Fearless Like Us (Like Us 9)

I want a lot for the people I love.

My gym is a selfish pursuit.

It’s the one thing that’s for me. Connecting me to my father and my mother, and I should hypothetically let it go.

Pain slashes my lungs even imagining selling the gym. Or shutting it down.

I can’t.

I’m torn up. And I barely hear Banks and Sulli talking about Connor and his status as “king” among the families. I do a quick social media sweep.

Twitter.

Great.

“Kits?” Sulli sees the tension all over my face.

“It’s fine.” I’m about to pocket my phone, thinking she doesn’t want to see, but she reaches for my cell and I just show her.

She groans into a wince. “That means Bodyguard Brawl is trending in Philly, right?” She points at the hashtag.

“Yep.”

Banks leans over and reads over her head. She scrolls down through the most liked tweets and retweets.

Banks Moretti must have made a move on Sulli! Look at how he’s carrying her. #BodyguardBrawl

Akara Kitsuwon vs Banks Moretti. My money is on Akara. #KitsulliWins #BodyguardBrawl

OMG Sulli has 2 men fighting over her!! GOALS #Meadows4Life #BodyguardBrawl

Banks is just mad he lost his chance with Sulli. What a loser. #KitsulliWins #BodyguardBrawl

Look, this #BodyguardBrawl proves one thing. Banks and Sulli are OTP. #SullettiWins

“Ship wars,” Sulli murmurs. “Fuck me.” She looks crushed. Sulli falls face-first onto the mattress and yells into a pillow, voice muffled.

Banks rests a comforting hand on her back. “You okay, Sulli?”

“Sul?” I whisper, my chest constricted. Banks and I exchange a concerned look. She’s not unburying herself.

I fling off the white sheet. Dang. She has such a cute ass, and I have a flash of being inside her from behind. Sex with Sulli so far has been in its own league, probably because I have the deepest friendship with her, and even now, looking at her naked makes me want to scoop her in my arms and shelter her from storms and fuck her madly, wildly, until she’s spent and happy.

But instead of scooping her up, I reach down and grab her foot. I blow a raspberry on her sole.

She jerks into a laugh, “Kits!” She’s smiling for a brief second before the weight of the news descends. “Kitsulli fans were one thing. Having Sulletti shippers enter the chat is going to fuel the rumors about my love life. And I don’t want the fucking world to pit you two against each other.”

“Hey,” I coo, “that’s online bullcrap. It’ll stay inside the internet.”

“And even if they try us, we’re not giving in,” Banks adds. “The three of us here know there aren’t any sides. We’re all in this together.”

Sulli breathes in our assurances. “Okay…okay.” With a flop onto her back, she shivers, and Banks draws the white sheets up to her collarbones.

We all lie back down.

I collapse my head back against the pillow. Sulli rolls on top of me for a change, her cheek against my inked chest. Banks drapes an arm over her waist, and his hand brushes my bicep. Tension ekes from my muscles. The rise and fall of our breaths sync together.

Even with the ease of the air, the ease of my body, my mind is still wide-awake and racing.

Sulli lets out soft noises in her sleep, and Banks turns his head, meeting my eyes. He whispers, “What are we doin’ about the leaks?”

“The only plan is the same one,” I whisper back. “We dissect the next leaks that are dropped.” I think for a second. “Christmas is coming up. We’re all going to the lake house, so if the penthouse is bugged, then the leaks could stop over the holidays.”

Unless they are hoarding them.

“Theoretically,” Sulli mumbles, waking herself up.

I give her a look. “What happened to hating that word?”

“I still fucking hate it. Maybe even more.” She yawns and tries to peel her eyes wide open.

“Sleep, Sul.”

“I want to be awake with you two.”

Banks murmurs against her ear, and his words ease her into deep, deep slumber. I watch her lashes flutter, then her eyelids close.

He kisses her head, and I press a featherlight kiss to her cheek.

Night, Sulli.

I nod to Banks.

He nods back, and I try to relax so that sleep can take me.

42

SULLIVAN MEADOWS

My coach whistle thumps against my chest as I hop out of Booger. Cold wind whips across the snowy fields, and skeletal trees sway in the breeze. I’m still in Pennsylvania. Tomorrow, we leave for the Smoky Mountain lake house, burrowed in privacy and tranquility, and usually, the trip would be the chocolate sprinkles on the end of the year.

But my dad is still Team Choose One Boyfriend.

At least Moffy is being supportive. He said he’d have my back at the lake house. All my roommates did. (Minus Thatcher, who I don’t talk to that fucking much.)

FaceTime on, I hold the phone screen up to my cold, reddened cheeks, and while I linger at the Jeep, I explain all of this to my best friend.