His jaw sets sternly. “Did the bodyguard endanger your family?”
“No.”
“Was the bodyguard endangered in some way?”
“No.”
“I won’t say anything,” he promises.
I’ve never been good at brevity. I paint an uncomfortably vivid picture of what I stepped into and all the happenings thereafter.
Thatcher has a strict hand over his mouth. When I finish, he drops his palm to my hip. Holding me again. “No one can know,” he reaffirms. “Alpha and Epsilon will have Omega by the ass. If they think more of our guys are fucking the clients, no one will be safe.” He’s lumping himself in with the “fucking” part.
Factually, it’s accurate.
“She said it was a one-time occasion,” I remind him. “So their risk of being caught again is zero.”
We stare more knowingly into each other. Our risk is catastrophically high.
But it will go back to zero once our fake dating ploy ends. And everything will return to the way it was. No more late-night visits from Thatcher Moretti.
I ignore my sinking stomach.
36
THATCHER MORETTI
We made a plan. One that will unfuck Jane’s guilt.
The team recently approved her request for a double date. So we’re doing it now. The Tri-Force even threw me a fucking bone and let me pick the double date location in my area of the city.
South Philly. I chose an old bingo hall—since she’s never been to one before and she asked a million questions when I mentioned how Banks and I used to go as kids with my mom and grandma.
Bringing her to a place that I remember vividly from my childhood —it’s surreal.
Jane shifts her metal chair nearer mine during intermission.
We’re in the middle-left smoking area. I keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings and her, more than my bingo cards.
She leans close to whisper, “I know we agreed to be direct. But maybe we should be a bit less direct. Subtext could be better.”
I follow her focus.
Which is on Maximoff and Farrow, who stand in a winding line several meters away from us. They’re waiting to order hot dogs and nachos at the kitchen window.
Familiar.
Everything about this place takes me back.
The smell: like an old, stuffy wooden gym dipped in an ashtray.
And the people: disgruntled elderly patrons, who fill most of the long wooden tables and metal foldout chairs.
Most don’t pay attention to us. Truth is, they’re not interested in twenty-something celebrities. Everyone here is trying to win money. More than ever since Jane and Maximoff made an anonymous donation. They added an extra zero to the end of the winnings.
The jackpot is five grand.
They do that wherever they go like its second nature. How they were born and raised and meant to use their wealth.
My arm is draped around Jane’s shoulders. “There won’t be an easy way to tell them we’re sleeping together.”
“True.” Jane takes a tense sip of glass-bottled root beer.
I was going to buy her an actual beer. But I’m on-duty. Farrow is on-duty, and Maximoff doesn’t drink alcohol. Jane said she didn’t want to be the only one drinking tonight. So she asked what I used to get as a kid.
I came back with two bottles of root beer.
Jane turns more into my shoulder as she speaks. “But maybe we should ease them in. Start with a simple, we have something to tell you and it’s not terrible. It could be wonderfully funny from certain viewpoints. ”
I don’t know whose viewpoint would call me fucking Jane wonderfully funny —but it’s definitely not mine. I have a lot of adjectives to describe sex with her and that’s not even a fucking foot near my hundredth list.
“Direct is better,” I tell Jane. “We don’t want to lead this into a clusterfuck.”
Ever since Jane swore to protect Luna’s secret, she’s been feeling terrible for keeping two secrets from Maximoff, and I’ve been feeling like shit for keeping one from Banks.
So we’re unleashing this.
But looping them in means they have to keep our secret now. Putting a burden on them to relieve ours is selfish. And hard. I know. I already went through this once tonight with my brother.
I said point-blank, “I’m sleeping with Jane.” Clear-cut. Nothing more, but I was on edge.
He just laughed and smacked my chest.
Told me he had a feeling.
Said he’d never tell a soul.
And that was that. My relationship with Banks is one of the purest forms of love, and I’m selfishly glad that I have him to confide in again. I’m already thinking about all the shit I want to talk about. Ask him for advice.
Lord fucking knows I needed his advice weeks ago.
“They’re on their way back,” Jane says aloud. Straightening up.
Farrow and Maximoff walk over to the table with four aluminum-wrapped hot dogs and nachos. Their voices audible as they approach.
“Taste this.” Farrow grins and raises the tray of nachos to Maximoff.
He glares. “No fucking way. You put jalapeños on it.”
His lips stretch in a smile. “In the corner, wolf scout.” He motions to the middle. “Pick a chip over here. Promise you won’t die.” They reach the table.
“You can’t promise that, man.” Maximoff pulls out two metal chairs. “I could choke on the chip and die.”
Farrow tilts his head. “I’d give you the Heimlich. I’m your doctor.” They both take their seats.
Maximoff blinks. “Sounds like you just want to touch me.”
“I wouldn’t need to be your doctor to touch you. I’m your fiancé ,” he says pointedly.
Maximoff grimaces, trying not to smile. “I’d rather Janie save me.” He swings his head over to his best friend. His brows suddenly furrow. “You okay? You look super pale.”
She’s lost some color in her cheeks. “I’m okay. Perfect, actually.”
Maximoff is more rigid. “You know…lately you’ve been acting seriously weird around me.”
She gulps her root beer.
“Like that.” He motions to Jane.
“Like what?” Her eyes grow.
He scoots forward and lowers his voice. “You know you can tell me anything. Right?” Both of them look pained.
And this just started. I can pull this pin for Jane—say what needs to be said in a few words, but I can’t slip into her dynamic with Maximoff. Neither can Farrow.
“I know I can,” Jane says wholeheartedly to him.
Farrow scrutinizes me until comms hit us. There’s chatter about crowds amassing outside the bingo hall. We both glance at the extra security posted at the entrance.
Should be fine.
His tattooed fingers peel aluminum, and I pick up my bottle of root beer.
Jane folds her hands on the table. “There is something we’ve been wanting to share with you and Farrow—it’s actually sort of funny…” Her eyes are huge; she didn’t mean to say that, and then she slides me an apologetic look.
I can’t believe I’m almost smiling. I take a swig of root beer. Keeping my arm around her.
“By we , you mean…” Maximoff’s eyes drift from me to her. “Thatcher and you—”
“Take your seats!” the caller announces, a bingo ball just rolled out. “We’re beginning with I-28! I-28!”
People suddenly shift. The sounds of asses hitting chairs, uncapping paint dabbers, and ripping bingo cards for the next game. And then the hall deadens in silence.
It’s common courtesy. No one speaks loudly while everyone’s listening to the caller.
Jane stretches more on the table to stay quiet. “Yes,” she whispers. “Thatcher and I.”
“G-50! G-50!”
None of us have started playing this round yet. Numbers light up on the board, and Maximoff puts a hand on the back of Farrow’s neck. Leaning in close so his lips brush his ear. Talking quietly.
All the while, Farrow is staring at me. I wouldn’t call it a glare.
Jane leans into my side, and I dip my head down so she can speak to me.
“I can’t do brief, I’ve realized.” Her breath is warm against my ear.