Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

He rushes to us, falling to his knees. One hand on Sulli’s head, the other on mine.

I breathe in a lungful of air.

I wake up.

Sweat coats me, and I shoot up, gasping for oxygen. I blink and blink, resting my forearms on my bent knees, disoriented after being in such a vivid dream.

I hate and love the snow.

It was snowing the day my father died.

It was snowing the day my mother moved back to New York.

Nearly every shitty day in my life, it’s been snowing. Even in my hellish dreams, it snows. But some of the greatest memories I have of my family were on the snowy ski slopes. We were a happy, close family. Mother and Father teaching their baby son how to snowboard. Until I became older and I could race them both on black diamonds with ease.

Like Sulli, I grew up with thrill-seeking parents. My dad worked a desk job so he could play harder. He ran marathons. He was healthy. So his heart attack was a surprise to everyone. Especially me.

I sense the rising tide of grief. Flooding me.

Memories are like a mystery bag of emotions. Reach in and you can pull out the bad ones. The sad ones.

Even if you’re only reaching for the happy past.

Guess I got the sad past.

“Kits?” Sulli whispers in the motel room, concern all over her voice. She’s awake. Actually looks like she’s been awake for a while. I’m not that shocked. Still on her side, she’s propped up on an elbow. A phone glows in her hand, illuminating her face.

“I’m okay.” I lick my dried lips and pat her thigh—that wasn’t her thigh. I just patted her ass.

Sulli goes still. Her reaction is hard to decipher in the dark.

I tense. “Sorry, Sul—I was aiming for your leg.”

“Oh hey, I didn’t think you were trying to cop a feel or anything,” she says easily. “It’s alright.”

Usually that’d comfort me. Now, the friend-zone is stifling. Like I’m still being packed in an avalanche of snow. I swallow hard, and I wonder if this is what she’s been feeling.

I haven’t been fair to her.

Sulli sits up. She’s more content than in my dream. Her morning hair is messy around her wide, squared jaw.

Quietly, I tell her, “It was a dream.”

“Yeah?” She studies my face. “How was the fucking snow this time?”

I exhale a breath. “Heavy.”

I’ve told Sulli about the snow, my dreams—she even knows about the steel room. Only last time I dreamt that one, I wasn’t trapped with Sulli. I was trapped with Banks. And she was the one to unlock the door.

Before I psychoanalyze myself, I check my phone. Texts are already sky-high. Mostly business-related. I’ll answer them later. It’s still dark outside. Almost sunrise.

Banks is sound asleep beside Sulli, and I’m glad he’s getting rest. Honestly, I hope his dreams aren’t as mind-fucked as mine.

Sulli watches as I rise to my feet.

I jab my thumb to the door, and she nods into a smile. No words needed. Just like that, she knows.

Soundlessly, we throw on clothes. I peek over at her while she shimmies running shorts up her toned hips. She’s watching me as I pull a tee over my head.

She’s twenty-one.

All grown up.

I’ve never slept with a friend. Never slept with a client, that’s for damn sure.

Messy. So messy—but I’m tired of taking wrong turns when it feels like the right one is right in front of me.

I can’t lose her.

Can’t imagine life without her.

I wonder what it’s like to touch her, to kiss her.

The things I want, I go for. And now that I’m wondering about it, I want it.

Sulli digs around in her backpack, and I go to mine. Unzipping the side, I grab a small notepad and pen from the bottom. Scribbling a quick note.

Sulli abandons her backpack. Sidling next to me, she cranes her neck over my shoulder and reads the note.

I wrote: Morning run with Sulli. Be back soon. – 9

She motions for me to hand her the pen, and I give it to her. Below my words she draws three little waves.

With a smile, I whisper, “Who said this was a group note?”

“Hardy-har-har.” She leans down for another doodle.

I steal my pen back.

She pushes me lightly in the arm, smiling. Her smile expands my lungs. Lifts my chest. Makes me feel really good. I love when I’m in her good graces. Love when our playful dynamic is back in action. Hate when it’s all burned to shit in the land of awkward friendship.

Then don’t be friends, Nine.

The thought nearly steals my breath. I keep moving. Tip-toeing to the sleeping mats, I leave the note near Banks. Close to his hand.

He’ll notice it.

More silently, Sulli and I make our way outside. To the dewy, dark morning. We go behind the motel and into the wooded thicket. I see what she removed from her backpack. She tips a small travel-sized bottle of mouthwash to her lips and then swishes. It’s casual, but fuck it’s sexy.