I’m not thinking about my gym.
Or money.
Or SFO and security.
It’s just me and Sulli and Banks. On our peaceful island together—where no crap can reach us. Where every dang thing makes sense.
With guacamole all in Banks’ hair, I’d say I’m holding my own for two-to-one.
But then Banks gives Sulli a boost. Throwing her over his shoulder, she descends on me with a bowl of shredded cheese. She pours the whole thing right over my head.
Colby jack catches my eyelashes.
I grin.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks like I already lost.
She’s waiting to eat my “sore loser” heart. Seeing her happy and safe, I’ve already won.
“Because of this,” I say, and with two hands, I smear salsa on her cheeks. The light in her green eyes barrels through me.
“Banks, more cheese!” Sulli calls to her other boyfriend, who’s still holding her over his shoulder.
He passes her more cheese, and after gently setting her down, Sulli is back on her feet. We slip, we throw, we laugh, and after we all nearly do the splits, we fall to the floor. Unable to stand with the amount of crap beneath our feet.
The food fight ends when we have nothing left to throw. We pant hard, our smiles softer. Leaning against the cupboards, Sulli is sitting between me and Banks.
I pry lettuce out of her long brown hair.
“Is beef juice on my lips?” she asks us. “Fuck, I don’t want to taste it.”
Banks reaches up and grabs a towel. He tenderly holds her jaw, then dabs at her lips. She smiles at him, and when he’s done, she looks to me.
I lean in and kiss Sulli. Softly, the moment quiet and serene, and she kisses back. Feeling her lips is like knuckles rapping my heart. Creating an extra thump. Thump.
Thump.
Dang.
After we break, she turns to Banks with light swirling in her eyes.
He leans down and kisses her next.
I watch their embrace. How her legs magnetically pull towards him. How her hand reaches out for me, and I draw her palm to my thigh. My pulse feels alive. Soaring. Like this is how life is supposed to feel.
Yet, there are responsibilities I can’t ignore.
Worries.
Other people.
I bang my head back on the cupboard, realizing that I let go of my phone.
That’s good, Nine.
No, it’s not. I can’t totally let go of my promises to SFO. I can’t say goodbye to every responsibility I have and live in some happy fantasy forever.
Even if that sounds like peace on Earth.
Anyway, I love my companies. Who even am I without my ambition and pursuit of something more in this life?
“Kits?” Sulli catches my attention. “What’s wrong?” Her frown pinches her brows. “Was it because I kissed Banks after you—”
“No,” I interject. “That was…” I tip my head with a growing smile. “That was hot.”
Banks cracks a smile. “Tell me more.”
I reach over Sulli and shove him.
He laughs.
And then Carpenter and Walrus race into the messy kitchen.
“Fuck,” Sulli curses.
We all spring up, but the calico cats roll in the salsa, cheesy beef combo.
Banks picks up both cats by the scruff, and a shaggy puppy bounds into the kitchen. Orion’s paws skid on the sour cream, and his furry body collides into kitchen stools.
Thatcher suddenly appears.
Sulli freezes like Thatcher caught her reckless misbehavior. “Um, I’m going to clean all this up.”
“We will too,” I tell Sulli.
Banks nods.
She wrangles Orion. “Go find your Mommy.” After a pat, the dog races away.
Banks passes the cats to the Thatcher, the Cat Dad. “Everyone already got food?”
He nods strictly. “We’re all on the terrace waiting for you three before we start the meeting.” The House Meeting that I said should coincide with Taco Night and a Security Meeting. Even though I don’t live here, security issues are cropping up, which is my responsibility to have under control.
While Thatcher lingers, the air tenses and grows more awkward.
He won’t make eye contact with me. Ever since I announced my relationship with Sulli and Banks, it’s been frost and cold-shoulders.
So my friendship with Thatcher is officially on thin ice, only propped up by the fact that Banks cares about me. Otherwise, in Thatcher’s eyes, I’m the guy that’s orchestrating a scenario that could hurt his brother. I don’t have any siblings, let alone a twin, so as much as I’d like to understand that kind of love, I only have what I know.
My endless love for Sulli.
My enduring love for Banks.
Still, I’m Thatcher’s boss.
He’s my lead.
There’s one thing I know about Thatcher Moretti. He’ll do his job to the best of his ability no matter what asshole he’s working for.
Even if that asshole is me.
Right now, I pick more lettuce out of Sulli’s hair. Thatcher’s stern eyes graze us, then the wasted food.
I can tell Sulli feels like crap. Even before she tells Thatcher, “We can cook something else if everyone wants seconds. I wasn’t fucking thinking—I mean, I know Jane put a lot of effort into this roommate meal with Moffy. I just, we just—”