Extra Bonus #87: A Rainbow Brigade Favor (Patreon)

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RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: We listened to  "Hung Up" by Madonna while writing this bonus scene

I’M ON A COBALT’S DETAIL tonight. Off-the-books. Off-the-record. Free of charge. And I’m not the only one.

“Look at us, being all charitable for your cousin-in-law,” I tell Farrow over the thumping pop music. This new gay club in NYC is packed and dark. Blue strobe lights sweep dancing bodies as the adrenaline-fueled tempo escalates.

Love the music. Hate that I can’t enjoy it with Jack.

“Eh, I’d do it again,” Farrow says like this isn’t hard work. It’s not even technically work. Even if we are keeping an eye on the golden-brown-haired Cobalt boy. Not Charlie.

But Tom.

It all started with the Rainbow Brigade group chat. Which has its moments of lifelessness. Me, being a busy and attentive motherfucker when it concerns my job, I can’t be active in every chat I’m in, and Farrow rarely participates. Guy is allergic to group chat convos that last longer than five minutes.

Tumbleweeds have blown through the Rainbow Brigade before—from all of us. Then out of nowhere, it’ll ignite like we chat every day.

Like tonight.

Our thread went a little something like this:

Tom: Favor please? Ian is on a long vacay to see fam, and I don’t want a temp when I go out tonight. Wondering if someone from the Rainbow Brigade can pull through for me. Thx 😜

Kinney: I’ll do it.

Farrow: You became a bodyguard when?

Kinney: I’m better backup than you, turd.

Tom: It’s a 21+ club, Kinney witchy-boo

Kinney: You’re 19.

Tom: Weird. My ID says I’m 21

Kinney: I have a fake too.

Maximoff: What?????

Kinney: Don’t worry about it, Moffy. This is between me and Tom.

Tom: I’m leaving in a few hrs. Any takers?

Jack: Wish I could. Production meeting is running late tonight. Have fun! 🤙

Tom: Oscar? Farrow??? Moffy???? I can pay upfront.

Maximoff: I have to put Rip to bed or else Id be there. Next time.

Oscar: Sign me up as long as Redford joins.

Farrow: Sure. You don’t have to pay us. It’s not a bodyguard thing as much as an RB thing.

Kinney: I take it back. You’re not a turd.

Farrow: I know.

Kinney: And *I know* I would’ve been better backup. I hope you regret this, Tom.

Tom: câlins et bisous 😘

Redford was right when he said it’s a Rainbow Brigade thing. It’s been a night out with friends. Bolded and underlined by the fact that Donnelly showed up twenty minutes ago.

It’s not like our Yale days where we’re all single and bar-hopping till closing. Time has changed things.

Farrow and I have rings on our fingers, but without Jack here, the urge to join the sweating muscled masses has plummeted to Earth's core. Only guy I want to sweat on me is my husband of almost-three months, and unfortunately, I can’t conjure Highland out of thin air.

He’s stuck in my cellular device. Which my lovesick ass is trying not to check every five minutes.

It’s easier when A.) I’m catching up with my friends and B.) we’re ensuring Tom doesn’t stray too far from our positions. Or else we’ll need to move.

We’re grouped around a high-top table next to the wall, and we take casual swigs of Koning Lite and Yuengling. None of us are getting hammered. We might need to take care of Tom as bodyguards since we’re the only trained security here.

Not that Redford would get drunk. Haven’t seen him shitfaced in forever.

I eat stale beer nuts and watch Tom in all his ripped jeans, black long-sleeved tee, messy haired, youthful glory. “It’s like watching Simba frolic with zebras and giraffes on his own for the first time,” I say.

Donnelly smirks. “Our Cobalt cub is gonna be a mighty king one day.”

“No doubt.”

Tom isn’t in earshot. He’s a solid fifteen feet away, bobbing his head to the bass. He has an unmatched grin and moves to the music on the outskirts of the dance pit. His attention is mostly on the DJ.

“He’s vibing,” Donnelly says.

Farrow smiles out at Tom with a pride that takes me by surprise at first.

“Redford.” I crunch on a nut. “You finally rooting for the Cobalt Empire?”

“I was just thinking about Maximoff.”

Donnelly laughs hard.

“When you’d get into BDSM?” I ask Farrow with a rising grin. “Because the Husband has a chokehold on you.”

He claps mockingly a couple times. “Mirror. Your face. Look in it.” I’m not denying Jack has me in a chokehold too. He can touch me all he fucking wants.

I motion my beer to Donnelly. “Signs Redford is hanging out with his father-in-law too much. He’s talking in fragments.”

Farrow takes an easygoing sip of beer. “Loren Hale doesn’t have a patent on giving one-word answers, man.”

Donnelly wraps an arm around Farrow’s shoulder. “You gonna teach me Papa Hale’s language or what?”

He lifts his pierced brows. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” I ask Donnelly. He just overcame the last true hurdle with Loren Hale.

Lo found out Donnelly tattooed Luna’s ass, leg, thigh whatever you want to fucking call that ginormous galaxy he inked on the girl. My friend didn’t get fired from security, thank God. That lucky motherfucker needs to stay far away from the Hales if he wants any shot at keeping this job alive.

Cobalts to the death needs to continue to be his motto.

Not Hales to the death. Because that death will actually come.

He knows this, but I mostly don’t mention it because I’m in the presence of a Hale by marriage. And Redford has every full right to defend his family. I don’t want to make a comment right now to where he feels he needs to.

“Intelligence and whatnot. Maybe I like languages,” Donnelly says. “Maybe I want to keep up with Charlie.”

“Bro, I can’t even keep up with him when it comes to that.” I motion my beer to Farrow, still curious about earlier. “Why was Maximoff on the brain right then? You were looking at Tom.”

Farrow’s smile, one full of pride, gradually returns. “He’d be happy to see Tom out like this. Without worrying about the press.” He tips his head in thought. “I’m happy about it.”

“Stamp.” Donnelly raises his beer in agreement. 

“He chose a good spot to avoid it,” I mention.

Darkness shrouds us enough that no one can recognize us without being three inches from our faces. Here, we aren’t the famous SFO bodyguards. We’re just three guys trying to have a good night out.

“You think he’s gonna go home with someone?” Donnelly asks me since I’m the one who lives in New York and hangs around the Cobalt brothers. When Donnelly was last on Beckett’s detail and rooming with me, Eliot and Tom had only just moved to Hell’s Kitchen. He only saw them living there for two months before he was gone.

Among us, I am now the sole knower of all things Cobalt brothers. I wear the badge with motherfucking pride.

“Doubtful.” I swig beer.

“Picky?” Farrow guesses, probably based on the times we have talked to him and offered our sage advice. Farrow also has Maximoff as a resource, but I can’t say how much he shares with him about Tom.

“Oh yeah. Highest standards.” I make a motion well above my head.

“Even for a hookup?” Donnelly wonders.

“I haven’t seen it with my own eyes, bro.”

As far as I’m aware, Tom hasn’t been someone who picks up a guy at a bar or a club. He’s only nineteen. I haven’t heard him bring up Grindr either. I do know he’s had one consistent hookup, but he’s rarely met up with the guy and he knew him through mutual friends from prep school.

Other than that, I have no idea who has been with Tom Cobalt.

It’s juicy gossip.

Do I want to know? Let’s just say I do not not want to know. If the information presented itself to me, I will read it. Unlike Farrow who is nuts and will definitely shut the book before getting a look.

“Of what he’s told us,” Farrow says to Donnelly who arrived late, “he’s just seeing where tonight takes him.”

Where the night takes someone like Eliot and someone like Tom is two vastly different places, and I’m actually glad Eliot isn’t with him. Or else I’d be completely sober. An additive of pure chaos sounds like a kick in the ass, and I’m enjoying myself right now.

Donnelly drinks more beer and bounces into the dancing crowd as the contagious beat overtakes him. I almost feel the urge to do the same, but there are roaming hands on that dance floor and it sounds exhausting to swat them away.

I check my phone.

No new messages from Jack.

It must be an intense meeting if it’s lasting this long into the night. I try not to worry about him.

“You doing anything for his birthday?” Farrow asks me over the table.

I pull my gaze off my phone. Which does feel like a piece of Highland tonight.

Farrow knows Jack is turning twenty-eight soon. I have the party all planned out. I explain to him how I’m going to send out a mass group text. Inviting Jack’s friends to a skate rink. There’ll be booze for those who drink and a solid theme. “Long Beach California Realness,” I say. “It’ll be a good time.”

“His friends are the famous ones.”

“Yeah. Maximoff, Jane, Sulli, Charlie, Luna—all invited. The rink will be shut down for a private event. I’m even going to see if Akara will hire temps to patrol outside the venue.” I grimace at a soured thought.

Farrow reads my face. “What’s the issue?”

“Jesse Highland will be in town, and I swear I’m going to pull my hair out if my baby bro doesn’t warm up to Jack’s baby bro. I need smooth pathways to friendship and not whatever these jackhammered potholes are.”

“Have you talked to Quinn about Jesse?” Farrow wonders.

“Yeah. And he said, stop forcing it.” I touch my chest. “How is asking him if he likes Jesse forcing anything?”

“It sounds like he feels pressured.”

“I’m not pressuring him.”

“But you want it to happen,” Farrow rationalizes.

“Who wouldn’t?” I almost shout, frustrated, but maybe Redford is right. Maybe I am placing too many hundred-dollar chips on a relationship that has barely left the starting line, and I wonder if Quinn can feel the weight of that bet.

Farrow raises his brows at me like the answer is in my face. I’m staring at it. I don’t like the look of it either. Conflict between me and Quinn has been squashed, and the last thing I really want is to trade that in for conflict between Quinn and my husband’s younger brother.

Jack is so close to Jesse. I just don’t need a civil war between our families.

“Let it play out, Oliveira,” Farrow says. “If Charlie and Maximoff can get along, anything is possible.”

I’d cheers at that, but he’s already tipping the beer to his lips. We check on Tom, then I lower my voice to ask, “You know when Charlie was at Lucky’s for breakfast with your husband, he overheard Maximoff and Jane talking about the new relationship in SFO.” I mouth the word, Poly.

The world doesn’t know about Sulli, Akara, and Banks, and let’s hope it stays that way for a while because that will explode the internet.

It practically exploded my brain the night we found out. During charades. I didn’t know if I should’ve applauded or passed out.

“Yeah, I know. Maximoff told me.” Farrow gives me a strange look. “Charlie told you about that?”

I lift a noncommittal shoulder, but the truth is, after the failed Born into Fame pilot, Charlie’s scheme to matchmake me and Jack, and then Charlie getting robbed at the Carnival Fundraiser, I share more about my personal life with him than maybe I should, and he confides more in me. Alright, it feels like a friendship, and maybe I enjoy it.

A lot more than most people would.

“We were on a five-hour flight. What else were we going to do? Pick our nails?” I tell Farrow.

“Sleep. Watch a movie. Ignore each other.”

“We do that sometimes too.”

Farrow nods, understanding that my relationship with Charlie isn’t black and white. It’s not this or that. It’s a ton of everything and also a lot of nothing.

It’s complicated.

But what isn’t with Charlie Keating Cobalt?

Tonight, I don’t need to worry about him. He’s hanging out with Beckett at the apartment, and so I’m not expecting a last second flight to Quebec or Prague.

Farrow asks me, “Who knows about the poly thing at this point?” We’ve all been losing track.

“Bro, I think only SFO, your roommates, Sulli’s parents, her sister, Beckett, and now Charlie.”

He runs his thumb over his lip piercing. “I bet Daisy told Lily and Rose.” Daisy’s sisters. If that were true, they likely would’ve told Lo and Connor.

“We won’t know because they probably don’t know that we know.” I point my beer at him. “Don’t come for my eloquent ass.”

“Ineloquent, you mean. You missed two letters.”

“No, I gave those ones to you, Redford. That’s what generosity looks like.”

“Nice. Go be generous with someone else—” He’s cut off as a tall thirtysomething, built guy comes up to our high-top. Farrow mutters a “shit” and I instantly grin because the guy is solely focused on Redford.

With that kind of bulk, he must either be a tight end or a personal trainer.

I rest an elbow on the table, watching Farrow do his utmost best to avoid the once-over from the stranger. Now this is the entertainment I came for.

Farrow glares at me. His eyes say shut the fuck up, but my internal laughter nearly rumbles my body. 

“Leighton,” he introduces himself and dips a little closer to be heard over the music.  

“Taken.” Farrow holds up his left hand, showing off the ring.

Leighton looks over at me, then down to the beer bottle in my left hand. He clocks the ring I’m wearing. “Cute.” He motions between us.

I choke on my humor. “No, no!” I wave a finger. “We’re not—”

“Definitely not,” Farrow cuts in with force.

Damn it’s hot in here, and not in a good way.

Leighton scrutinizes him, then me. “You aren’t married?”

I’m trying not to have a heart attack. “Not to each other,” I answer. “I would never. With him.” I jerk my head in his direction.

“Likewise,” Farrow says like it’s equally disturbing.

For some reason, Leighton takes this as an invitation to check out Farrow again. That’s not good. 

Farrow looks annoyed and peels foil off a stick of gum. Normally, I think he’d walk away and put about a football field between him and this guy, but we’re here for Tom. And this is the best vantage we have of him.

So we’re not moving.

“Where’s your husband?” Leighton asks Farrow, not me.

I’m a perfect ten—sometimes an eleven—but I’ve been friends with Farrow long enough to know he’s the tattooed, one-of-a-kind catch at gay and straight clubs. He has to do absolutely nothing but exist and everyone wants to reel him in.

The only person who’s ever drawn more attention than him is his husband.

“He’s not here,” Farrow snaps. “And I’m not interested.”

“In me?”

“Yeah, in you.”

Leighton thinks he’s joking. He crosses his arms playfully. “You’re pretending to be married, aren’t you? I can get into that.” He moves closer. “I can get into you.”

“You can go now.” Farrow chews hard on the gum.

“Come on—”

“Seriously, bro,” I interject.

“Fuck off,” Farrow says more bluntly.

Leighton’s demeanor switches. From charming to full-blown pissed. Farrow doesn’t care. He’s already turning his back, and I shoot him a serious look to be careful. He rolls his eyes, and I can tell he’s struggling to deescalate. 

For once, it’d be better if someone knew who we really are. Maybe then Leighton would know that Farrow is married to the Maximoff Hale. But there’s a possibility he’d still try to pursue Farrow in that instance too.

“Why don’t you go elsewhere?” I ask him. “You have the entire club at your disposal.” I wave my arm to the dancing masses. “Have fun. Forget about him.”

He’s glaring at Farrow’s back.

All hail Madonna because as “Hung Up” starts playing, Leighton’s bulked-out buddies whisk him toward the DJ. He’ll soon forget about the rejection.

I lift my beer to my mouth. “And that, my friends, is the power of Madonna.” I feel the music pool through me.

“What friends?” Farrow quips.

“Don’t insult the woman who just saved your ass.”

“I was insulting you,” Farrow says matter-of-factly.

“Aw, fuck you too.”

He smiles over at me. I grin back, glad that he’s not letting that interaction tank his mood. Without Maximoff here, there’s a look in Farrow’s eye like he’s missing something. Like he’s five-minutes from throwing in the towel and walking out the door. Like he’d rather be there than here.

And I feel that.

I didn’t…not before Jack. But now, I understand the pull of a person who’s deep-seated in your soul. Who puts a little extra light into your life, and we’re all just moths to flames. Chasing down the brightest, hottest thing in the corner of our eyes.

To each of us, the glint comes from someone different. To Charlie, I constantly wonder who that person could be. Now that I’m out with his younger brother, I’m wondering that about Tom.

Farrow and I train our attention back on him again.

He’s being approached. I set down my beer. Preparing for Tom to glance over and signal us to intervene.

Farrow stays relaxed against the wall. “He’s okay.”

I start to grin. “I see that.”

Tom is in the zone—locked in on a guy who dances closer to him with more rhythm than ninety-nine percent of the club. It’s hard to make out exact features in the dark, but he seems much younger than Leighton. Probably closer to Tom’s age. Early twenties, maybe.

Each time the strobe lights sweep over their bodies, I catch better sight of him. He looks white. Brown-haired. Shirtless. Several of his abs are on display, including a few rib tattoos. He’s lean-cut and ripped enough that I’d believe his profession is something physical.

Firefighting?

Blue-collar labor?

He has on gym shorts, a plain tee tucked in his back pocket. Like he put in zero effort to come out tonight. But he’s charismatic, his energy infectious, and eyes in the club are drawing toward Tom and this guy as the inches deplete between them. As this guy’s arm so seamlessly slides over Tom’s shoulder. As their legs practically thread.

He’s attracting a notoriously hard-to-impress Cobalt with absolute ease, so this guy isn’t losing. Despite looking like he left P.E. a half hour ago.

“That’s going to be a thing,” Farrow says.

I have my doubts. “A hundred bucks Tom walks away without his phone number.”

“Make that bet with Donnelly. I’m staying out of it.”

I would if Donnelly wasn’t pounding his head to the beat somewhere. “Hundred bucks Donnelly does the worm.”

Farrow considers. “Fine.” We shake on it. He’s going to regret that.

My phone buzzes.

Execs are worried the leaks are coming from within production. They don’t want us to have any contact with talent until this Royal Leaks thing gets resolved. – Highland

I feel my heart skip a beat, and I quickly text back, asking if he’s exempt from this. He’s married to a bodyguard. That should grant him special permission, and if it doesn’t, I need to figure out how to get him some.

Both our worlds revolve around the famous ones, and one of us being barred from said world isn’t good.

I’m not past calling my boss for a favor, but Kitsuwon dating a Meadows has now put his ass on hot coals with Ryke Meadows. I don’t know what kind of sway Akara has when he’s just trying to survive Ryke’s anger.

Thankfully Jack doesn’t leave me on edge for long.

They know I’m not the mole. I think I’ve convinced them to let me off the hook – Highland

That’s my charming as hell husband. I text him compliments, just as the DJ mixes Madonna into the song “Desire” by Calvin Harris and Sam Smith.

I look up as Donnelly comes over with his white tee around his neck like a towel. He grips both ends. “Simba’s getting it on.”

I whip my head to Tom. The mystery guy is behind Tom while their bodies flow to the beat. The intimate way he hooks his arm over Tom’s shoulder and presses his palm flat to Tom’s chest—all while dancing behind him and with him—it looks more like Redford is right. This might be a thing.

I thought I’d be grabbing a tub of popcorn, but I teeter between excitement for Tom and a protectiveness I usually feel for my siblings…or for Charlie.

Without looking away, I tell Donnelly, “Do the worm and I get a hundred bucks from Redford."

“Oh my God,” Farrow groans out.

Donnelly smirks. “You really took that bet?”

Farrow just keeps shaking his head, because he knows Donnelly is going to follow through. He loves busting Farrow’s balls too. But as a last play, Farrow tells our friend, “Someone probably puked on the floor.”

“Probably.” Donnelly does the worm in the clearing near our table.

Farrow flips me off but hands off the cash.

I laugh. “Thanks for the easy money, Redford.” I'll give Donnelly a fifty for the assist.

When Donnelly pops back up with a glistening chest of floor grime, he tries to sling a dirty arm around Farrow to fuck with him.

Redford shoves him away, and Donnelly laughs but the sound slowly fades as he gazes out at the dance floor. His brows do this weird twitchy thing. His eyes tighten like he’s squinting.

We both focus in on Tom and Mystery Guy. I’m not adding the pieces here.

“What’s that look?” Farrow asks Donnelly first.

“I dunno,” he says casually. “I can’t see my face.” He drinks the beer he left behind. Before either of us press him, he says, “That guy Tom is dancing with…I can’t be sure, but he looks familiar. I can’t place him though.”

"Did you tattoo him?" I question.

"Nah, I'd remember that."

I instantly veer to dark places.

He’s someone from South Philly who’s related to the Donnellys.

Or he’s someone who’s paid for sex.

Or maybe he’s an escort himself.

Either way, these aren’t people Tom should be around. Farrow combs a hand through his hair, more tensed. “You’re not sure where?” he asks Donnelly.

“I dunno,” Donnelly mumbles. He’s thinking so hard his face screws up like he’s hammering a fucking nail in his temple. 

“Okay, stop,” Farrow says.

“If this goes beyond the club, we’ll have to get his name anyway,” I tell Donnelly.

We’re all watching like the night’s tempo is changing with the song. They’ve stopped dancing. Mystery Guy, a couple inches taller than Tom, whispers in his ear. Tom leans in to whisper back. They’re nodding a lot.

Phones are taken out.

“Wishing you took that bet now, Redford?” I ask while we keep our eyes on him.

“Not really.” He’s more concerned about Tom’s safety, and it’s all the three of us really fixate on. I can’t wait for Tom to take a water break. I thought he’d need one five minutes ago.

“Go interrupt him, Donnelly,” I suggest. “Just ask this guy outright who he is.”

“Don’t do that, man.” Farrow pops a bubblegum bubble in his mouth. “You’ll embarrass Tom.”

“Cobalts don’t get embarrassed,” Donnelly says simply.

“That one does,” Farrow says. “And I don’t need to be a Cobalt worshiper to know it.”

“You just need to be a card-holding Rainbow Brigade member,” I say since we recently saw Tom turn into a tomato at the emergency Rainbow Brigade meeting. He confessed to having a crush on Farrow. It was a crush that predated Farrow and Maximoff getting together.

Tom might’ve been mortified, but that took nerves of steel to even admit to Farrow’s face.

“He’s coming over here now,” Farrow says as Tom breaks away from Mystery Guy. Sure enough, he grabs his water bottle and joins us at the high-top table.

“So, uh, that guy.” Tom motions with his head and swipes a hand through his damp hair. “I think we’re gonna head out together. I mean, separately, but together.” He shuts an eye, thinking. “Basically we’re meeting at my place. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right.” He peeks back at Mystery Guy who’s on the fringe of the dance pit now and texting on his phone. “He’s getting an Uber or whatever. Maybe a Lyft. I didn’t really ask about his transportation…that’s probably pretty shitty of me, but I don’t want him to think this is serious.”

Tom is clearly nervous, and I wish our company could help but my security brain is hovering over Mystery Guy’s identity.

You know who he really needs and who’s not here?

Maximoff.

Tom seems to know too. He’s glancing at the black screen on his phone.

“Did you get his name?” I ask Tom.

“Uh, yeah. He said it’s RJ.”

I turn to Donnelly.

He’s shrugging.

Farrow frowns. “We can make him sign an NDA before we leave the club.”

Tom rubs his forehead, hesitating.

That confuses Farrow and alarms me.

Farrow asks, “You don’t want an NDA?”

“I mean, I do. But…I don’t know if it’ll scare him off.” Tom gulps water, then spins the cap on the bottle. “Would Moffy make him sign one in this situation?” he asks Farrow.

“Yeah.”

“Would Charlie?” he asks me. “But with a girl, obviously.”

“Yeah, he would,” I say. 

“Right, okay.” Tom sighs out and smiles when Mystery Guy smiles over at him. “You can just get him to sign an NDA at the apartment.”

I don’t like that. We don’t know who he really is, but before we can debate it, Mystery Guy has disappeared.

Donnelly leaves us for Philly, and I promise to update him if we figure out why RJ is familiar to him. It feels more like a longshot.

Practically stone-cold sober, I drive Tom back to Hell’s Kitchen. Farrow is in the passenger seat since he parked at the Cobalts’ apartment complex. He’ll grab his car and go home from there.

“Did he tell you anything about himself?” I ask, trying not to full-on grill Tom like I’m his brother or cousin, but I’m doing Maximoff’s work here.

He should thank me.

“Not really. I didn’t ask what he does.” Tom slouches in the backseat. “Eliot loves learning too much about a person, but I don’t see how you do that and not get attached at some point. Like there has to be some perfect place between knowing too little and knowing too much. I want to know just enough about who I sleep with—that’s all, dude. Just enough.”

“That’s fair,” Farrow says.

“You do you,” I add, my voice tighter because I am still on pins and needles.

“I just don’t know what he thinks.”

Farrow chews slower on his gum. “Did you ask him if it’s just sex?”

“I’m pretty sure that was implied.” Tom makes a winced face. “He knows he’s coming here to hookup for sure, but I’ll be clearer about it before we do anything.”

“Does he know who you are?” I ask the million-dollar question.

“Yes?”

“Why the question?” Farrow wonders.

“He didn’t really care I’m a Cobalt, but he could’ve been hiding it. It’s hard to tell, or maybe the novelty has worn off since his cousin is friends with Beckett.”

“Whoa, whoa.” My brows knot, and I eye him in the rearview mirror. “Say that again.”

“His cousin is friends with Beckett. I think she’s a ballerina.”

Elation washes over me. I grin at Farrow. “The ballet.”

His lips rise too. That’s why Donnelly recognized RJ. This guy must’ve been around the same social circles as Beckett at some point through mutual friends.

Nothing nefarious. Nothing dangerous.

Just the motherfucking ballet.

“He has the rhythm of a dancer,” I mention.

“I don’t think he works for the ballet,” Tom says. “At least, he’s definitely not a part of Beckett’s company. He made it seem like it wasn’t something he does.”

I’ll figure it out soon.

Farrow rotates in the seat to see Tom. “Maximoff would kill me if I didn’t ask, so I’m going to ask. You need condoms?”

Tom grins and fights a flush. He slides forward toward us. “That depends.” He looks over at me. “You think Charlie would let me borrow his? Does he have condoms? And do you know the last time he used them and with who?”

My lips are sealed. “You’ll need to ask your brother that.”

“He’ll evade by telling me Beckett’s sex life is more interesting. And while he’s probably not wrong, the secrecy is just killing me.” Tom spreads his arms. “Why the secrets?”

“One day you might want to keep your own,” Farrow says.

“That would mean I was with someone they wouldn’t like…” Tom frowns and his eyes widen. “Wait, do you think they’re secretly fucking someone none of us like?”

Farrow’s brows shoot up like Tom just jumped from A to Z. “Yeah, I didn’t say that.”

I can't contain some laughter.

“Condoms?” Farrow asks him again.

“I’ve got them,” Tom says, more in a daze. “Or I can ask Eliot if need more.” He shakes out the cobwebs. “I don’t know if we’ll even get that far tonight.”

I tell him, “Better to be prepared.”

“I don’t know why I’m so fucking nervous,” he mutters, but he’s grinning out the window. Farrow and I exchange a knowing look.

We’ve been there. Felt that intense spark of attraction that could be more if you let it. Or it could just remain what it is.

Attraction.

Sex.

I’ve been there too.

Once we’re at the apartment complex, I say goodbye to Farrow and ride up the elevator with Tom. We’re walking down the hallway when the stairwell door opens.

Mystery Guy (supposedly named RJ) appears. He didn’t bother to put his shirt back on, and he doesn’t seem to care that I’m in the hall with Tom.

His grin only widens when he sees the fifth-born Cobalt. “For a second, I thought you might’ve sent me to the wrong floor.”

“I’m not that big of a dick.” Tom frowns at the stairwell door. “Dude, did you just climb twenty-one flights?”

RJ quickly closes the gap between them. “That’s not what’s hard.” He collides with Tom, and their hands clutch at the same time their lips kiss.

Alright.

I divert my eyes.

Especially as they thump against the wall, but we’re in a hallway that’s open to anyone who lives here. The Cobalts don’t own the 21st floor. And Mystery Guy hasn’t signed an NDA.

Not that I don’t love young…whatever you want to call this. I’m a professional, and mentally, I am too wrapped around Tom’s safety to be thrilled at the fact that he’s getting laid. I was very wrong about where tonight would lead. I cop to that.

I will not cop to tripping up and not getting this guy’s signature on a legal document.

So when their lips unlock, I cut in like the world’s greatest mood killer. “Before you go inside, you’ll need to sign an NDA, and I need your driver’s license.”

RJ slowly nods, glances at Tom unsurely. Their lips are reddened, and Tom mentions, “Oscar is my bodyguard tonight.”

“Yeah, I figured.” RJ asks me if he can look over the NDA.

I pop it up on my phone, and Tom tells him, “I’ll be inside, and if you bail, it’s whatever. There’s no pressure, dude. You want to or you don’t.” Tom gives RJ space to decide what he wants and leaves him at that.

RJ stares at the door that just shut. “I want to or I don’t,” he mutters, then laughs. “Does he want to is my question.” He’s talking more to himself than to me, and even if I wanted to add my two cents, his phone rings.

Using his shoulder, he props his cell to his ear while he scrolls through the contract and also digs out his ID.

I wish Charlie were out here. Because he’s not talking in English.

He’s speaking in Russian.

I read the name on the ID.

Nikolai Rurik Kotova Jr.

“Who’s your cousin at NYBC?” I ask, but I have a feeling I already know based on various context clues. 

He lowers the phone to tell me, “Roxanne Ruiz.”

Bingo.

After he hangs up, he signs the NDA. “Is that it?”

I should say yeah. Be the professional that I know I am. But Kinney Hale is sitting on my shoulder, and out of Rainbow Brigade something or other, my big mouth ends up saying, “You’re going to be careful with him?”

RJ cracks a half-smile. “I don’t plan to be uncareful.” His smile fades. “He’s not a virgin, is he?”

“I didn’t imply that,” I say seriously and give him a more intimidating stare-down.

“Right…” He’s not intimidated, but he focuses more on the door. “I can go in?”

“Yeah. You’re clear.” This is the hard part. Releasing an unknown entity into the Cobalt den. I don’t know enough, but there isn’t more that I could know in under five minutes that’d make my guards drop.

Charlie isn’t in the living room to see RJ as he crosses the common areas and Tom greets him outside his bedroom door. I can’t text Charlie about his brother’s hookup. I can’t break Tom’s trust tonight.

Kinney Hale would have my head.

Thank you so much for reading this month's extra bonus! This one is on the lengthier side, but we really loved getting to show a Rainbow Brigade outing during Pride Month. Plus, as we're writing Cobalt Empire, we're more inclined to show some backstories to the Cobalt brothers you haven't seen before. So it was such a treat to fill out more about Tom and his history. Also, we adore being in Oscar's head. His POV is so much fun to write! We hope you enjoyed this one!!

xoxo Krista & Becca

 “A Rainbow Brigade Favor," Copyright © 2024 by K.B. Ritchie