Sulli’s on a mission, aiming for the back of the store that says “PET SHOP” on a poster board. I sprint to slip out in front of my faster-than-lightning client.
“Slow down, Sul.” I skim a hand against her hip, near her ass, as I move in front. I’ve never touched her like that before this trip.
So I don’t think it’s my words that make her feet suddenly stop. Her gaze flits quickly around the shop like she’s seeing if anyone saw me touch her.
Fish Hooks is empty.
Part of me wouldn’t really care if someone saw.
You should care, Nine. I hear my dad—at least imagining what he’d tell me, that moral, paternal voice guiding me through life.
I know I should care. Because it’d complicate things, and I don’t want to force her hand and have her choose me just because we were spotted together.
Shit, though, I want to touch her in public.
It’s killing me not to.
We make it to the counter. A sticky note taped to a bell says, tap me for service.
I tap twice.
Ping. Ping.
Sulli bounces on the balls of her feet, and her eyes flit to Banks. “You alright?”
He’s slipping on a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses and just gives her a single nod. Migraine, probably. Not just a passing headache. I stiffen the longer I watch him.
How many has he had recently? I hope that I’m not wrong and these are just infrequent. I could just be more attuned to his health than usual since we’ve been spending more time together.
I motion to the parking spot. “I left a bottle of Tylenol in the glove compartment. I can grab it for you.”
He puts a hand to my shoulder. “I’ll get it.”
Before he leaves, a gray-bearded man pops out from an employees only door. “If you’re here for snakes, we’re all out.”
“Shitbags,” Banks mutters on his way out.
Sulli frowns. “Someone bought all your snakes?”
I zone in on the empty snake habitats. “How many did you have?”
“About fifty of ‘em,” Gray Beard says, nametag reading Chuck. “Some organization for birds of prey is using ‘em to feed their eagles.”
Sulli and I share a look. Yeah, that’s bullshit.
“We’re not here for snakes.” I push my black hair back, fitting on a red baseball cap backwards. “Do you have crickets?”
He nods. “Sure. Sure. How many?”
“As many as you have,” Sulli says. “I have a colony of toads.” She says it with as much seriousness as she can muster—which isn’t a lot.
I lick my lips to try to stop from laughing.
Chuck just shrugs. “Whatever. Don’t care what they’re for as long as you’re paying. Wait here.” He disappears into the back.
Big Sky adventure brochures—rafting, fishing, kayaking—are displayed in dozens on the counter. Resting my bad elbow on the surface, the ache is small. Stitches came out yesterday, and Farrow said all of our wounds are healing well.
Angling more towards Sulli, I tell her, “You’re still a shit liar.”
“Hey, I’m keeping us secret, right? So I’m at least worthy of a bronze medal in Lying.” She glances at the storefront’s glass windows. Barrels of fishing rods and mannequins in fly-fishing gear obstruct most of the view from outside. “You think Banks is okay? How long does it take to grab some Tylenol?”
She’s thinking about Banks right now.
It dumbfounds me how much that doesn’t bother me. Jealousy is smothered beneath my own concern for him. And I’m happy Sulli cares about his wellbeing too.
I click my mic. “Akara to Banks, you alright?”
Banks responds quickly. “Liquor guy called back for the bachelor party. I’ll be in soon.”
Thatcher, Banks, and I have been texting each other in a group chat called The Losers Club since way back when the Moretti brothers joined security. And we’ll text whenever we don’t want shit heard over comms. Well, recently, Thatcher used the group chat, and I was around Banks when the messages were rolling in.
How’s the bachelor party planning coming along? – Thatcher
Don’t worry about it. I have it handled. – Banks
Maximoff has already finished organizing Jane’s bachelorette party. – Thatcher
Banks almost choked on his toothpick. He turned to me like a wounded animal, and I knew he hadn’t done a single thing to prepare for his brother’s party yet.
October 20th is less than 2 weeks away. Just let me know if you need extra hands. I can help – Thatcher
Stop stressing. I have it covered. – Banks
I made some calls for Banks using his phone. Including one for the liquor store. Banks is great at a lot of shit, but he procrastinates on tasks he’s unfamiliar with. Like planning an expensive party that’s more than just a six-pack and a few dozen wings.
So I helped my friend.
Lifting my mic to my mouth, I tell Banks, “Take your time.”
Banks and Sulli—they seem to always find time alone together. A rare moment where Banks is on the phone and I’m not? Yeah, I’m coveting these extra few minutes alone with her.