Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

I swallow hard, her hurt pushing through my sternum. “It’s okay for things not to work out exactly how you planned,” I remind her. “I know it’s hard, but sometimes pivoting turns out better than you expect.”

“Like you did with security?” Sulli knows my goal wasn’t to be in security work. But my gym wasn’t an instant success, and I needed money and a backup plan.

Turns out the backup plan was almost better than the goal.

“Yep,” I say. “Just like me and security.”

Banks nods, then tells her, “Hang on to the moments you did enjoy. Fuck the rest.”

Her lips begin to lift a little. “I like that slogan. Fuck the fucking rest.” She leans back, crossing her legs on the seat. “The climb isn’t the only reason I’m bummed.”

I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. Tension stretching in the knowingness of the silence.

Red flush ascends her neck. “It’s over once we’re home, right? I have to choose.”

I nod slowly, my muscles stiff. “We can’t really keep up this bachelorette thing in the city, Sulli. People will figure it out.”

Banks adds, “I can’t keep a secret from my brother for that long.”

“Alright.” Her voice is small. “I’ll figure this out, I fucking promise. I’m not trying to string you guys along.”

We both assure her that we understand.

My muscles are tensed, palms sweating. How do I relax when I could be going home and losing her?

Bank runs a hand across his jaw, then his leg, looking back to Sulli. “Are you leaning one way or the other?”

“I mean, honestly, I go back and fucking forth all the time.” She covers her eyes. “And I just think, W.W.F.M.J.”

I make a face in the rearview. “What?”

Banks pops Skittles in his mouth. “What Would Farrow Moffy and Jane Do?”

“It’s missing a D,” I tell him.

She peeks out a smile. “No, it’s Wise Words from Moffy and Jane.” She leans forward as Banks offers his pack of Skittles. She takes a handful of candy. “I think about what advice they’d give me if they knew what situation I’m in. I think Moffy would just ask me how I feel a lot, and Jane would tell me to make a Pros and Cons list.” She tosses Skittles back in her mouth.

“That’s a good idea.” I nod to my backpack at Banks’ feet. “A notebook and pen are in there.”

Banks looks at me like I’ve lost it. “Really?’

“Yeah, she should make this decision with a clear head.”

“This isn’t a spelling test, Akara,” Banks snaps, but he’s already unzipping the backpack. “There should be some emotion behind it.”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t. And it’s a spelling bee.”

He flicks me off.

“Hey,” Sulli puts a hand on our shoulders. “Remember, you two could just choose each other. That’s another option.”

Banks and I exchange a tense look. Yeah, that is an option, but in that scenario, Sulli loses the most. That hurts to think about, so I push the thought back.

Banks passes Sulli the notebook and pen. “Only if you want to.”

She flips open a page and slides back in the seat. Clicking the pen over and over.

“You can take your time, Sul,” I say. “Don’t stress about it.”

“No, I’ve got this.” She scrawls down on the notebook for three minutes, and I try to concentrate on the road.

What is she writing?

I have no idea how the matchup between me and Banks is faring. So I pry. “How’s it going?”

“Lots of pros on both columns. Zero cons.”

I smile.

Banks is smiling too.

I tell her, “Come on, Banks has a ton of cons. He definitely farts in his sleep.”

Banks tells her, “And Akara’s feet smell like spoiled sour cream and chives.”

She laughs, “Fine, alright. I’ll put the sleep-farter and feet-smeller in your cons, but they’re just going to equal each other out.” She scribbles, then pauses, sniffing loudly. “Do you smell that?”

“My feet have no scent,” I defend.

“No, Kits…”

I already see it. Severity crashes against me as the front hood of the Jeep engulfs with a thick layer of smoke.

Shit.

44

BANKS MORETTI

The Jeep smokes and backfires. A rhythmic, repetitive popping sound that I recognize. And I’m thinking, too easy. I packed some tools and cleaner in case of any mechanical issues on the road trip. I’ll give the carburetor a clean and we’ll be good to go.

So we pull over on the side of the road in the dead of night. I pop the hood, and I’m inside her for fifteen minutes, finding problem after problem after fucking problem.

“Is it bad?” Sulli asks, shining a flashlight for me while I check the camshaft and remove the valve covers. Akara is further away, trying to locate a fucking morsel of cell service in a dead-zone.

“She’s running lean,” I explain to Sulli as I work, “which means too much air is flowing in the engine. The air intake boot has ripped, and it’s causing unmetered air in the engine. Plus, the main vacuum hose broke.” I remove another valve. “It’s the power brake booster feed line. And the spark plugs are worn out.” I did a routine check before we got on the road, and none of this shit looked this fucked.