Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“I’m number two, right?” I ask Oscar.
“That’s up to you two.” He sips his beer. “I know better than to get between siblings.”
The bowling alley door opens, and the noise jolts me. I immediately rise to my feet and watch my boyfriend talk to the manager beside the hostess table. He nods. She nods.
And then he turns and his gaze annihilates me. Behind his brown eyes are disappointment and guilt wrapped into a single look.
I don’t wait for him to reach us. Meeting Farrow halfway, our arms wrap around one another. We kiss briefly and then his lips find my ear. “Where is she?” he asks.
Pulling away, I tell him, “At the bar.”
His brows rise.
“It’s not you,” I say. “She thinks she’s being stood up.”
On our way to the booth, I give him a brief rundown of Holly. He keeps nodding, but he has a faraway look. This time I’m not sure if it’s because he missed so much already or because of what held him up at the hospital.
But I’m not going to pry for details. When he’s ready to share, he’ll tell me.
Still, it hurts watching something eat at him.
We both slide into the booth, and while Farrow unlaces his black boot, he spots the screen with everyone’s middle names.
“The Princess of Death didn’t try to curse you for that one, Oliveira?”
Oscar fills up a pint for Farrow. “Not afraid of Kinney Hale when I have a client who actually never yawns or gets tired. Alright, if anyone wants to be scared of someone they should fear Charlie. And he’s the only one who can beat me at chess.”
I cling onto the fact that Oscar isn’t afraid to talk about my family in front of me. He doesn’t falter or hesitate or look my way for permission.
Being treated more like a friend—it’s a good feeling.
But I catch Farrow glancing skeptically at Oscar, and my boyfriend deserts his shoelaces. Leaning forward with an elbow to the table, he motions to Oscar. “I need to ask you something. Like why you lied to me?”
I curve my arm over Farrow’s shoulders, the stress not too bad on my muscle. And I remember how Oscar has been telling Farrow that he doesn’t have a close relationship with Charlie, his client. That Charlie tells him next-to-nothing. But if that were true, then Oscar would be in the dark about Beckett doing coke.
For me, bodyguards keeping information close to the chest is nothing new. For Farrow, one of his closest friends has been lying to him for possibly years.
Oscar checks over his shoulder. Tom is out of earshot. Five lanes down, he reorganizes the bowling balls into a rainbow pattern on the rack. Kinney is sitting at the bar. Chatting with the bartender, she tries to convince him to whip up a gothic drink.
Off Oscar’s furtiveness, Jack senses that this is about to be serious and private. “I’m going to film Kinney,” Jack tells us and then exits our area.
Oscar looks between me and Farrow. “You know about Beckett,” he states.
“We do,” Farrow nods. “And man, I didn’t need to know the details from you. I understand why you wouldn’t share. But I’m confused why you went through the whole charade. I wouldn’t have pried if you said you couldn’t tell me. Instead, you led me to believe that Charlie has no relationship with you. Why do that?”
His gaze swings from Farrow, to me, and then back to Farrow. Oscar slides his arm across the back of the booth. “What’s the difference, Redford?” He shrugs. “He’s still not gushing details. He just gives me more than he has in the past.”
“Why wouldn’t you just say that then?” Farrow questions, confused more than anything. “You used to boast about progress when Charlie told you about a flight two fucking days in advance of takeoff instead of an hour before.”
Oscar drums the booth. “Because…knowing more than I should…it just makes it harder for me to brush you off.”
“Okay,” Farrow says easily, piling cheese on a cracker. “I’ll accept that. But I do want to know your reasoning behind the charade.” He pops the cracker in his mouth. “Your cunning ass owes me that at least.”
I notice how Farrow leans back into my arm that’s around him. Getting comfortable in my embrace. Before he catches me staring—because he’s a literal heartbeat from looking over with a rising smile that says you like that—I focus on Oscar.
He digs into a basket of baked chips. “You know media and fans want even the smallest fact from Charlie? Like how the guy brushes his teeth, when he takes a piss. All because he’s the enigmatic one in the press. So I position myself as a bodyguard that isn’t told shit, and then people won’t even ask me a single thing.” He crunches on a chip. “It’s not like it started that way, and Charlie is still slowly trusting me. Tomorrow, he could try to ditch my ass and fly off to Hong Kong.”