Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

Banks likes her.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Not the first time I’ve thought about it. Shit, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of Banks & Sulli together.

Romantically.

My jaw tenses at that word. But at least my glare isn’t drilling fifty holes in the cement parking lot. Fuck. If Banks were any other guy—if I didn’t know him so well—I’d be running into the gas station and twirling her towards me. To protect her from the bastards of the world.

She’s like a sister. I rest against Booger. Yeah, she’s like a sister.

But Banks is the kind of guy I’d pair with my sister in a heartbeat. He’s considerate, honorable, selfless—he treats women like they’re gods among mortal men. He’d worship her.

I’d run to the ends of the earth for her.

I shake the thought away. Why the hell does that matter? Banks isn’t Will Rochester. He’s not a shitstain or a prick like her ex-boyfriend. If she likes him, she should be with him.

But even trying to picture their first date deadbolts my brain. I go blank and self-eject.

I’m not jealous.

My chest sinks. I can’t be jealous…

More likely, I’ve never been a real third wheel with Sulli. Even with Will, she chose to hang around me over him. She’d constantly turn to me.

Talk to me.

Play with me—teasingly, friendly.

Being a third wheel—this is just new to me. Something I’m not used to. It’s making me feel weird shit. That has to be it.

Banks leads Sulli out of the store, a plastic bag in his hand and in hers. I nod to Sul, “What’s the damage?”

She bypasses me with a short, fleeting look. “Donuts, Ho Hos, and gummy worms.” And then she climbs into the backseat.

Banks makes a face at me while he swigs a Ziff sports drink. Washing down the donut Sulli crammed in his mouth.

Am I bitter?

Something rises to the back of my throat.

While I screw on the gas cap, Banks hands me another Ziff out of his bag. “Unless you want to spend another hundred miles with Sulli the Iceberg, you’re gonna want to go unfuck that.”

“I’m already there.” I down a strong gulp of Ziff, heading to the window of the backseat. Every time Thatcher and Banks say unfuck, I picture a dick exiting a pussy.

So that’s what I’m picturing.

My dick. Exiting her pussy.

I blink and blink to get that shit out of my head. Strolling up to the window, I rap my fist on the glass.

Sulli rolls it down, and I rest my arm on the sill, eyeing the bag of snacks she just bought. All sweets. Her dietary habits lie solely at the top of the food pyramid. With her hand halfway in the gummy bag, she says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I smile, trying to ease back in her good graces.

She bites a gummy. “What do you want, Kits?”

“Just to talk, say hey.”

I can’t help but see a faint look of disappointment cross her face. Like I’m not giving her enough, but I can’t be…we can’t be…

A breath catches in my lungs, and I exhale and nod to the gummy worm she’s eating. “What flavor is that?”

“Cherry.”

I picture her on a bed. For a split-second. I picture Sulli on a fucking bed. Legs spread. Her cherry—it’s just my brain. Means nothing.

“Taste good?” I wonder.

She shrugs. “The green ones are better.” She tears one with her teeth. Sulli is tender-hearted, but with a single, serrated slice, she will cut out anyone from her life that hurts her. She cut out her ex-boyfriend without second thought.

She cut out Beckett, her best friend.

But she hasn’t cut me yet.

“Green ones taste like lime?” I wonder.

“Yep.”

I lean more into the window. Teasingly, I smile, “Where’s my gummy worm?”

She rips off another piece with her teeth. “Between your legs.”

Banks laughs hard, climbing in the driver’s seat.

I shoot him a middle finger.

Sulli twirls the gummy. “Only totally hot babes know what that worm tastes like.”

“Where’s the lie?” I tease, then I slyly and quickly reach for the gummy worms through the window, stealing the bag.

Sulli smiles, “Kits!” She tears the bag out of my grip. Gummy worms go flying, but I grab a few out of the air.

“Thanks for these.” I slide into the passenger’s seat.

“Asshole!” she shouts, kicking the back of my seat.

I turn around, staring at her while I eat a green gummy worm. “Mmmhh.”

She tries hard not to smile. “Fuck you.”

I mime grabbing the fuck you out of the air and swallowing it.

Her humor fades pretty fast. Too fast, and I watch as she concentrates on the scenery out the window over our interaction.

Well, that lasted point-five seconds.

Great.

I face forward while Banks pulls out of the gas station. “I’ll drive next stop,” I tell him.

He nods. “Who called earlier?”

I lean back, more tensed.

Being the boss, I don’t share everything with everyone in security. I could easily shut out Donnelly, Oscar, and Farrow (the Yale boys) and say, it’s nothing you should worry about. They’d understand. But the Moretti brothers are different. I’ve always confided in them.