It wasn’t until Sulli ran out of the funhouse that Akara told me hand-to-heart not to reply to her. Ever. To let her statement languish until it doesn’t exist.
I’m not a coward. Neither is he.
But this is fucking cowardly. He’s just so afraid of changing his dynamic with Sulli. He’s gripping onto the past and trying to piece back the remnants, but it’s already gone.
Probably for the better. She’s not the teenager he used to protect anymore.
Sulli stands up and pockets her cell.
We grow quiet as she approaches.
“My parents called,” she explains. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.” She nods a lot to herself, maybe nervously.
We’re not scared of her parents. Akara and I were bodyguards to minors before, so we’ve had to deal with their parents throughout the years. He just has more experience with the Meadows than me.
Sulli pulls her cart closer. “We should finish shopping.” She glances at my helmet, her lips inching in a smile. “I don’t think that one’s your color.”
I snap the buckles, then eye Akara. “She’s insulting your shopping skills.”
“Hers aren’t any better.” He places a bright pink helmet on Sulli’s head. “Gotta protect this one.” He knocks the helmet with a light fist.
“Careful,” I tell Akara, as we walk to the center of the store. “You break it, you bought it.”
Sulli pushes the cart, staying quiet. She even removes the pink helmet and places it on a rack of lanterns. Red patches roast her cheeks.
My pulse nosedives. I should’ve just flirted back with her instead of making a joke to Akara. God fucking dammit. She looks more aware like it’s the two of us versus her, and not just the three of us joking around.
Her neck is flushed, and she actually tries to outpace us. The wheels screech on the cart, and we let her go ahead.
“Shit,” Akara mutters and fits a baseball hat on backwards.
We roll to a stop.
Sulli has halted in front of a display of tents. Two fingers rest to her lips in her iconic concentration face. An expression that has graced sports magazine covers.
Brown hair falling over her shoulder, she turns to Akara and me. “How fucking big should the tent be? Do I need two—?”
“Protocol is one,” Akara reminds her. “But if you’d be more comfortable with—”
“One is fine,” she cuts him off, her voice tight. “Just fucking fine.” She tries to whisper but she’s terrible at it.
I hang my head, smiling.
Akara meets my gaze, smiling too. Even in her frustration, she’s really cute.
“Hey, string bean,” Akara calls to Sulli. “Maybe up it to a four-person tent for this one.” He squeezes my shoulder.
I smile again, biting on the toothpick.
She sizes me up, starting from my feet. No, really—she lingers on my feet, on my hands, then my dick. “Yeah, Jane said your brother has a big shoe size.” It tenses the air. “I mean, I’m just guessing your size is the fucking same.”
“Shoe size, yeah, but we’re not the same.”
“Oh hey, I know.”
I nod more. Christ, I feel like a jackass for assuming she might see me like a carbon copy of Thatcher. I hate being treated like we’re the same person.
We’re two separate human beings with individual thoughts and desires, and I forget we even look alike half the time.
I motion to a teal four-person tent. “That one looks good.”
“This one?” she points and looks for confirmation.
I nod.
She reads the tag for details.
Comms crackle in my earpiece, and I hear the Alpha lead. “Price to Akara and Banks, we’re heading inside the store.”
Akara clicks his mic. “See you.”
My focused gaze diverts to the entrance. Two bodyguards are escorting a scruffy-jawed fifty-year-old Ryke Meadows and his forty-three-year-old bubbly wife. She’s not bouncing on her toes like usual. Daisy Calloway searches left and right for her daughter. Concern etched in her eyes.
“Ca-caw!” Daisy calls out.
Sulli cups her hands over her mouth. “Ca-caw!”
Daisy spins around in the wrong direction.
Being six-seven, I’m the only one who can see over the shelves. I wave a hand until Sulli’s mom spots me. Her face lights up, she speaks to Ryke, and they both sprint over to the tents.
When I was Xander’s bodyguard, I dealt with Ryke’s half-brother: Loren Hale. Xander is a particular client, and mostly Lo was grateful for me and Thatcher.
Ryke is different. He’s told me, “Don’t get too fucking close” when I was already standing four hockey sticks away from Sulli.
He has more guards up around me than around Akara.
Because A.) two bodyguards have fucked clients. One of them is my brother. And B.) Ryke hasn’t known me like he knows Akara.
So again, I’m coming in at a disadvantage.
I’m coming up short.
Usually, I wouldn’t be that aggravated. I’m useful to security, to the team, to people—to Sulli. They need me. But I’m starting to feel more second-rate than ever before.