Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

Banks notices my switch in mood. “We can invite him along.”

I feel torn. Conflicted. And I shake my head. “That’s not fair to you.”

He shrugs, hands spread open. “I’d like more time alone with you, but I know doing it will hurt my best friend, and while we’re out there, you’d be thinkin’ about how you’re hurting him too, probably even more than me. I’ve lived with a lot of pain in my life, and I’d honestly just rather do the least painful thing.”

“Me too,” I say in a quiet breath.

So we agree to wait for Akara. After packing towels in a backpack, we find ourselves on the ground. Not even on the mattress. Side by side, we lean against the queen-bed, our asses on the floor, like it’s more comfortable than blankets.

Banks seems like someone who adapts well in any odd situation, any odd place. From a dingy motel to primitive camping to a tiny RV, he hasn’t complained really or asked to turn back.

It’s attractive, how much he’s up for anything.

“When I was a kid,” I tell him, “I used to watch this movie over and over on rainy days.” Our eyes meet. “Little Giants.”

His lip lifts. “I’ve seen that one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, surprisingly.” He slides his arm across my shoulders, and everything about the maneuver lights up my body. His touch is chock-fucking-full of I’m so into you and let’s never let this end. He asks, “That’s the kid’s movie about football?” Off my nod, he explains, “I played football growing up, so I watched it a bunch.”

I draw more into him. “So you know Becky the Icebox? She’s the daughter of the coach and the only girl on the football team.” Off his nod, I tell him, “I related to her in a lot of ways when I was young—she wanted to compete with the boys, but she also had this stupid crush on Junior, who just saw her as the Icebox: a friend, plus a great football player.”

Banks listens.

“And I’d yell at the fucking TV, Look at her, Junior! And as much as I loved the movie, I hated that ending.”

“Why?” His brows pull together. “I thought Junior finally comes around and gets with Becky.”

“But that’s after she decides to be a cheerleader.” I tuck my legs closer to my chest. “I get the whole message. She wanted to be a princess and a football player. Becky and the Icebox, and girls can be both things, but I guess I only identified as the Icebox. And it made me feel like one day I’d need to become the cheerleader in order to get the guy in the end.” I add, “Maybe that’s partly why romance was never on my radar growing up. I didn’t want to be hurt knowing that me, as I am, isn’t fucking attractive enough to the guys I liked.”

Banks looks deeper into me. “For what it’s worth, I never liked Junior.”

I break into a shocked smile. “No way, didn’t every guy want to be Junior?”

“I thought he was an idiot.” Banks smiles more, seeing mine. “Boys are stupid at that age. And then most turn into bigger stunads.” Stunad basically means an idiot. I remember that Italian-American word since he uses it a lot. “But I’ll fuckin’ admit, I did some Junior-like things as a kid too.”

“Like what?”

“I practiced how to kiss using my hand.”

I touch my chest with a laugh. “Fuck, so did I.” We’re both grinning again. “Although, it probably didn’t help me much. I feel like it’s nothing like the real thing.” I clutch his bicep, more seriously. “Be honest, am I a shitty kisser? Because I’ve only kissed…” I trail off at the unspoken, awkward thing.

I’ve only kissed three guys, and one of them happens to be dating me too.

Banks tenses, under-fucking-standably. With an exhale, he pushes through that awkward bit, and I love him for it.

My heart palpitates again.

“You’re not a shit kisser. I think if two people are feeling each other, it’s harder for the kiss to be bad.” His confidence edges along that crooked, sexy smile. “I’ve had enough bad kisses to know that kissing you is like a touchdown during a Super Bowl.”

I breathe in. “That’s a good line.” I eye his lips, my pulse drumming.

“First time I’ve used it.” He nods to me. “And it’s true.”

My whole body is vibrating in desire, in want. Turned on like a million-watts, and I ache for his rough grip, wanting him to explode forward.

Just as he moves in, the door unlocks.

Akara is frozen, keys in his hand. Like he walked in on Banks taking my virginity. That did not happen, but it’d be a royal fucking lie to say I haven’t thought about him inside me.

But I’ve also thought about Akara inside me too.

My heard is whirling, and I’m still turned on. Quickly, Banks and I scramble up to our feet together. “We’re going to the hot springs, Kits.” I toss the backpack at him.