Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

He laughs. “You were both sixteen, and you have a big dick. She probably didn’t know what to do with it.” He pulls a water bottle and slowly spins the cap off. “It’s just math.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there.” I shake my head when he tries to hand me the water.

Akara scrutinizes me one more time before taking a swig.

“She was embarrassed as hell,” I continue, “and I felt like shit after. I just wouldn’t want Sulli to have to feel that her first time.” I add more strongly, “And she wouldn’t with me. Confidence and experience guarantee that.” I’m not sixteen fumbling around anymore.

Akara rests his arm on his knee. “You don’t need to convince me of anything like that. I know you’d be good for her.” He glances at me. “But probably not better than me.”

I watch Sulli swing to the rock again. “Only she can decide that.”

He leans back. “Yeah, but it’s not like she’s going to take a test run.”

“Which is good,” I tell him. “This isn’t about who’s the best lay.”

Akara nods, going quiet as Sulli misses the handhold again. “You weren’t there, but during the FanCon tour, you remember Thatcher and I talking about how the bus broke down?”

I fit another toothpick between my lips. “Yeah?”

“There was a fortuneteller in this small town, and sometimes I think about what she told Sulli.”

“What’d she tell her?”

“Something like you’re determined, a go-getter, and there’s a guy who protects you strongly, and you will fall—and then Maximoff cut her off. At the time, I thought it was fall in love, but that was back when she wasn’t climbing. Now I think she was referring to a literal fall.”

We’re more unblinking, more laser-focused, and I want to shake my head and tell Akara he’s wrong. But the energy in the air has been off most of the day.

If I’m honest with myself, it almost feels like we’re being watched.

Hairs stand up on my neck, and I remember, “I lost my rosary.”

“When?”

“This morning. I was looking for it before we hiked over here.”

Akara lets out a laugh. “Fuck, Banks, you lose everything.”

He’s not wrong. “At least I haven’t lost my fucking mind yet.” I shut another eye.

“You’re in pain?” he finally asks.

“Small headache,” I mumble, breathing through my nose. “It’s nothing.” Don’t puke.

He grimaces. “Doesn’t look small, Banks.”

“I’m fine.” To switch the subject, I land on something I’ve thought about. “Do we know if Sulli has done more with the Rooster than just kiss?”

Akara turns back to watch her. “I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything to me. But that doesn’t mean much since she shut me out after their break-up. I don’t think she’d tell me, if she did.”

I cinch my eyes closed, more from the migraine, and rake a hand roughly through my hair. “So he could have put his fingers in her.” I open one eye.

Akara’s jaw sets, and he passes me the water bottle. “I’m trying not to think of murder today, Banks, could you please shut up.”

I pop the cap. “I’m just throwing out possibilities.”

“And I’m holding onto the one we know: he didn’t sleep with her.”

“Right on.” I put the water bottle to my lips. Taking a hearty swig, then wiping my mouth with my arm. “I don’t think she gave him a blowie either. He seems like the kind of guy that’d never shut up about it.”

Akara smiles. “Small thanks to that.”

On the rock face, Sulli takes another leap and this time, she grabs the second handhold.

“Get some,” I say under my breath, my chest swelling for her.

Akara is grinning.

Time ticks by, and as the sun starts to lower in the early evening, Sulli finishes climbing. Back on the ground, sweat drips off her forehead and she guzzles water from a CamelBak nozzle, the bladder filled with a couple liters of water.

“I think I can do it in a couple days,” she tells us. “One more practice and I’ll nail it.”

Akara high-fives her, then tickles beneath her armpits.

She squeals, “Kits!” and squirts him with water.

A tinge of jealousy rises. Hate that. But I won’t ever have that kind of relationship with her. It’s not how we started. It’s not really what I want with her either. Not that I’ve dated that much. That’s Akara’s wheelhouse. But I’m not Akara Kitsuwon.

I’m Banks fuckin’ Moretti.

I pick up my backpack and swing the strap over my shoulder. When I go to carry Sulli’s, she says, “Oh hey, I got that.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She slings her Patagonia backpack on. “Not too heavy.” She slugs my waist. “I could probably beat you in a footrace with a hundred pounds.”

“Probably.” I slide an arm across her shoulders while she’s next to me.

She intakes an audible breath, then smiles at my arm on her. Sulli even takes my hand that hangs near her bicep and places a kiss on my knuckles.