Page 78 of Lovers Like Us

I bite down.Christ, that feels tender andsore.

“Raise yourarm.”

I stretch my arm upward. The muscle is pretty tight. I rotate my arm—that’s reallytight.

“You need to keep icing it,” Farrowsays.

I nod. Calling his father for advice opens a can of worms, and I’m not sure how much longer I shouldwait.

18

MAXIMOFF HALE

Iwake earlyand forage for cereal in the first lounge. Yawning into my bicep a fuckington.

I think Oscar is behind the wheel, but the privacy door is shut. So I can’t see into the driver’squarters.

Near the bathroom door, a coffee pot sits on a granite counter. I bend down and open a cabinet, finding most of the dryfoods.

I hear movement from the narrowed hall. Where the bunks arelocated.

Farrow climbs out of his. Feet hitting the cold floor. I watch him rub his eyes roughly with the heel of his palm. Hair messy, he’s shirtless, and his drawstring pants hang low on his sculpted waist. Tattooed sparrows peeking out of the elasticband.

God, my chest rises in a shallow breath. My body, brain, and everything in between isbeggingme to abandon my cereal hunt and push him up against thewall.

I’m used to fucking Farrow morning and night—and that routine has been shot to hell with the bus set-up.

Don’t think about jumping his bones. Don’t think about his dick rubbing against your dick. Don’t think about his arms wrapped around you or his hand sliding down your chest and up to yourthroat.

I’m obviously thinking about every position, every embrace—every nerve that wants pricked and lit. I stare off and imagineall ofit.

I blink a couple times to tear out of afantasy.

And his eyes are on mine, his know-it-all smile slowly rising. I kid you not, I have to look away like I’m in fifth fucking grade and worried I’ll spring a boner inclass.

Focus.

Cereal.Right.

I push aside a box of Cocoa Crispies, which belong to Sulli, and that’s when I sense his presence like overwhelming lightning. Raw voltage strikes my body. Head-to-fucking-toe. It ripples down my arms, legs andchest.

Scorchingme.

He leans on the damn counter, his feet right up against me. I have a fantastic view of his bare calves, an inked ship on theleft.

I rub my jaw, my muscles blistering with a million desires.Focus.My gaze narrows to fired pinpoints, and I purposefully ignore him. Continuing mysearch.

“Someone looks like they’re having fun,” hesays.

I’m afraid if I respond it’ll be withfuck me.Right now, that needs to be more of afuck youand not the sexualfuckyou.

Like a real fuck you, fuckyou.

“I’d help you,” Farrow tells me, “but I kind of like thisview.”

I push around a box of Cheerios. “You do love to do that whole towering over me thing.” I don’t even know what the hell I’m trying to findanymore.

This just seems like the bestdistraction.