Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
But he was.
I already know Charlie, Maximoff, Farrow, Winona, and Ben were in the car, but I haven’t learned whether anyone sustained any injuries. By the totaled state of the vehicle, I’d think there’d be carnage. Death. At least I know everyone made it out alive.
Maybe they wouldn’t want me to figure out their lives through the docuseries. Is it cheating?
“Uh…” My cheeks burn as Charlie keeps staring at me. This can’t be about me drinking his canned cocktail.
Off my silence, he says, “You should start writing again. It might help.”
Tom grins. “You hear that Luna, Charlie misses reading your smut.”
Eliot mutters something about missing my stories too.
Charlie doesn’t even give Tom the satisfaction of looking his way. Instead, he says to me, “Think about it. I’ll edit them again.”
I’ve wanted to reactivate my account on Fictitious, or create a new one. Do what Original Luna was too afraid to do. But after my deep-dive reading most of what I’ve written, the greatest doubt monster has emerged to swallow me whole.
I could just nod to Charlie. Say nothing more. Except that’s not the new path I want to head down, so with a big breath, I tell him, “I’m not sure I’m as good of a writer as her.” He knows I’m referring to Original Luna.
He barely blinks. “Who cares?”
“My followers on Fictitious?” I say it like a question. “They’d care if the writing quality changed.”
“Are you writing for them or for you?”
He has a point. Writing fulfills me first, and I shouldn’t worry about reactions. “Okay,” I say, a newfound urge to continue my saga bubbles up. “I’ll write again.”
“You can drop off any new chapters here at the apartment. You never trusted sending them by email.”
“Thanks,” I say, excited about building a closer relationship with Charlie too. I think OG Luna went halfway there, and maybe I could be better friends with him beyond just working on my fics.
Charlie is about to go.
“Off to Amsterdam again, brother?” Eliot asks casually. “Getting your dick sucked in the red-light district?”
Charlie tilts his head at him. “Since when have I ever had to pay for sex?”
Tom starts clapping. Eliot joins in.
Charlie looks pointedly at me. “Your friends.”
“Your brothers,” I say.
“One is a choice.”
“I’d choose me,” Eliot chimes in.
“As would I,” Tom raises his hand.
I steal the remote from Eliot. “Maybe we should switch to a different season. Can we watch Moffy get married?” I’m eager to see my brother and Farrow walk down the aisle. Or…did only one walk down the aisle? Was the other standing at the end?
I frown at the thought. Didn’t Farrow say I was in his procession?
I was there. I should know how it went down.
Tom must see my dejection because he claims the remote now. “Better yet,” he says. “Let’s watch Beckett’s interview on YouTube.”
Oooh. My brows jump. “Beckett was interviewed? Wait, when did he join We Are Calloway?”
“He didn’t,” Charlie says flatly.
Tom clicks into YouTube. “Yeah, dude is still anti-being filmed. But the ballet company kind of forced him into this promotional interview.”
“It’s a rare golden gem,” Eliot says into a grin.
Charlie wavers from leaving, as if interested in watching this too.
“Is this a popcorn moment?” I wonder.
“Most absolutely.” Eliot kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
As the Beckett Cobalt graces the TV screen for the first time, I grab my popcorn tub. He’s considered the bad boy of ballet, thanks to the tattoos along his arm and being spotted outside NYC clubs. The video begins at a studio during rehearsal. Beckett is off to the side with the rest of the dancers, watching another guy perform a solo.
Leo Valavanis—he’s Beckett’s longtime rival. I’ve known about him for a while, but this footage must be from the years I’m missing. His dirty blond hair is slightly out of his face with a bandana. He’s similarly lean built like Beckett—every muscle defined.
As the music builds, Leo does the routine flawlessly and with charisma.
“Wait for it,” Tom says.
The video zooms in on Beckett while Leo is performing.
Beckett has piercing yellow-green eyes like his mom, and typically, they’re not lethal—but he clearly seems annoyed.
“There’s his pissy face,” Tom says in a laugh.
Eliot is far too amused as well. It is a sight to behold, and I’d be a big liar if I said I wasn’t smiling.
Once Leo finishes, the chorographer makes Beckett take his place and perform the same solo.
My smile softens. Seeing him in his element is enchanting. His leaps are weightless, and every movement is grand yet smooth, as if he’s silk gliding over water.
I’ve seen him perform before, and it always makes me smile with pride. That’s my cousin.
And then they do a close-up of Leo while Beckett dances. His jaw muscles tic, arms threaded over his chest.
“You better be envious,” Eliot says to TV Leo.