Page 78 of Tangled Like Us

That night, I went to bed with a vibrating sex toy. Imagining that he’d just taken me right there. I understand why he didn’t. I respect the boundaries of his job and the parameters that are set.

“He was hard,” I explain to Moffy, but I quickly clarify that I didn’t actuallyseeanything. I pause in another realization. “Unless his bulge feels that big when he’s soft. I suppose I wouldn’t know. But he seemed hard to me.”

Maximoff solidifies in thought. “Your bodyguard has a literal hard-on for you.”

I lather cleanser on my cheeks. “And yours, you.”

He reanimates, pushing aside razors and grabbing a tube of toothpaste. “Say that a little louder next time you see Farrow. He keeps thinking I’m the one who’s obsessed with him.” He lets out a dry laugh. “In his dreams.”

I smile, but it fades as I see more concern swim in his forest-green eyes.

He’s worried about this situation with Thatcher and me.

“He’s very professional,” I remind Moffy. “Even pretending to date me, he somehow found a way to make that professional.”

I explain the boundaries and how Thatcher and I are not to do anything that doesn’t involve practicing to fool the media.

Which meansno sex.

“I just want you to be happy,” he reminds me, “and what you two are doing sounds like edging with no climax.” He squirts toothpaste on bristles. “Which is pretty much torture.”

He’s still cautious about me driving down one-way streets and facing heartbreak since Thatcher is too strict to break rules. But that’s not what’s happening here.

We’re in the same car with the same plan with the same destination.

“It was far from torture,” I say distantly as my phone buzzes on the toilet seat. All uninhibited thoughts about Thatcher Moretti vanish from my mind.

I wipe my palms quickly on a hand towel and then pick up my phone. Maximoff glances over while I read the Caller ID.

“It’s Tom,” I tell him.

Most of my siblings call me at least once a day, and if they don’t, I usually seek them out.

I click into the call and put it on speaker.

“Salut, petit diable,” I say brightly.Hello, little devil.

Tom shouts over loud bass and percussion, currently at band practice. “As-tu parlé à Charlie récemment?!”Have you spoken to Charlie recently?

Maximoff’s brows knit together at the mention of my iconoclastic brother.

They’re both at a better place ever since the FanCon, but I try not to have any expectations. It’s best that way. Because if they start fighting again, I won’t be shadowed in disappointment. And if they do rebuild their friendship, I can be pleasantly surprised.

No expectations.

It’s the best solution.

“I spoke to Charlie yesterday,” I tell Tom. “When he told me that I’m officially the most dramatic Cobalt.”

I spent the majority of last night calling each of my siblings and mom and dad, letting them know my plan to fake date my twenty-eight-year-old bodyguard. It was a quick call to each, and they all voiced their approval in their own way.

We’re a supportive clan but, more importantly, we all love grandiose displays of loyalty. And nothing screams loyalty like shielding a secret from the entire world.

Music fades over the line, so my brother must’ve found a quieter spot.

“Charlie said you’re officially the most dramatic?” Tom scoffs. “Give it a day, Jane Eleanor. Tomorrow, Eliot and I will have you beat. And anyway, you haven’t even announced that you’re dating your bodyguard yet. Call me back when your fake boyfriend wears a shirt with your initials on it.”

He’s referencing a real event when a pop singer “allegedly” dated a famous actor for publicity. My little sister said they had true love, but I guess we’ll never really know. I recognize very well that that must be how the world feels about my family.