Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

“Yeah?” he says between laughs. “My metaphor or analogy or whatever literary thing didn’t do it for you?”

I smile and elbow his side. “What? That a toilet is like a church?”

“It’s godly enough to be called a fucking throne.”

“The hole is my throne,” I say with an outstretched arm, knowing full well this is a sexual innuendo.

Banks bounces his head, his laugh deeper in his chest. He surveys the kiddy train-car ride and the families helping their children in the caboose. “Even if some knucklefucks come walk up and shoot the shit with you while you’re shitting?”

“Yeah, why not? I fucking hate being alone most of the time anyway.”

His brown hair is long enough to brush the back of his neck. He curls a strand behind his ear. “Isn’t swimming more solitary?”

“I had Moffy growing up. We went to swim meets together—he’s the closest thing I have to an older brother. I could’ve done any sport without him, but it wouldn’t have been the same. I think…” I scuff my boot on the dirt and stare out at the bright Thrill Drop, an adrenaline tower, in the distance. “I think that I would’ve been lonely. With how many cousins I have, I’m just used to being around people, even if I’m not that good with people.”

Everyone knows that I’m not that great with words like Jane. She’s a witty princess. I feel like the foul-mouthed voyager sailing the ocean blue, who’d reroute back home too quickly. I’d miss everyone too much, too fucking badly.

“You’re telling me,” he says huskily, “I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve never really been alone. Never lived alone. Never spent more than a day truly alone.” He catches my gaze and lifts another shoulder. “Maybe people like you and me are just meant to be in the company of a buncha knucklefucks—or we are the knucklefucks.”

I slug his arm. “Probably the latter.”

We share a smile, and our attention finds the same spot. The same person. Akara is pacing slowly near the miniature train caboose, a phone to his ear.

Business calls.

I’ve been slowly growing used to Akara’s abrupt, unexpected departure from my detail. Ever since he created his own security firm, he’s been too busy to protect me 24/7. I’m proud of him for building something big, and I don’t want to be the reason he fails.

“He looks really stressed,” I say to Banks as we watch Akara.

“Yeah,” he nods. “He’s grown an extra wrinkle overnight. Right above the third and fourth one.”

I laugh into a snort.

His lip lifts too, but our humor weakens as concern mounts.

Banks is here to protect me for these moments, when Akara has to step out, and he cares just as much about his friend.

A second passes when I realize that I’m just waiting around the fucking porta potties. For what?

Not, for what?

For whom?

My eyes flicker to Banks. “You’re not going to mention that I don’t need to wait around for my bodyguard since I have you?”

He shakes his head once. “I know what he means to you.” His gaze sweeps the area. “But you don’t have to wait around for Akara if you don’t want to.”

My stomach tightens. He’s my bodyguard. Wherever I go, Akara will eventually catch back up to me. But I feel like we’ve been hanging out at the carnival as friends, and even if he just briefly left, I’d want to spend the next few minutes with him.

So I wait.

Banks doesn’t even bat an eye at my choice.

And not long after, Akara pockets his cell and jogs back over. “Sorry, Sul. Had to take the super, important phone call about taxes.” He sighs. “It was riveting.” His sarcasm is all over his face.

“Oh hey, at least you’re important enough to take important calls.” I smack his well-defined abs.

He steals my hair tie out of my bun. Fuck! My long hair falls, and he flings a strand at my face and walks backwards, just as I try to steal the hair tie back.

He raises it above his head. “At least I’m important enough to protect a very important person.”

I try to grab the hair tie again, but Akara hides it behind his back. I tell him, “Banks must be more important since he’s clocked in more hours protecting me.”

Banks laughs, and Akara snaps the hair tie at his friend’s face.

We’re all laughing again, and Banks returns the hair tie to me. “Thanks,” I say as I fix the strands up in another messy bun, and I spot bright bulbs that spell out American Circus Funhouse.

“Want to check it out?” I ask them.

They’re already leading the way.

I follow them up creaky metal stairs and into a tight hallway. It’s actually weirdly quiet. The outside sounds of laughter and the music from amusement rides are more muffled here.

Banks messes with his earpiece. “Comms are jammed?”