Jack?”
An image of the other night pops up. Where we fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun rose.
Yeah.
“I’m working on it.” I pocket my phone and retie my rolled bandana. “You into anyone lately?”
He shrugs, then sips his energy drink. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
I glance past him. “Where’s the gentleman?”
Donnelly laughs. “He’s one.” He points to his dick. “And he’s in need of some nice warm love.”
“Rub harder next time.”
“My hand is nothin’ compared to a…” He mimes a blow job with his hand and tongue against the inside of his cheek.
A lady shoots Donnelly a scathing glare from a picnic table. “There are kids here,” she sneers, a hand covering her daughter’s eyes.
“Nah, really?” Donnelly lights a cigarette even with a can in his hand. “I just thought that was a mini adult.”
Her aghast noise is drowned by the click-click of cameras and screech of paparazzi. “Redford’s here,” I say.
Though, I can’t see yet. Hot sun begins to set, and I shield the shine with my hand.
But sure enough, cameramen trip over themselves as Farrow and Maximoff saunter down the sidewalk side-by-side. Donnelly and I watch as an on-duty Farrow blocks cameramen from crowding his son and husband. Ripley wiggles his legs in a tactical vest on his chest, and Maximoff is actually carrying Arkham. The puppy acts like a scared, furry baby.
At this point, their son braves the paparazzi better than their dog.
Donnelly and I laugh, and we rib Farrow while we try to hop in line. Too many motherfuckers are just clustered together waiting for their order to be called.
Thankfully, paparazzi aren’t allowed on the deck, but we’re pushed further back towards the railing while fans approach Maximoff and ask for selfies. I’m off-duty and still surveying the area.
It’s a good habit. Considering a famous one is in our company.
We stand in a jagged ass line, and we could shoulder our way further in, but doing that would piss off too many people and stoke bad press.
“Is that Jack Highland?” Donnelly asks, bouncing on his feet.
Nearly in unison, our heads turn, and we all gaze over the deck railing.
Jack’s—kid, you not—longboarding down the sidewalk like he’s back on the west coast. His biceps look even more sculpted in a blue-and-green tie-dye tank. Not in a million years did I think I’d fall for some California guy.
A smile lifts my lips. “Yeah, I invited him,” I say and leave it at that.
Farrow nods and begins to grin. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’d like a six-pack of the best beer when my heart breaks.”
“Nice try, one beer. Warm. Not even chilled.”
I laugh, and looking down to the street, I stare at my guy.
“How’s it going, beautiful people?” Jack calls up to us from the curb.
Better now that you’re here. Maybe my eyes reflect that. His smile looks more overwhelmed, and he has to shift his gaze.
“Pretty good,” Maximoff calls back. “It’s nice seeing you, man.”
Understatement.
“You too, Moffy.” Jack grabs the long skateboard off the ground and begins squeezing through the crowded stairs.
“Thought you didn’t want us calling you Moffy as a nickname?” Donnelly questions.
Farrow raises his brows at Maximoff.
“Jack is different,” he explains, leash in hand. He already put Arkham down, and the puppy drinks from a communal water bowl. Dogs allowed here.
I chime in, “Meaning, Jack is production.” I almost add, I’d give him special privileges too. My eyes never leave Highland as he pushes through the masses, coming onto the deck.
He reaches us, and I have to restrain myself from greeting him with a hug. A kiss. Especially as his glittering honey-brown eyes graze over mine, and his lips rise in an even stronger smile.
“You’re just waiting?” Jack asks everyone.
“And dreaming of a wiz steak with onions.” Donnelly sips Lightning Bolt! from the same hand that has his cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Been wondering why we’re here, though. Better ones are in South Philly.”
Jack glows, his grin blinding. “Someone told me they’re better here.”
“Who?” Donnelly barks.
“Me.”
Donnelly shoots me a look and then points to me with his can/cigarette hand. “Sustained.”
Farrow and I share a look. “What the fuck,” I say into a laugh.
“When did Donnelly go to law school?” Farrow banters, his smile stretching. “Not a good one either.”
Donnelly blows a middle-finger kiss. “Xander’s been watching a bunch of Law & Order.”
We move up the line and pass through the opened double-doors. The counter and overhang menu come into view.
My arm brushes against Jack’s, and his fingers slip lightly along mine. I’m caging breath, and