Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

My eyes open, face contorting. I chew slowly. Ugh.

Banks laughs, then uses his foot to pry open a sliding drawer to a trash bin. I spit out the half-mashed bite of toast.

“You sure that’s not in the cottage cheese family?” I sip from my water bottle.

“It’s…” He trails off as we hear footsteps towards the bedrooms.

The noise stops.

My eyes skim the width of their apartment. I’m not here a lot, if ever. Usually they’ll just come hang out at the penthouse. It’s clean for four guys crashing here, but this is about how clean security’s townhouse was too. No crushed, empty beers cans, no panties or bras lying around. It looks more like a professional sleep-space.

So maybe Akara is just taking a 4 a.m. business call?

A door creaks open. Just as I take a swig of water, a shirtless Akara Kitsuwon saunters towards the kitchen.

I choke again.

“You okay, Sul?” Akara asks with furrowed brows. He comes up to the bar counter that separates me and Banks from him.

His shoulder. His chest.

Wide-eyed, I wipe dribble off my lips and zero in on the fresh tattoo. Colorful ink covers his shoulder, upper bicep, and part of his upper-chest like a plate of armor. The design is mesmerizing: a snake winding around budding red roses and some type of yellow flower. Scales a rich green.

Beyond the new tattoo, sweat casts a glossy sheen over his bare chest and abs. His black hair—grown out enough to curl behind his ears—is a little damp.

My face begins to slowly fall.

It’s not wet like he took a shower. It’s damp from sweat.

Oh fuck me…

Five minutes.

Though, I ask hopefully, “Were you just getting tattooed?”

“What?” he frowns and glances at his fresh ink. “No, I got it a few days ago.” He’d been talking about getting a tattoo, so I shouldn’t be that fucking shocked. But I guess I always thought I’d be there. That he’d want me there. Before I ask if it’s Donnelly’s work, he explains, “I was around Old City and passed a tattoo shop. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

I just nod, not sure what to say.

Banks bites into the toast I nibbled.

“What’s up?” Akara asks me.

I texted him to talk. But I can’t shake how tense he looks.

He checks over his shoulder. “Can we go in the hall to chat?”

Someone’s in his room. He’s not sweating from weightlifting like I’d been doing.

Sex.

He was 100% having sex. The fact settles heavy in my stomach for some strange reason. Am I seeing mid-fuck Akara right now? Or is this his post-nut high?

My thoughts aren’t making this any better. A knot twists inside me.

“Um…” I stumble for a second before settling on a decision. “You know what, it can wait. You go back to Bone Town. Finish strong.”

I’ve actually said these words to him before—but today, after the funhouse, it feels a little different. I go fast for the door.

Nearly there, Akara reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait—” he starts.

“Akara?” a woman calls out.

Akara and I spring apart like an electric shock.

A blue-eyed, auburn-haired beauty has strolled out of his bedroom. She looks older than me. Probably closer to his age. Late-twenties. Freckles splatter her flushed cheeks, and a sheet is wrapped around her curvy, naked frame. Like she could be modeling for a half-nude oil portrait.

Suddenly, I’m highly attuned to my sweat-stained gray shirt, messy ponytail, and frumpy running shorts. My lack of shower this morning shouldn’t be that regretful, but the dark hair on my legs is longer than the usual prickly layer.

My leg-hair is obvious in a way that sends alarm signals in my brain.

Sulli the Sasquatch.

Insecurities fucking suck ass.

So I think, W.W.F.M.J.

Luna and I coined the acronym last year. Wise Words from Maximoff & Jane. I go to them for advice all the time, and right now, Jane would tell me to try not to compare myself to anyone. I’m myself. She’s herself. And we both can be fucking awesome…in our own ways.

I’m just the hairy one.

Fuck. I want to bathe in a vat of confidence. I know it’s there. It’s within me. It’s just washed off for a second.

Akara lets go of my wrist, his eyes on her. “Give me a second, Jenny.”

Jenny.

Slowly, I back up towards the kitchen.

Is Jenny short for Jennifer?

Is he already on a nickname basis with this girl? If she’s more than a casual hookup, why don’t I know anything about her? He’d tell me if he was dating someone. Right? We’re supposed to be friends.

Jenny plants her eyes on me. Luckily, she’s not cutting me with a death-glare for interrupting what I’d bet is an epic night of sex. Not that I know what getting fucked feels like. But I’m sure from Akara it’d be rated 5-stars. No deductions.

Bitterness rises to my mouth. Discomfort roasts me all over. So I open the freezer. Cool air blasting my hot skin, I grab a bag of frozen broccoli as something to do.