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)
“Let Farrow answer the question, bud,” Lo says while he eagle-eyes me to death.
Just like that, my smile fades, and my eyes flit briefly to Jack Highland who films our table with another producer of We Are Calloway. We’re in a private section of the burger joint. Photos of old rock bands hang on the green-leafed wallpaper, but I can feel the presence of a camera.
“Any portion of this can be edited out,” Connor tells me, perceptive of my body language, “and none has to be aired.”
I agreed to be a part of the docuseries. Anything that brings me closer to Maximoff and his family, I want to do, and plus, since my life is very fucking public, there’s more to gain and less to lose with We Are Calloway. It’s a highbrow award-winning docuseries, aired on a premium cable channel.
“Noted,” I nod, and Jack flashes a charming “you’re doing great” smile behind the camera. I shake my head, and I ball up the paper to a straw.
“Remember my question?” Lo asks me.
“Farrow remembers everything,” Maximoff interjects and then groans at himself. He swings his head to me and rakes a hand through his brown hair. “I didn’t mean it in a good way.”
“I think you did,” I tease.
He plasters on a decent scowl, and that’s when a twenty-something waitress brings out a tray of ice waters. I lean back in my chair and wave her to come here.
“Can you get us a baggie of ice?” I ask since my boyfriend put more stress on his muscle earlier when he wrenched the car door open. I’ve noticed how he’s shut his eyes in longer beats. Wincing.
“Of course,” she says. “Anything else?”
“A coffin,” Maximoff interjects. “For my immediate death.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not dying, but he is dramatic.”
The waitress chuckles before leaving the table, and I turn to Maximoff. He’s looking really deeply into me.
My chest falls in a heavier breath, and fuck it…I kiss him. Our mouths meet, softly and tenderly, and I feel his lips rise beneath mine.
He likes that. And so do I.
When we ease back, I drop my arm to his chair. Maximoff still holds my shoulders in an assured embrace.
And Lo is waiting for me to answer.
“Dad, don’t make him answer that question,” Maximoff cuts in.
Lo doesn’t flinch. “Are you willing to watch out for my son’s well-being tonight?”
Maximoff covers his face with his hand, a second away from groaning.
“All nights,” I answer, trying not to laugh at my boyfriend’s distress more than anything. He’s making this easier on me.
“What are you two doing tonight?” Lo asks.
“Staying in,” I say easily and look to Maximoff.
He nods. “Maybe watch a movie. Farrow has never seen Batman Returns.”
“No DC at the table,” Lo snaps. “I swear to all living Marvel things, I grabbed the wrong child in the Home Goods store.” His eyes almost soften when tells me, “I lost him in the toilet section carrying around a plunger in aisle four.”
“I was three,” Maximoff explains to me. “I thought it was a sword.”
I smile picturing that, and this is one of those moments where I can feel Lo’s love for his son. I didn’t have that. It’s just a fact. But when I have kids, I want to give them that kind of unconditional, overwhelming attention and care.
Our waitress returns to take our orders, and after she leaves, Connor tells the table, “In other news, I was offered a condom sponsorship this morning.”
Ryke almost spits out his water. “You have seven fucking kids.”
“Royal sperm,” Lo quips.
“Don’t fucking encourage that,” Ryke says and points at Connor’s billion-dollar grin with a butter knife.
With more seriousness, Ryke asks Connor, “When’s the last fucking time you even used a condom?”
I don’t really want this information. At all. Listening to “uncles” and “dads” talk about sex is not my forte. I’m just not used to this shit.
Sex was never a topic of discussion unless it was an academic lecture about reproduction or ejaculation.
I learned about fucking from the internet or friends growing up. I didn’t have advice on lube from my uncles like Maximoff. I didn’t have “the talk” from my dad. No safe sex lecture. Because the old man assumed I was smart enough to know about STDs from the medical journals that I skimmed.
I glance at Maximoff who looks absolutely unfazed. I’ve always loved how close he is to his family, and I only want our relationship to bring him closer to them.
“Decades,” Connor answers the last time he’s used a condom.
“Are you taking the sponsorship offer?” Maximoff asks while an appetizer of string fries comes out on our table.
“I wouldn’t.” Connor swishes his wine. “It’d have a negative impact on the children if I advertised my face or name on a condom line.”
I’ve noticed that whenever they’re just with Maximoff or Jane, they always exclude those two from “the children” category.