“He broke it, so we can all break it?” Donnelly’s fingers hover over his mic, seconds from calling for an update on Xander.
“No,” Akara says. “Don’t jam up comms.”
Jasper’s voice comes through. “Uh, yeah…he’s okay…”
Everyone collectively goes rigid.
That sounded too cagey.
Akara clicks his mic and starts asking for detailed updates.
And then, my phone pings with a text.
From my groom.
Did you hire strippers to come over here? Some showed up – Maximoff
I have a hand over my mouth, re-skimming that message. The only request we had about our bachelor parties: no strippers. The thought of a set of breasts or another dick rubbing up on Maximoff is what I’d consider hell.
Maximoff felt the same, and I thought he’d burst a blood vessel when we just talked about strippers. We’re territorial assholes.
I look up at Jack and all of SFO. “Did any of you fuckers hire strippers?”
“What?” Donnelly is shocked.
Oscar shakes his head, and Thatcher’s brows knit together, confused. They all are, and while I text him back, I tell them, “There are strippers at the other party.”
“Shit,” Oscar mutters, his eyes softening on me.
I’m mostly concerned that Maximoff is in crisis-doomsday-mode right now, and I’m not with him.
I send the message: No one here hired strippers for you or me. And I pocket my phone. “You boys want to migrate?” I broke one rule tonight. What’s another one?
Immediately, they all stand, willing to break this one too.
24
MAXIMOFF HALE
What…the fuck.
DEAFCON 1 is here. In the form of three chiseled male strippers, the bulkiest one approaching in nothing but a metallic-silver G-string. I slide my phone in my back pocket.
Farrow and SFO didn’t order them, and I’d ask Janie about it, but to get to her, I have to pass Silver G-String and his gelled brown hair. I think his muscles are glistening.
Did he oil himself?
Jesus Christ.
Shock roots me in place. I linger near the bar, four temp bodyguards separate me from the stripper, and all of security are talking in their mics, their stoic expressions hard to read.
I wonder if they think someone in the wedding party hired the half-naked men, which is why I’m not surprised when the temps let Silver G-String pass.
Fuck.
“Hey, Groom.” He reaches me with a warm, flirtatious smile. “You might be having a good time, but it’s about to get better.”
My natural instinct isn’t to run away. Isn’t even to tell this guy to fuck off. Because he’s just doing his job. He’s here—for some reason—and I don’t want to be a dick at his workplace. This is his workplace, right? Technically, he’s at work—and okay, I don’t know why I’m thinking about this of all things.
The stripper steps closer.
People invade my personal space all the time. It usually doesn’t bother me, but this is one of those gray areas that makes me uncomfortable. Worse, I start thinking about how Rowin encroached my space on the yacht, and a chill slithers down my spine.
Instinctually, I just want to throw a punch. To get him away from me as fast as possible. But I war with that instinct. Because I’m doing this thing now where I try not to blow a fuse.
Unfortunately, restraint has put me in a silent, shocked and frozen state. I manage to say, “I’m not interested, man. But thanks anyway.”
“It’s okay, I don’t bite.”
“No, I’m serious.”
Silver G-String smiles seductively (he’s not even close to seducing me). “You must be a shy one.”
I shake my head.
“Don’t think,” he says huskily, “and you’ll enjoy the ride.” He bridges the distance and thrusts his hips in my direction, trying to grind on me.
I snap.
And I shove him. I thought my force was light, but he stumbles back and hits the edge of the bar. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I growl, a fifty-ton severity icing my voice. “I’m not joking around.”
Jasper, my temp, overhears and seizes the stripper around the shoulders. Finally, he realizes they’re not supposed to be here.
My pulse rumbles in my veins, and I watch as more temp bodyguards pop into action, ushering the three strippers towards the other side of the bar. They might have been slow to intervene, but at least they’re intervening. Progress, right.
Jane and Luna rush towards me.
“Are you okay?” Janie asks, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” Before I shoved him, at least there was still an inch of space between us. He was grinding air. That makes me feel a bit better. Farrow and I agreed no strippers—and I’m not sure why they’re here, but it doesn’t change the fact that they crashed the party.
And Janie found a pretty cool place tonight. Retro remixes blast in the beach-decorated bar. Outfitted with inflatable palm trees, a sandy dance floor, and sky-painted ceiling. Adrenaline still pumps in my body, not coming down as the music beats louder.
Sulli approaches, and Luna and Jane quickly fill my cousin in on the first (let’s hope last) bachelor party shocker.
“Moffy almost punched a stripper?” Sulli asks slack-jawed. “Oh fuck, I missed it—are you okay, Mof?”
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my thick hair. “I only lightly shoved him out of my personal space.” I want to prove to myself, more than anyone, that I have some self-restraint.
More than Farrow.
Who am I kidding—if a chiseled male stripper, only wearing a metallic G-string encroached him, he’d probably smile that annoying smile and stroll away like he’s the hottest shit in the bar. Not stand like Hades with blue flames bursting from his skull.
“You didn’t order them, Janie?” I haven’t asked yet because I just figured she would never if I said not to.
“Of course not.” She texts fast, then looks up. “No one in our family hired them either.” She slips her phone in a watermelon clutch.
“What about SFO?” Sulli wonders.
I shake my head. “I already asked. It wasn’t them.”
“The mystery persists,” Luna sing-songs, swaying on a swing at the bar. No stools here.
Tonight has really been fun partying with my siblings and cousins, and I won’t let a bunch of surprise strippers dampen what’s been a great time.
And who sent them isn’t as important right now. As long as they’re detained.
I try not to check my phone. Every couple minutes, I’ve been taking out my cell to scroll through photos of Ripley and Farrow together. It amps up my longing to see them, and I want to stay in the moment tonight. As best I can, at least.
“Let’s go dance!” I shout over the thumping bass.
“Wait!” Sulli tears open a plastic pouch with her teeth. Inside: penis straws. She plops one in each of our cups. “You’re about to get fucking married! You gotta suck a plastic dick.”
We all laugh and tip our glasses together in cheers.
Janie sips on a fruity drink in a hollowed pineapple, via a blue dick straw. Condensation from my plastic cup wets my hand, the lemonade pretty full, and I’m about to take a sip. But I spot my brother chilling alone in a corner lounge. Coastal lanterns light up the wicker furniture with a warm glow.
“I’ll be back!” I tell them.
The girls chat and laugh together while I leave.
I touch the arm of a wicker couch and lower on a sailboat-printed cushion. Right across from Xander. He slumps in a chair. Hood drawn further over his head, and he nurses a water bottle.
Even though he’s sixteen, the bar manager allowed my underage family to enter, but if they see anyone under 21 drinking alcohol, we’ll all be kicked out.
I’m ten out of ten impressed that he’s here tonight. And really happy. My brother could’ve easily stayed back at the rental house with our parents.
“Want to come dance, Summers?” I smile at him.
His lip almost upturns at me. He sits up more and shrugs. His eyes pass over the strangers inside the bar.
I’ve kind of tuned out most of the random people. The bar is filled to the brim. At capacity. But in order to get in, they all had to give the bouncers their cellphones and sign NDAs. With zero cameras pointed at us, I feel less like I’m an animal at a zoo.
Xander bites his thumbnail and spits it out on the sand. “You think they’re having more fun over at the nightclub?”
“No way. We’re the coolest.”
He actually smiles.
Mention of Farrow and his bachelor party makes me wish he were here. I glance over at the entrance, my heart clenching.
Xander cranes his neck. “Uh, is that a stripper?”
I follow his gaze. Security is escorting the three strippers out of the bar. “Yep. We have no clue who hired them.”
“I bet it was an online prank.”
My brows furrow. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Seems like an internet joke. Send strippers to Maximoff Hale’s bachelor party.”
Great.
Thanks for the strippers. You can have them back.
I shake my Rainbow Brigade bracelet further down my wrist. Kinney gave the black and rainbow-colored bracelets to me, Farrow, Oscar, and Tom for tonight, and she shot our dad an epic death-glare as she did so.
I have a lot of cousins. You know that, and you also know our ages and who is here.
Xander, 16.
Ben, 17.
Tom and Luna, 19.
Eliot, 20.
Charlie, Beckett, and Sulli, 21.
Jane, recently turned 24.
Missing in action are the four youngest girls: Winona and Vada, 15—and Kinney and Audrey, 14. You’ve been wondering why. What you don’t know: the girl squad wasn’t invited to the bar, just on the fact that they’re under-16. It wasn’t just my rule.
That was all of our parents.
I had a bachelor “brunch” this morning with the younger girls so they could feel included.
Luna jogs up to the wicker lounge area. “Xander, come dance!” She tries to pull my brother off the couch.
I leave my lemonade and stand up.
“There are people watching.” Xander reluctantly shakes her off. He wants to dance.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” Luna begs. “I’ll block you. Human shield.” She outstretches her arms. My smile grows, and my brother is smiling too.
I grab his hand. “Come on, Summers.” He rises as I tug him up, and I sling an arm around his toned shoulders and mess his hair.
“Just one song!” Xander shouts, but he’s bouncing his head to the beat. He has really good rhythm like Luna, and alone at our house, he’d be breakdancing by now.
Right as we step onto the sandy floor, heads start whirling—but not in our direction. Everyone’s attention and bubbling excitement is plastered at the entrance. On a parade of familiar bodyguards.
SFO is here.
And you know them now. All seven.
“OH MY GOD!” girls shriek.
I try not to smile or act too eager. But subtly, my eyes graze over the masses, hunting for him.
Farrow weaves between bodies, his radio mic attached to the collar of a black button-down. Sleeves rolled, tattoos cascade down his arms. His shirt molds his lean, muscular build—stop staring.
My brain receives the message and denies the order.
Is he coming over here or going to the bar?
I can’t tell, and suddenly, all my cousins bum-rush the dance floor, joining me and my siblings. We jump together as a remix of “Space Jam” plays, and my pulse thumps in anticipation.
He’s not coming over here.
I lose sight of Farrow in the bouncing throngs. He probably just stopped by to talk to the temp bodyguards.
Shoving away disappointment, I shake my brother’s shoulders. He smiles at me and bobs his head more.
Jane hooks her arm around my shoulders, the muscle no longer sore. “You’re going to be married in four weeks!”
My smile aches my cheeks. “You sure we’re not in another universe?”
“Definitely not! This universe is decidedly reserved for happiness! And you deserve that and more!!”
“Toi aussi!” So do you. I kiss her cheek.
She squeezes me in a side-hug before letting go, and that’s when SFO joins the dance pit. Thatcher catches Jane’s hand and twirls her into his chest. She collides into him and looks up at his towering height, breathless.
Where is Farrow? I jump slower and scan the bodyguards for the missing one.
“Looking for me?” Farrow whispers against my ear.
My face revolts against me. I instantly smile. And I force my lips down, somewhat, before rotating to him. Only an inch shorter, we’re pretty eye-level.
“No,” I retort, his mouth too close to mine.
His brows rise.
“Not even a little bit.” I stare at his lips. “I was admiring the lights.”
“Okay.”
My eyes drift to his cheekbone where little x’s are marked on his skin. I press my hand to his cheek like my fingers are drawn there by some invisible pull. “What’s this?”
He grins. “A game.”
A game?
Longing pumps in me. I wish I had been there with him. But I’ve played enough party games to connect some of the dots. “I take it these are all the times you lost.” My hand falls to my side. “I thought the object of the game is to not lose?”
“You’re such a smartass.” But he’s looking at me like I’m that and more. “I won more than I lost.” His smile recedes suddenly, his concern brushing over me. “You’re doing okay?”
I feign surprise. “Didn’t you hear?” I have to shout as the music booms. “I got a lap dance from Magic Mike!”
His face falls.
My stomach clenches. “Just kidding!”
Farrow glances to his left, then back to me. His concern tighter on me. “He touch you?!”
I lick my lips, almost smiling. I don’t know…it feels good that he cares. Not a lot of people really do when it comes to unwanted hands on me. “No, I’m okay!”
He checks me out, then nods.
To avoid shouting more, I lean into Farrow, and his hand caresses the back of my head—Christ. Blood pools south, throbbing me. I say against his ear, “I just don’t know who hired the strippers.”
His jaw skims my jaw as he replies. “Security found out already. Some random dipshits online ordered them.”
My brother was right.
It wouldn’t be hard for fans to figure out which bar we’re at in Key West and send the strippers here.
“Are you all staying?” I ask Farrow.
He gives me a slow-burning once-over. “You want me to?”
I lift a shoulder. “Sort of.”
“Sort of,” he repeats with a laugh. “I ‘sort of’ want to stay too.” He uses air quotes and then rests a hand on my waist. “If that’s okay—”
“Yeah,” I say way too fast. Goddammit.
He grins like I just orgasmed from his hand. He lifts his brows in a teasing wave, and my eyes betray me and growl out a, kiss me, man.
He sucks in a breath. “Can’t, wolf scout. Sorry.” He’s being serious, by the way. Farrow has been drinking tonight, and he’s respectful of my sobriety.
“Can’t what?” My brows knot, and I play hard to get and back off. I dance with my brother as a new song plays.
Farrow rolls his eyes, but don’t let my bodyguard fool you. His gaze is super-glued to me. Omega bodyguards and my family all end up moving to the beat and clapping together.
And I realize SFO might be considered “off-duty” but they’re all in protection mode. Even as they dance, they create this perimeter around me and my sister, brother, and cousins.
I stay close to Xander while we bob to the music, and a throng of incoming girls bounces t
owards Xander, about to shimmy up against him. Effortlessly, Donnelly sideslips behind Xander, and like he’s wing-manning my brother, he dances with the girls and uses the rhythm to guide them away from our area.
It’s not just that one instance or even just Donnelly.
The coy, almost unseen protection happens around us with other SFO bodyguards and my family—and this is one of the many times that I’m just really damn happy they’re here.
They don’t have to care about us.
They don’t even have to shield us right now. Their friend is one of the grooms. Easily, they could be shit-faced plastered, and I wouldn’t fault them. But they’re choosing this. To keep us safe.
Luna does a “grocery checkout” dance move. I look down and wish I hadn’t.
I cringe at Farrow. And I’m rigid, more protective of my sister.
He frowns.
I lean into him and say, “I just saw my sister’s thong.”
He laughs hard, amusement behind his brown eyes.
Her thong sticks out of low-rise jeans. Pants seem hot in the humid Florida summer. That’s what I’m thinking about, just to wash the image from my brain. I know the jeans are purposeful. She hasn’t shown off her tattoo yet, in fear of our dad’s reaction.
“Slut!” a guy yells at my sister.
My eyes narrow.
Farrow holds my hand, as though to say, easy, wolf scout.
“You wanna slut, come get me!” Donnelly shouts back.
Luna grins.
“Moffy.” Sulli touches my other wrist, heat and hurt blazing in her green eyes. Her squared jaw set tight, bearing down on emotion.
Fuck. I go on total lockdown. “What happened?”
She’s near tears of rage and pain, and I need off the dancefloor so I can hear her. I turn back towards my brother and sister, and Farrow already leans in and says, “Quinn and Donnelly are watching them.”
“Are you staying back?” I question.
His lip lifts. “He forgot already.” He clasps my jaw and whispers against my ear, “You’re mine to take care of, wolf scout.”
“Right.” I nod. He’s been in positions lately where he’s had to prioritize my family above me, and I guess it slipped that he’s my 24/7 detail and required to follow me everywhere. “Still haven’t forgotten you’re my bodyguard. Can’t forget.”
Headstrong Like Us Page 23
