Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7)

by Krista Ritchie

  I rest my arms on the wood railing, phone in my hand.

  Alone.

  I’m ignoring the few glances as people try to place my face. Bodyguard to the famous ones. Security Force Omega hottie.

  I suddenly remember my conversation with Jack about cheesesteaks. Without much thought, I pop up his number on my phone. But I think he’s in New York right now. He was shooting some footage of Charlie this afternoon.

  I hesitate.

  Fuck it. I text: Wanna grab an actually good cheesesteak? Meet me here. I drop him a pin of my location. My stomach twists for a solid minute. I expect him to tell me he’s not in Philly, but my phone pings.

  Cool. Be there in ten. – Highland

  My smile hurts my face.

  “Someone looks like they got dicked down real nice.” Donnelly appears behind me with a lopsided grin. He fists a slender can of a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “You wanna spill?” He leans into my shoulder to try and read the text.

  I press the phone-lock fast, the screen now black. “Good dick is good.”

  “Poetry,” Donnelly smirks.

  “I am a poet these days, bro.” I almost grin back, but our banter makes me miss him with me in New York.

  He pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear. “You still into Jack?”

  An image of the other night pops up. Where we fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun rose.

  Yeah.

  “I’m working on it.” I pocket my phone and retie my rolled bandana. “You into anyone lately?”

  He shrugs, then sips his energy drink. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  I glance past him. “Where’s the gentleman?”

  Donnelly laughs. “He’s one.” He points to his dick. “And he’s in need of some nice warm love.”

  “Rub harder next time.”

  “My hand is nothin’ compared to a…” He mimes a blow job with his hand and tongue against the inside of his cheek.

  A lady shoots Donnelly a scathing glare from a picnic table. “There are kids here,” she sneers, a hand covering her daughter’s eyes.

  “Nah, really?” Donnelly lights a cigarette even with a can in his hand. “I just thought that was a mini adult.”

  Her aghast noise is drowned by the click-click of cameras and screech of paparazzi. “Redford’s here,” I say.

  Though, I can’t see yet. Hot sun begins to set, and I shield the shine with my hand.

  But sure enough, cameramen trip over themselves as Farrow and Maximoff saunter down the sidewalk side-by-side. Donnelly and I watch as an on-duty Farrow blocks cameramen from crowding his son and husband. Ripley wiggles his legs in a tactical vest on his chest, and Maximoff is actually carrying Arkham. The puppy acts like a scared, furry baby.

  At this point, their son braves the paparazzi better than their dog.

  Donnelly and I laugh, and we rib Farrow while we try to hop in line. Too many motherfuckers are just clustered together waiting for their order to be called.

  Thankfully, paparazzi aren’t allowed on the deck, but we’re pushed further back towards the railing while fans approach Maximoff and ask for selfies. I’m off-duty and still surveying the area.

  It’s a good habit. Considering a famous one is in our company.

  We stand in a jagged ass line, and we could shoulder our way further in, but doing that would piss off too many people and stoke bad press.

  “Is that Jack Highland?” Donnelly asks, bouncing on his feet.

  Nearly in unison, our heads turn, and we all gaze over the deck railing.

  Jack’s—kid, you not—longboarding down the sidewalk like he’s back on the west coast. His biceps look even more sculpted in a blue-and-green tie-dye tank. Not in a million years did I think I’d fall for some California guy.

  A smile lifts my lips. “Yeah, I invited him,” I say and leave it at that.

  Farrow nods and begins to grin. “You’re hopeless.”

  “I’d like a six-pack of the best beer when my heart breaks.”

  “Nice try, one beer. Warm. Not even chilled.”

  I laugh, and looking down to the street, I stare at my guy.

  “How’s it going, beautiful people?” Jack calls up to us from the curb.

  Better now that you’re here. Maybe my eyes reflect that. His smile looks more overwhelmed, and he has to shift his gaze.

  “Pretty good,” Maximoff calls back. “It’s nice seeing you, man.”

  Understatement.

  “You too, Moffy.” Jack grabs the long skateboard off the ground and begins squeezing through the crowded stairs.

  “Thought you didn’t want us calling you Moffy as a nickname?” Donnelly questions.

  Farrow raises his brows at Maximoff.

  “Jack is different,” he explains, leash in hand. He already put Arkham down, and the puppy drinks from a communal water bowl. Dogs allowed here.

  I chime in, “Meaning, Jack is production.” I almost add, I’d give him special privileges too. My eyes never leave Highland as he pushes through the masses, coming onto the deck.

  He reaches us, and I have to restrain myself from greeting him with a hug. A kiss. Especially as his glittering honey-brown eyes graze over mine, and his lips rise in an even stronger smile.

  “You’re just waiting?” Jack asks everyone.

  “And dreaming of a wiz steak with onions.” Donnelly sips Lightning Bolt! from the same hand that has his cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Been wondering why we’re here, though. Better ones are in South Philly.”

  Jack glows, his grin blinding. “Someone told me they’re better here.”

  “Who?” Donnelly barks.

  “Me.”

  Donnelly shoots me a look and then points to me with his can/cigarette hand. “Sustained.”

  Farrow and I share a look. “What the fuck,” I say into a laugh.

  “When did Donnelly go to law school?” Farrow banters, his smile stretching. “Not a good one either.”

  Donnelly blows a middle-finger kiss. “Xander’s been watching a bunch of Law & Order.”

  We move up the line and pass through the opened double-doors. The counter and overhang menu come into view.

  My arm brushes against Jack’s, and his fingers slip lightly along mine. I’m caging breath, and he’s breathing hard. The story of our lives.

  Donnelly suddenly pats his pockets. “You know what. I’m not that hungry. Later.” He pats Farrow’s back and my back, then shoulders his way out of the restaurant. It happens so quickly—I’m still trying to detach from Jack Highland’s mesmeric aura.

  “What the hell was that?” Farrow asks me.

  “He didn’t have money,” I realize. “Fuck.”

  We all start heading backwards through the opened doors, and instinctively, I reach and clasp Jack’s hand. So he’ll follow.

  We’re not a couple.

  I drop it immediately.

  He’s not even out.

  Fuckfuckfuck.

  Our eyes catch, and apologies ring in mine.

  He mouths, it’s alright. And he pushes my back lightly, encouraging me to keep chasing after my friend.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  Outside on the deck, I quickly see two exits: the stairs or the railing. The stairs are jam-packed, and so without stopping, I hurdle the railing and land softly on the sidewalk below.

  Farrow has to take the stairs, strapped with a baby and on-duty.

  I survey the congested street and squint in the setting sun. Rush-hour traffic, cars honk loudly, and there’s no fucking sign of Donnelly.

  I even jog down the sidewalk and glance along the alleyways.

  Pulse thrashed, I pull out my cell and speed-dial his number. Pressing it to my ear, I growl out, “Pick up, you motherfucker.”

  Farrow, Maximoff, and Jack reach the curb where I’m walking and redialing my friend.

  “No answer?” Farrow asks.

  “He’s in trouble, bro.”

  Farrow
combs a hand through his bleach-white hair. “I don’t know how to fucking help if he keeps pushing us away.”

  I don’t either.

  It scares me.

  Jack drops his longboard and kicks off next to me. “Could he have just forgotten his wallet?”

  “He would’ve asked us to cover him,” I say as we reroute and walk back to Woody’s. “This has to be about what he did…” I trail off. Everyone’s eyes fall to Ripley against Farrow’s chest.

  We lower our voices and stop on the curb as paparazzi sprint toward us.

  “If he’s giving Scottie money in prison,” Maximoff says, “I can pay Donnelly back—”

  “He won’t accept it, Hale. We’re all a bunch of prideful idiots.”

  Farrow wipes a hand down the side of his face. “Shit.”

  Yeah.

  Shit.

  We can’t do anything. Our friend is going to continue down whatever path he’s carved out for himself.

  “Chances are he’s headed back to his apartment,” I tell them, shoving my phone in my pocket.

  Farrow nods. “Let’s grab food, and I’ll bring him back a cheesesteak.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Paparazzi follow Maximoff and Farrow as they head towards the wooden stairs and crowds. Strung multi-colored bulbs suddenly switch-on along Woody’s deck, the sun nearly disappeared.

  I can’t help but focus on how Maximoff wraps an arm around his husband’s shoulders. How they cave into one another and talk quietly.

  A pang returns to my chest.

  “You okay?” Jack rolls up beside me. Stepping off the longboard, he keeps a foot on the top so it won’t slide down the sidewalk.

  I glance back one more time at my best friend. His husband. Baby. And puppy.

  I shouldn’t feel alone with Jack standing right here. But air separates us. Distance. An unbearable ache that we’re both struggling to close.

  As soon as I look back at Highland, I realize he’s not bright and sunny. He shifts, takes a sharp breath, a hand resting on his tensed neck.

  “Are you?” I ask him.

  He goes to speak but chokes on a word.

  Be with me.

  I shut my eyes tightly. He is with me, and I can’t pressure him for more. When I open my eyes, the torment in his gaze is exactly what I feel. We’re in the same ball-pit of anguish. Flailing around.

  He inhales a big breath.

  As he exhales, he asks, “Can you promise me something, Os?”

  “Anything.”

  “Anything?”

  I nod, confident that I’d do just about anything in the world for Jack motherfucking Highland.

  His soft laugh sounds breathless. “Okay, promise me that whatever happens next, you won’t shut the window on me. Promise that it’s wide open and I’m on the other side with you—that it’s you and me and anyone who tries to come in, you’ll help me keep out?”

  Emotion pricks my eyes.

  Strongly, undoubtedly, I tell him, “I promise. It’s Oscar and Jack take on Philly, New York, California, the world—you and me, Long Beach.” I point from my chest to his chest, tears threatening to well.

  One already slides down his jaw.

  He suddenly, mightily, resoundingly bridges the gap—and his lips are on mine. Time freezes. The world recedes, and we clasp each other’s face and kiss and kiss with soul-bearing passion. Hanging on. Like we’re spinning on an axis and headed for the sky.

  Agony vanishes. And a feeling I’ve met once or twice in my life washes over me more powerfully than ever before.

  Our foreheads touch as our lips break, arms around one another’s shoulders, and we’re not escaping our embrace yet. He’s smiling brighter. I’m grinning stronger. My heart beats outside my ribcage, and I breathe, “You just kissed me in public, Highland.”

  In the middle of a sidewalk.

  In front of a packed cheesesteak restaurant.

  In front of my friends.

  In front of paparazzi.

  He kissed me.

  “You kissed me back,” he says in a smile, as if that’d even be a doubt. “So we can officially say that we’re dating, right?”

  I’m so fucking happy.

  “Come on, dude,” he breathes, his eyes sparkling with the light that I feel illuminate inside me.

  “Oh yeah, I’m dating the hell out of you.”

  His heart thumps fast against my chest. I must glance down because he laughs, “You feel that?” His hand rises into my curls.

  I nod. I can’t tell if Jack is scared or nervous or… “You regret—?”

  “No,” he cuts me off quickly. “I’ve never wanted something this badly in my life, Oscar, and I’ve wanted a lot. I’ve gotten a lot. I just haven’t had you.”

  I made a promise, and I’m a hundred-percent committed. Window wide open for him. “You have me now,” I murmur strongly, and we’re about to bring our lips together again when something sails at us—too late to see or catch.

  A cold, wet liquid splashes my cheek.

  Jack…Jack’s covered in strawberry milkshake. Pink liquid drenches his hair and drips down his temple, his jaw, stains his tie-dye tank and soaks the longboard at his feet.

  I shield Highland, swiftly stepping out in front, keeping a protective hand on his chest. I’m not tensing up, not solidifying—too conditioned to stay alert in mayhem, to not freeze in shock. But bodyguard instinct—where was that when he got hit with a fucking milkshake? How did I let that happen?

  I drill a harsh glare at the crowd of cameramen, fans, hecklers, and just baffled people trying to order a fucking cheesesteak.

  “Homewrecker!” a teenage girl, no older than thirteen, yells behind gathering tears. Her finger is pointed at Jack. A Woody’s cup in her grip, remnants of strawberry milkshake drizzling out.

  My head is whirling. My eyes are narrowing. Blood is boiling.

  “Oliveira!” Farrow calls, pushing closer with Maximoff to help defend Jack.

  No. Not good. As much as I love Farrow, he comes with paparazzi, and tactically, I need to get Highland out of here before another teenager chucks their milkshake at him.

  “Redford!” I shout back and raise my arm high, then point down the street.

  He understands, and he takes off with his family in the other direction. Paparazzi always trail after the most famous people in the room. In this case, on the street. And every cameraman races after Maximoff’s heels.

  Leaving us with this.

  “You’re a HOMEWRECKER!” the girl screams the word with every fiber of her being and shrieks a shrill decibel that twitches my face.

  Her friend films on a cellphone, also in tears. “Oscar is with Charlie Cobalt! What are you doing with him?!”

  The moment the milkshake girl’s hatred aimed solely on Jack, I figured out where their emotions stemmed from.

  Oslie.

  Oscar + Charlie.

  The bane of my fucking love life. And their deep attachment to Charlie Cobalt is now coming at Jack’s expense.

  Highland grabs his soaked longboard, and I catch his hand in mine.

  “Let go of him!” the milkshake girl cries. “You’re hurting Oscar!”

  I thought I was largely desensitized to emotional outbursts, but this one is kicking my frustrated ass into rage territory. “I’m holding his hand,” I growl hotly. “Charlie is my client. We’re not together!”

  “Stop lying!” she cries.

  I’m not lying!

  I make an aggravated noise through my clenched teeth.

  Jack fists the back of my shirt, pulling me away.

  She tosses the empty cup at him, and I smack it aside. “Back off!”

  “What did you just tell my daughter?” Her mom emerges from the restaurant with a to-go container. She pushes the girl behind her back. “You’re grown men. You should know better than to be talking to a thirteen-year-old in the middle of the night on the street.”

  I hear Donnelly in my head. Miss, we’re on t
he sidewalk.

  He’d make it worse, but fuck I miss the laugh.

  “I’m not trying to fight with a teenager,” I tell her. “And I’m also not the one who threw a milkshake on another person.”

  Her eyes ping down to her daughter. “Claire?”

  That’s my exit.

  I spin around and walk alongside Jack towards…? “Did you park around here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, two blocks down.” He tries to mop up the milkshake with his dirtied tank.

  “Here.” I grip the back of my tee and pull the fabric over my head. I toss him the shirt. “You take all my clothes anyway, Highland.”

  His lips rise. “You might not see this one again.” He wipes off pink liquid from his hair. “It’s a Summer Fest tee, right?” He inspects the festival logo while I study his reaction to everything that just happened.

  Jack…Highland…

  He senses my silence as we walk. “What’s wrong?”

  His plea to me. Before the kiss. He said, it’s you and me and anyone who tries to come in, you’ll help me keep out?

  You’ll help me keep out.

  “You knew,” I realize. “You knew that if we kissed in public, in front of cameras, you weren’t just coming out. You knew you’d be confronting the Oslie rumors. You knew you’d be ‘the other man’ to Oscar + Charlie.”

  Jack smiles softly. “Understanding public perception is part of my job. And the types of fans who pair you and Charlie are intense. So yeah…I had a good hunch it’d all blow up in my face.”

  “And still, you kissed me?” He knew the cost of being with me was astronomically high, and I had no clue.

  We stop next to a Mazda parked on the street.

  He breathes in. “I would’ve regretted not kissing you. Like I’ve regretted rejecting you in Anacapri.” He swallows hard, rests a hand on his head. “Not to beat around the bush, I’m scared.”

  His fast heartrate. The one I felt after we just kissed in public. It wasn’t regret. It was fear. “About what?” I hold his longboard for him.

  “Of having millions of enemies,” Jack says with reddened eyes, digging in his pocket for car keys. “It overwhelms me when I consider the hatred I’ve seen and filmed for so long is about to be directed at me.”

  It’s crushing me knowing he’s probably right. He’s about to face a tidal wave of negativity. And what can I do?