at this room, this fuckingwindow.

I see thetweet.

@CherryCarrie:Tenth floor. Third window from the right. Just got confirmation from someone inside the hotel. #HotBodyguards #HMCBodyguards

I don’tmove.

I haven’t slept in 24-hours. My phone rings nonstop, and I’ve tried to fixthis.I can’t stop trying, but now there’s only one solution:stay put, do nothing, wait for the street toclear.

With a long glance behind me, I check oneveryone.

Charlie slouches in the corner, forehead to his knees, hands on the back of his head, frustrated and irritated. I know mycousin.

He likes his space, and he already sacrificed that to join this tour. Now he’s stuck in a small room with elevenpeople.

Beckett is asleep on the edge of a bed. Next to him, Jane, Sulli, and Luna squeeze close and peer at the only laptop, perched on Jane’sthighs.

They’reokay.

But Omegaisn’t.

I’ve neverseen them this tense. Thatcher and Akara seclude themselves in the bathroom for privacy, speaking to the Alpha lead for over twohours.