Page 9 of Lovers Like Us

“You’re stalling, Maximoff.Soeither you’re really nervous to hear Jane out,” Farrow says in a deep, rough whisper, “or you’re obsessed withme.”

For Christ’s sake. His words fist mycock.

His satisfied smile stretches from cheek-to-cheek. Somewhere in some alternate universe, I’m a philosopher writing dissertations on that fucking smile. And its sheer effect onme.

Farrow says, “I’mflattered.”

I groan out my agitation. Blood pumps south, my cock still not understanding. “I’m mildly, somewhat attracted to you,” I tell him. “That’s so far fromobsession, I can’t even reach the word in fivemillenniums.”

“Mildly, somewhat,” he repeats softly, his gaze dancing across my features. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and silver piercing. The air isheadier.

My chest rises in a deeper breath, and I close the two-footdistance.

Farrow clutches my sharp jaw, his large palm warm. I clasp the back of his neck, my hand rising to his black hair. Our mouths teasingly close but nottouching.

I walk him backwards. Until his muscular shoulders hit the door again and our legs thread. He lets me take the lead fornow.

I breathe, “Did you hear the part where I said I’m not obsessed withyou?”

His brown eyes flit to my mouth, then backup.

Kiss me,man.

“Did you hear the part where I said you’re nervous?” His graveled voice wraps me up likesafety.

I nod. “Yeah.”I’m kind of fucking anxious.In a lot of ways, I want this guy by my side, but reality slamshard.

And I pullback.

Our handsdrop.

We both look disappointed, but I just tell him the truth, “You shouldn’t be late to your SFOmeeting.”

He rolls his eyes. “Itisn’t a formal meeting. If you need me, I can be with you while you talk toJane—”

“No,” I cut him off and take another step back, a knife in my ribs. “You shouldn’t bail on Akara after he stuck his neck out for us. Not because of me.” I quickly add, “I’m fine on my own. I always am.” I cringe at my choice of words, ones that remind me ofCharlieon thatyacht.

Fuck.

Farrow notices. “Your face says you’re notfine.”

I try to pull my features. “Then stop staring at my fuckingface.”

Farrow tilts his head back and forth. “No.”

I rock at the firmness of thatno. “What?”

“You heard me.” Farrow taps the doorknob with his thumb ring, theclick clickfilling our short silence. “You’resmiling.”

Fuck me.I rub my mouth a couple times. Yeah, I was smiling like a damn idiot. “I don’t know what you’re talkingabout.”

“Sure youdon’t.”

I swear he’s one second from pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. I breathe hot breath through my nose, and my muscles almost unconsciouslyflex.

I’d like to say that my body isn’t listening to my brain, but both have bought and madeTeam FarrowT-shirts against better fucking judgment. There’s some place in me—a pinky…a microscopic nerve-ending in my frontal lobe—that tries toresist.

I backtrack the conversation. “I promise you, I’m fine. I can survivetwohundreddecades withoutyou.”