Fearless Like Us (Like Us 9)

Moffy outdid himself with his comeback.

I inhale the crisp air and eye the twinkling stars on the clearest night. When I peek beside me, I smile even more.

Unbeknownst to the guests here, I’m on a formal date.

Akara asked me out, and even if he’s on-duty, I haven’t stopped smiling, especially as I sneak glances to my left. He’s underneath the same blanket, his hand subtly on my leg and dipping closer to my inner-thigh.

I warm at his touch.

Kits looks beyond dapper, like he stepped out of a Vanity Fair fashion shoot with a black-tie theme. He’s always rocked tuxes and suits, but this one fits him like a million dollars. His smoldering gaze carries light and a twinkling smile as he sneaks glimpses of me too.

“I’m properly dressed this time,” I tell him since I’m wearing a glitzy silver jumpsuit and furry cropped jacket. Cold nips my cheeks, but a white pom beanie warms my ears. Moffy told me the guest list is mostly familiar families in the charity circle. Basically, the kids we grew up around and their parents. Socialites galore. But I really wanted to dress up for my date. Not really for anyone else.

Akara leans closer to whisper against my ear, “You look beautiful.” I start to smile more, and then he adds, “String bean.”

I elbow his side.

He laughs into my hair.

“Oh my gosh,” a teenager gasps to her friend as they stand in a line for hot cocoa and cookies. They stare right at the sleigh, at me. At Akara.

At us.

Together.

Her friend whips out a phone to snap photos, and we sort of draw a reasonable distance away.

In front of us with reins in hand, a man on the bench hardly notices the attention we attract. His back is faced to us, and he keeps guiding the horse forward.

“I knew they were together,” she says too loudly as the horse trots past them.

I ache to shout, I’m also with Banks! He’s not assigned to my detail tonight, which is why I’m on a one-on-one date with Akara.

Before guilt or weird feelings dampens the mood, I turn back to Akara and pull the blanket up to my chest. “My dad took my mom on a sleigh ride,” I tell him, “out in the snowy woods. It was before I was born.” I smile more, remembering the story well. “My mom said it was one of the most romantic things my dad has ever done for her.”

Akara smiles, his eyes glittering on me again. He tells me, “My dad was always the romantic one with my mom. He’d go the extra hundred miles. Flowers, just because. Love notes under her pillow. Poems—dang, he wrote so many poems. I have none of that in me.” His smile slowly fades in thought. “I should do more for you. Flowers, just because. Poems—”

“No,” I shake my head. “That’s not totally you, Kits.”

His breath smokes the air as he asks, “What am I then?”

“You’re the guy who eats the veggies that I fucking hate, just so I don’t have to stare at them, the guy who goes out of his way to find me donuts and cupcakes, on more than just my birthday. The guy who tosses my hair in my face to make me smile, the guy who steals my gummy bears and arm-wrestles until my bicep is sore, the guy who races after me every time I say go. You’re Kits. My Kits.”

His chest rises in a deeper breath. He holds my hand under the blanket.

Softly, I say, “And my dad isn’t the ‘just because’ flowers type either. Their romance was always in the adventures they took together.” I feel his thumb brush over my gloved knuckles. “Plus, today is your birthday. I should be wooing the holy fuck out of you.”

He laughs. “You already are wooing the holy cow out of me, Sul.”

Smiling, I edge closer to his side. Up against each other more.

His smile softens. “Birthdays aren’t always easy for me.”

I squeeze his hand. “I know.”

He squeezes back and eases against the sleigh.

His dad passed away on December 17th. Only one day before Akara’s birthday. His dad never saw him turn eighteen. In past years of celebrating Akara turning older, I can tell memories of his dad linger and drift around.

“I love that you wanted to spend your birthday on a date with me,” I mention.

“It’s already been the best birthday.”

I snort, like he’s full of it.

“I mean it, Sulli.”

The snowy festival and lights fall to my peripheral as Akara takes total center focus. I’m his main focus too.

I can’t stop staring at his kissable lips.

He keeps looking at mine.

Kiss me, Kits.

He can’t.

Not here. We divert our gazes as thunderous applause sounds from a professional ice sculpting competition.

Akara leans up to the sleigh driver. “Sir, can you stop up here?”