Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

My brother knows I’ve been into Sulli since I’ve started spending more time with her, but like me, he’s also known that Akara Kitsuwon is in love with her. Unlike me, he’s not questioning the true depth of our friend’s denial.

The Do Not Enter sign in the direction of Sullivan Meadows was torn down tonight. I ripped through it. For better or worse, I’m here.

Just as I open my mouth, my phone buzzes. I check the message.

You’re still waiting to tell Akara right? Bc I still want to do it with you – Mermaid

I text back quickly: Haven’t told him. I promise I won’t without you

Thanks :) – Mermaid

She adds a high-five emoji. My lip almost curves up. When I pocket my phone, my brother gives me a harder look. Like he knows who that was.

“I really like her, Thatcher,” I say in an urgent whisper. “It wasn’t some impulsive thing.” My heart pounds harder, harder. “I’ve thought about it. I waited. I waited.” I tilt my head back, then forward, then thread my arms over my tight chest, agonized over something. “Akara might be my best friend, but I know I’m not his best friend. You’re it—”

“You always say that,” Thatcher interjects grumpily.

“Cause it’s the fuckin’ truth.” I raise my tensed shoulders. “You and him share responsibilities that I’ll never have. You’re his go-to. His—”

“Ride-or-die,” Thatcher finishes. “What are you getting at, Banks?”

“If you were the one to kiss Sulli, he’d keep talking to you. He’d shove past it. Me?” I shake my head firmly. Seeing Thatcher at the motel just reminds me that Akara is closer to him.

Thatcher doesn’t blink. His stern eyes speak words that are hidden somewhere in my mind. “You think Akara makes more exceptions for me than he does for you? He’ll let you off the hook a thousand times in any ass-backwards, shit-fucked direction.”

I’m about to shake my head.

“Banks, he’s seen you flirt with her and what’s he done about it?”

Alright, my brother has a point.

But I drag my gaze towards the rotting trash in the dumpster, then to the motel room where Charlie, Jane, and Maximoff have left. They’re talking and walking to their parked rental cars.

We watch them intently. Really, my brother is watching Jane. But he doesn’t move a muscle because Farrow, Oscar, and Akara are in range to protect her. Still, we go quiet. Hawk-eyeing their surroundings from afar, our vigilant gazes sweep the outside of the motel.

No threats that I can see or hear.

Sulli didn’t leave with her cousins.

She must still be in the room, and I watch as Maximoff gestures Farrow over.

Careful with a sleeping baby in his arms, Farrow slings a trauma bag over his shoulder, then heads to the motel.

I stare at the door. Worried about her foot, the scorpion sting. Fuck, I forgot the washcloth in the fucking sink. I didn’t even do what Farrow recommended to help decrease the swelling.

I would’ve remembered. If her cousins hadn’t arrived, I would’ve remembered.

And the longer I stare at the closed door, the more I remember my kiss with Sulli.

How it started with her challenge to prove it, and I wouldn’t trade anything…except maybe the location. For her sake.

“God, I feel like a real jackass kissing her in a motel,” I mutter out loud. It’s not the same feeling I had when I kissed other girls in a motel. They deserved more too, but I was a broke-as-hell teenager back then. A motel room was the tippy-top of what I could actually give, and so it felt like everything.

Looking back to Thatcher, I go rigid.

His face is contorting in a series of emotions—and finally I see that he lands on utter, suffocating concern. For me.

Tendons pull taut in my body. Pain bears on my chest.

“You really like her,” Thatcher repeats what I said earlier, but with more awareness of the true depth of my affection for Sulli. His concern keeps amassing. “Banks—”

“I know.” I’m unblinking now, drilling my gaze into him. Please don’t say it.

“She’s going to choose him.”

“I know,” I whisper back, eyes burning. Throat swelling. “Once Akara comes around, it’s game over for me. But right now, who knows what’s going on in his head?” I lift my shoulders again. “Come what fucking may.”

“Come what fucking may,” Thatcher repeats into a shake of his head. “Your fucking motto works on days you’re shifted between three clients without so much as a thank you or a five-minute warning. Come what fucking may isn’t what you’ll be saying when you’re watching her with Akara and having to stand off to the side.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not going to be fine,” Thatcher whisper-growls now. “You’re setting yourself up for a damn suicide mission. And I’m going to have to pick up the pieces.”

“Then I’ll ask someone else to do that.” I smack the back of my hand against his chest. “Take it off your hands.” I cock my head with a fleeting smile. Trying to add some levity to the quicksand my brother believes I’m stepping in.