Page 158 of Sinful Like Us

“More like one water wing.” He lifts a foot on the bench, knee bent. “The Cobalts are definitely too much; the second those cards came out, I would’ve trashed them.”

Farrow might be used to going rouge, but I’m more battle-tested to withstand fucked-up rules. To push through them rather than go around.

I grab another fucked radio from the box. “That’s why I’m dating a Cobalt and you aren’t.”

“No shit.” He smiles.

The corner of my mouth upturns, and we swig beer at the same time. When we look over at Jane and Maximoff, we notice they’re already watching us, their expressions thunderstruck and curious: mouths gaping, eyes cinched, question marks dangling over their heads.

It’s fucking comical.

“He’s too precious.” Farrow grins at him.

Maximoff scowls and flips him off.

It’s strange that my brother is thousands of miles away, Akara is icing me out, and the bodyguard I’m closest to in Scotland is Farrow Redford Keene.

That isn’t lost on me.

But I’m nowhere as shocked as Jane or Maximoff. I almost forget they’re five years younger than us andfamousand not trusting of most people. Other friendships outside their families, especially bodyguards and our rifts, are uncharted lands—and it sparks Jane’s curiosity like ten thousand Roman candles.

She bows forward, knuckles to chin, and eyes shimmering.

I swig my beer. I could be in South Philly this Christmas, left to wonder what the fuck is happening to my girlfriend. Instead I’m here. Knowing Jane is safe.

Keeping her safe.

Sharing in this experience withher.

Can’t ask for more.

As the poker game dies down, Oscar and Donnelly come over and test the waters with me.

Oscar upnods. “If you need pointers, Moretti, we have a professional dick pic photographer on the team.” He squeezes Donnelly’s shoulder.

“Straight up.” Donnelly slips a ballpoint pen behind his ear. “I can make your five-inch wiener look like a foot-long.”

I’ve seen every dick on SFO. Just like they have. Comes with quick-changes on-duty. But this, right here, is the first instance they’ve felt comfortable enough to rib me about my nine-inch cock.

Maybe they realize I won’t reprimand them.

Oscar grins. “Donnelly, if he’s five-inches, you’re a centimeter.”

“Give me a tape measure, man.”

Farrow swallows beer and stands. “I was trying to get away from you fuckers.” He always acts like the three of them aren’t tight, but they spentyearsat an Ivy League together.

The Yale boys are about as solid a friendship as lifelong ride-or-dies.

Donnelly takes his seat next to me, and Farrow ends up staying, his boot on the bench and forearm to his thigh.

I hand Oscar my beer, giving him the rest, and I dispose the dead battery out of a radio. My voice is low as I say, “Jane already took the dick pics.”

Oscar chokes on beer. “Jane took them? So you two are…”

I nod.

Farrow translates. “They’re good.”