Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

Fuck my life.

I have been there. I am currently right fucking there. Although we haven’t exactly settled on labels. Probably because I haven’t been able to choose who’ll go from short-term dating to long-term boyfriend. Not to mention, they might just choose each other in the end.

I pick up a handful of mud. Avoiding direct eye contact with everyone. Thankfully they’re all so focused on Luna, they don’t notice my bad acting.

“There’s no secret relationship happening,” Luna tells us. Her gaze stays on her older brother for a longer beat. “I’ve been honest with you. I wouldn’t lie when I told you it was a one-time thing.”

I’m the real liar.

The bad liar.

Right here.

Me.

The wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I believe you, Luna,” Moffy says strongly. “It’s just a weird coincidence, and those happen all the damn time, trust me. I’ve been through misunderstandings and doubts.”

The HaleCocest rumor. I cringe remembering how the media thought Moffy and Jane were hooking up. So fucking gross. It was even worse when some of our family didn’t know what was real either. A lot of security facts were stacked against Moffy.

Luna eases, then frowns, thinking harder. “Donnelly and I don’t really talk much outside of group events and some of the tattooing sessions we’ve had. I don’t know anything about his dating life.” Her frown deepens. “I’m just as confused as all of you.”

I say unhelpfully, “Maybe he got an STD and he’s waiting for things to fucking clear up.”

Jane’s eyes go wide. “Is that what Akara said?”

“What? No!” Oh fuck, I am so bad at this. I don’t want to start a rumor about someone having an STD. “It was just a guess. A bad guess. Wipe it away from your memories.”

“It’s gone,” Jane says with a breezy flick of her hand.

Luna’s lips have downturned. “You really think no one would sleep with him if he had an STD?”

“Luna,” Jane says. “The memory is wiped.”

“Oh right.” Luna scoops up handfuls of mud and plops them on her head. “Memory erased.” She looks like Carrie from the movie, only instead of blood, she’s drenched in mud.

“Bachelorette game time,” Moffy decrees.

Fuck yes! Time to win. I pick myself out of the hot mud bath. Sitting on the ledge, ready for total domination.

Jane cups her beer goblet again. “Wait, while we’re on the topic of bodyguard relationships, have you given any more thought to Banks?” She’s volleying the conversation back to me.

“Banks?” Luna frowns.

“He likes Sulli,” Jane says.

Luna draws a newly wet mud mustache on her face over her dried mud mask. “I thought Akara likes Sulli.”

The wind shifts in my sails like I’m being spun sideways. Am I still breathing?

“Akara said he just sees her as a friend,” Jane notes.

“Huh,” Luna tilts her head. “But Banks likes her?’

“Oui.”

This can’t be happening.

If I utter a single word, I’ll be caught in my lie. My lips have cemented together, and I try to be all cool. All casual. I remember how easy it was for Akara to skate through his lie like it was nothing, and hurt blossoms in my chest.

It shouldn’t be easy to lie about this. To lie about them.

Because I lo…I care about them both. Fucking immensely.

Luckily Moffy pries the conversation off Banks and Akara and refocuses it onto the bride-to-be. Moffy doesn’t know it, but he’s definitely helping me be better at secret-keeping. Thank God for the man of honor.

40

BANKS MORETTI

As the best man, it’s my job to make sure my brother is having a good time at his own bachelor party. But Thatcher Alessio Moretti is making that task harder than I thought he would. I’d have better luck flying my ass to the moon.

He hasn’t touched his beer and we’re at a fuckin’ brewery.

At least he keeps sending ice-cold lagers to his fiancée.

“Thatcher,” I lean into his ear, clamping a hand on his strict shoulder. “You can drink more than the baby sips you’ve been taking. We’ve got temps and SFE here.” I hate to give that much credit to Epsilon, but if it’ll ease my brother’s stress then I’ll be spitting those words all day.

Montana Moose Foot Brewery is on the ground floor of this enormous lodge. Complete with barrel-drum tabletops, leather barstools, and mounted bison heads. Bougie, but also something my brother and I would’ve walked into if we had the cash and the people didn’t side-eye us to hell.

I’d love to give myself kudos for the venue, but Jane and Thatcher basically chose it themselves with an assist from Maximoff.

We bought out the brewery for a “private party” for the whole day, and right now, various cliques pack the bar area, leather sofas, and tabletops. From my cousins at the bar—Morettis, Piscitellis, and Ramellas—to the Cobalt brothers at an entire sofa section, and to Omega at the high-top tables.

It’s like high school all over again.