“And we’ll call it a night.”
“Right on.” He darts off. I watch him sprint. Alright, the kid is fast for being that big. I’ll give him that.
The gym door blows open, and I hear a cascade of shouting and squealing. “MAXIMOFF! FARROW! MAXIMOFF!” and “MARROW FOREVER!”
I yearn for a forever-in-love stable relationship like Farrow has with Maximoff, but damn do I not want that cacophony and headache brought by the media. The Oslie rumors are bad enough.
Farrow is grinning at his husband as they stroll in. The Hale prince looks high-key irritated at whatever Farrow said or did.
Where’s the popcorn?
I dig into my Cheetos.
“Can you wipe your memory?” Maximoff asks the guy with a near-perfect photographic memory. “Scrub the last two minutes and tack on another century. Except don’t erase all the parts where I remind you that I’m smarter and hotter.”
“You mean the parts where you lie?”
I laugh, and it draws half of their attention to me while they approach.
Maximoff growls out his frustration. “Seriously, you didn’t hear what I said.”
“I heard a fan outside ask who your celebrity crush is,” Farrow grins wider, “and I definitely heard you answer, my husband.”
“Aww,” I pile on the teasing with the bat of my lashes.
Maximoff is bright red. He looks to Farrow. “It’s like you want me to shove you in a gym locker or something.”
“Or something,” Farrow laughs.
I have a theory that no one taught Maximoff Hale how to flirt. He literally does the kindergarten sandbox “I hate you” maneuver with Farrow, and largely, it’s probably because he’s never needed to flirt to get cock or pussy. He’s a fucking celebrity.
They kick off their shoes to walk on the gym mats. Coming closer, they weave through the hanging boxing bags.
I pop a Cheeto in my mouth. Trying not to let bitterness replace good-natured humor. Maximoff is balancing Ripley on his waist, and while Farrow takes earplugs out of their son’s ears, I hear Maximoff say more quietly, “I just want our son to know I love you. When he sees media footage, I don’t want him to think I don’t care about you.”
Must be why he answered the paparazzi too honestly and not jokingly. Farrow whispers something softly, his hand on the back of Maximoff’s skull, and then their lips meet in a tender kiss.
A pang thumps against my chest.
I’m not a bitter guy, and I hate wading in these shitty emotions for even half-a-second.
I’m about 99% positive it’s what Charlie has felt ever since Maximoff got a boyfriend. Seeing the cousin he hates receive the love he wants has caused more jealousy. But I’m not a twenty-one-year-old genius who can’t control my base impulses. And I never want to be bitter at the sight of someone else’s happiness or love. Especially a friend’s.
I look around the gym.
And I just wish Charlie were next to me so Highland would be here too. I’d turn my head and see his focus behind a camera. He’d notice me and smile that hundred-watt smile, and maybe he’d even redirect his lens my way.
“Oliveira,” Farrow says, snapping me out of a bad daze.
“Yeah?”
Our heads turn when Ripley drops his stuffed pirate parrot. I pick up the toy that I bought him and rattle it. “No doubt, you love Uncle Oscar the best.”
Ripley hugs onto the toy with a giggle. He’s a cute baby.
“Thanks,” Maximoff says to me, his sincerity soulful. “You know where my brother might’ve left his phone?”
My brows knot. “Xander left his phone at the gym?”
Farrow explains, “After a boxing lesson this morning. I didn’t want to announce that shit over comms.” Yeah because Donnelly would be reamed out by the boss for that security mistake. Xander Hale is his client, and a missing phone is a heartbeat from a security leak.
Donnelly isn’t usually that careless.
“I haven’t seen it,” I tell them, “but I’d check the lockers.”
Holding Ripley, Maximoff leaves the mats and searches the wall of lockers.
Farrow sticks around me. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You tell me,” he says, concern in his pierced brows.
All I’ve really expressed lately to Farrow is that Jack and I are better. We’re cool. No more awkwardness. Pretty true. But I can’t explain anything further without telling him Jack’s not straight.
I already promised I wouldn’t do that to Jack.
“I’m good,” I nod a few times. “When’s the Out Loud magazine photoshoot? I heard it’s soon.”
“Next week.” He skims my eyes.
I hang onto a feeling I love.
Pride.
I’m proud of my best friend for agreeing to be on