Page 77 of Lovers Like Us

“She was hopelessly, madly in love with you, and she was a passionate person. She could’ve felt scorned when you told her you just wanted to be summer camp friends. Don’t you remember, she stopped speaking to you afterthat?”

I sigh heavily, frustrated that I may’ve hurt someone unknowingly. “Maybe.” I glance at Farrow as he crunches upward. “You can add Peaches to yourbrain.”

He’d probably reply, but Thatcher breaches the secondlounge.

We all goquiet.

The security team has no clue that Jane and I know all about the @maximoffdeadhale account. Farrow has “gone rogue” in the teammanytimes before, so it’s not exactly a newdilemma.

Farrow looks more annoyed by Thatcher thananything.

The Omega co-lead pretty much ignores me and Farrow, and he takes a seat near Jane’s feet. She scratches her neck and props herself on her arm. “Thatcher,” shegreets.

“Jane,” he greets too, like they haven’t seen each other all day. Whenclearlytheyhave.

I give Janie a weird look, but she’s tuning me out. I turn to Farrow, but he’s zeroed in on theinteraction.

“Thought you might need this,” Thatcher says as he hands her a hot waterbottle.

Jane gawks in surprise, fingers to her avocado-masked cheek. She clears her throat slightly. “Merci.” She nods tohim.

He nods back and leaves without anotherword.

“What the fuck was that?” Iwhisper.

Farrow glares at Jane. “You can’t likehim.”

“She doesn’t like him,” I say to Farrow. “She would’ve toldme.”

Jane is still staring at the spot where he left. Blue eyes enlarging like a god granted immortality to her cats. “He must’ve seen my Instagram story. I said that I had cramps and forgot to bring a heating pad on the bus.” She glances at the hot water bottle that’ll help hercramps.

“She likes him,” Farrow says in pissed disbelief. “Jane.”

“Who? What?” She finally turns to us and our words seem to register. “No,no.” She shakes her head a few times. “I just find him beautiful to look at. Like an Italian painting. He’s exquisite, don’t youthink?”

“No,” we saytogether.

Jane smiles coyly. “Liars. You both know he’shandsome.”

I don’t say anything and remove my ice pack. Is Thatcher fucking hot? Scruffy, muscular, six-foot-seven and domineering.Yeah.

He’shot.

He could probably star in movies if he wanted to. But Farrow hates him, and Thatcher is dropping off myfavoriteslist.

Farrow narrows his gaze on me. “I’m waiting for you to sayhe’sugly.”

“I’m waiting for you to say the same fucking thing.” I pull my Batman shirt over myhead.

“He’s ugly,” Farrow says distantly, skimming the cut of my biceps and six-pack. Mostly, he hones in on my shoulderblade.

“Agreed,” I lie and motion to Jane. “And?”

“He’s handsome and sweet, and that’s all that’s happening.” She sends us a look that says,do not badger me on senseless things,and she curls back up and tucks her hot water bottle to herstomach.

“Lean forward,” Farrowsays.

I do, my elbows on his knees that still steeple my legs. He has a better view of my shoulder. He presses on themuscle.