She brushed my nose with hers. “When you’re sad one day, you’ll discover that stuff coming around that makes you feel less lonely, and you’ll share the quiet and the restless and the loud with them, and life will feel so much bigger.”
I finally understand what she meant.
Life feels bigger with them here.
Resting on my velvet, turquoise quilt, we’re already halfway through the twelve-pack. The guys tossed most of my sea-creature-shaped pillows on the ground but kept a decent amount of the donut and cupcake ones. They use them for comfort against the hard iron rungs of my headboard.
It feels safe in my bedroom with Banks and Akara.
Away from common areas of the penthouse.
Free from accidentally running into my cousins or SFO and turning up a notch on the awkward meter.
But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about all the whispering and fucking gossip happening outside my door.
Well, not right outside it. I doubt any of my roommates would be that fucking rude to put their ear against the door, but they are probably huddled in the dining room or kitchen discussing my love life.
Fuck, I hate that sort of attention that looms and shadows. Moffy was right about that, but I need to get used to these cons because the pros of being with them mean too much to me.
“Luna felt the most supportive, I think,” I tell them, sitting cross-legged. “I just wish they’d give us a chance before they think it’ll all fucking fail.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Banks lifts his beer.
We swig at the same time. Alcohol tastes bitter on my lips, and a warm, fuzziness washes over me from the beer. I’m not really drunk at all. Tonight’s events have the best sobering effect, and replaying my talk with Moffy and Jane just about obliterates my buzz.
“Hey, whatever happens out there,” Akara says to us, holding his beer on his knee while he leans against the headboard—right next to Banks, “that’s not as important as what happens here.” He motions with his beer between the three of us.
“Fuck ‘em,” Banks says, “including my brother. But with love.”
I smile more, feeding off their confidence. “Yeah, fuck them.” I sip beer. “They put us on an island alone together, and they should know what happens next. It’s not a break-up like they all fear. It’s literally Blue Lagoon.”
Akara smiles, twinkling his brown eyes. “You Meadows and Blue Lagoon.”
“It’s a classic.”
Banks wears one of those shadows of a smile. “What, are we all gonna turn into mermaids?”
Akara laughs with the shake of his head, “No, zero mermaids are to be found in this movie. Two kids are stranded, then they grow up on the island together, presumably alone and fall in love and fuck.”
“It’s a porno?” Banks asks.
“No,” I cut in. “Ugh, Kits. You’re ruining one of the best, most pure movies of all time.”
His smile only grows. “They have sex, Sul. I’ve seen the movie about ten times with you.”
I talk to Banks as I say, “Okay, yes, they fuck—but it’s more like making love. Because when they’re on this island together, they’re discovering things on their own without anyone’s advice or guidebook. No one even taught her what a period was. No one told them about sex, but they listened to what they felt while they were out there.”
Banks slowly nods, then tips his beer in my direction. “So we’re Blue Lagoon, stranded on an island together and listening to what we feel?”
“Exactly.” Butterflies swarm my stomach, feeling how much Banks just understood me.
Banks swings his head to Akara. “You really did ass-fuck that movie synopsis.”
“Hey, it’s not a complicated movie.” He counts on his fingers. “Stranded. Love. Sex. Babies—”
“Babies?” Banks makes a point of eyeballing me. “She never said anything about babies.”
Akara smiles at me, swallowing more beer. “No, she didn’t.”
Their teasing is setting me on fire. “Where were they going to buy condoms on the island? The fucking Walgreens next to palm tree 1 and 2?”
They laugh, and Banks says, “There’s a fucking Walgreens on our island. Unless our asses literally get stranded.”
“We’d survive,” Akara says with certainty, and I think he’s right. The hardest thing for us is going to be integrating with people. Our families and the world.
Here on our island, hiding out in my bedroom, hiding out in Yellowstone—it’s easy. It’s freeing. But like Blue Lagoon, sooner or later someone will come find us.
As Akara stretches down for the beer box on the floor, bands of muscle in his traps and bicep stretch, his core contracts. Only wearing red drawstring pants, I can count his abs and the yellow flowers inked around the snake on his upper-chest and shoulder. Black hair touches his eyelashes as his fingers curve around the beer bottle.
Holy fuck.
The rim of my beer rests against my lips. Forgetting to drink. Until Banks catches my eye. His mouth is curved like he caught me watching a porno.