Wild Like Us
Page 1
Contents
Title
A Note from the Authors
Character List
1. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
2. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
3. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
4. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
5. BANKS MORETTI
6. AKARA KITSUWON
7. AKARA KITSUWON
8. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
9. BANKS MORETTI
10. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
11. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
12. BANKS MORETTI
13. AKARA KITSUWON
14. AKARA KITSUWON
15. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
16. AKARA KITSUWON
17. BANKS MORETTI
18. AKARA KITSUWON
19. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
20. BANKS MORETTI
21. AKARA KITSUWON
22. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
23. BANKS MORETTI
24. AKARA KITSUWON
25. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
26. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
27. BANKS MORETTI
28. AKARA KITSUWON
29. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
30. BANKS MORETTI
31. AKARA KITSUWON
32. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
33. BANKS MORETTI
34. AKARA KITSUWON
35. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
36. AKARA KITSUWON
37. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
38. AKARA KITSUWON
39. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
40. BANKS MORETTI
41. AKARA KITSUWON
42. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
43. AKARA KITSUWON
44. BANKS MORETTI
45. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
46. AKARA KITSUWON
47. BANKS MORETTI
48. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
49. BANKS MORETTI
50. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
51. AKARA KITSUWON
52. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
53. BANKS MORETTI
54. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
55. BANKS MORETTI
56. AKARA KITSUWON
57. SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Thank you!
Banks Moretti - Kick the Door In
Also by Krista & Becca
About the Authors
Pronunciation Glossary
Acknowledgments
Wild Like Us Copyright © 2020 by K.B. Ritchie
Second Edition - Digital
* * *
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any capacity without written permission by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, are coincidental and originate from the authors’ imagination and are used fictitiously.
* * *
Cover image © Shutterstock
Book cover design by Twin Cove Designs
www.kbritchie.com
A Note from the Authors
The Italian used in this book is an Italian-American language developed by Italian immigrants. It is an incomplete language and uses Italian, English, or both. Different Italians speak different dialects in certain areas, and what is used in the Like Us series is prominent on the East Coast. Words may vary in pronunciation and spelling in different communities. A glossary with pronunciations for Wild Like Us is included at the end of the book.
Wild Like Us is the eighth book in the Like Us Series. Even though the series changes POVs throughout, to understand events that took place in the previous novels, the series should be read in its order of publication.
* * *
Wild Like Us should be read after Charming Like Us.
LIKE US SERIES READING ORDER
1. Damaged Like Us
2. Lovers Like Us
3. Alphas Like Us
4. Tangled Like Us
5. Sinful Like Us
6. Headstrong Like Us
7. Charming Like Us
8. Wild Like Us
9. Fearless Like Us
10. Infamous Like Us
11. Misfits Like Us
12. Unlucky Like Us
Character List
Not all characters in this list will make an appearance in the book, but most will be mentioned.
* * *
Ages represent the age of the character at the beginning of the book. Some characters will be older when they’re introduced, depending on their birthday.
* * *
THE MEADOWS
Ryke Meadows & Daisy Calloway
Sullivan – 21
Winona – 15
* * *
THE COBALTS
Richard Connor Cobalt & Rose Calloway
Jane – 24
Charlie – 21
Beckett – 21
Eliot – 20
Tom – 19
Ben – 17
Audrey – 14
* * *
THE HALES
Loren Hale & Lily Calloway
Maximoff – 24
Luna – 19
Xander – 16
Kinney – 14
* * *
THE ABBEYS
Garrison Abbey & Willow Hale
Vada – 15
* * *
THE SECURITY TEAM
These are the bodyguards that protect the Cobalts, Hales, and Meadows.
* * *
Kitsuwon Securities Inc.
Security Force Omega
Akara Kitsuwon (boss) – 27
Thatcher Moretti (lead) – 29
Banks Moretti – 29
Farrow Hale – 29
Quinn Oliveira – 22
Oscar Highland-Oliveira – 32
Paul Donnelly – 28
* * *
Price Kepler’s Triple Shield Services
Security Force Epsilon
Jon Sinclair (lead) – 40s
Greer Bell – 30s
…and more
* * *
Security Force Alpha
Price Kepler (lead) – 40s
Tony Ramella – 29
…and more
1
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
The best way to describe this situation is fucking comical.
I have to pee.
Like I might piss my pants if I don’t find a toilet kind of pee, and I’m nowhere near a toilet. I’m in the middle of a field that’s landscaped with flashing lights, a giant Ferris wheel, thrill rides, cotton-candy stands, and too many beady-eyes that follow me as they wonder what the fuck I’m up to.
Where are you running off to so quickly, Sullivan Minnie Meadows? Why are you not with your little sister or your parents at the Carnival Fundraiser? Why’d you leave them at the Tilt-A-Whirl?
Because I downed five bottles of orange cream soda. For a good cause: a belching contest with my fifteen-year-old sister. Which turned into a “first to not puke on the Tilt-A-Whirl” contest. The squirt and I were both victorious, as life should be. Our mom would say, sisters at war is the saddest adventure of all.
Thankfully I’ve never been on that gloomy voyage. Winona is all the tendons that hold my heart together. A life without her would break me.
The carnival is packed tonight, and I go from a clench-the-thighs trot to a full power-walk, quickly bypassing a corn dog stand. The reality of my situation would disappoint many gossip blogs.
You mean to say the oldest daughter of thrill-seeking Daisy and Ryke Meadows isn’t leaving for a rendezvous with a secret boyfriend?
Nope.
You mean to say that she’s never had a boyfriend before?
That was true until last year. First boyfriend at twenty. First kiss at twenty. First break-up
at twenty-one.
I could’ve waited longer for those good firsts if the right guy didn’t come around. Not that Will Rochester was Mr. Forever. He was Mr. Back Then. Mr. Good for Now.
Growing up, I always sidelined the idea of romance in favor of my first love.
Swimming.
Boys were big fucking distractions, not that many tried to distract me, but I refused to cheat on my first love, my drive to win. Myself. But once I retired from swimming, my focus expanded beyond reaching Olympic gold. No time for romance became all the time in the world to fall in love.
I honestly don’t have much faith in myself in the romance department. It’s not like I have a lot of fucking experience there, and you can’t really train for the dating game.
At least not when the pool of people I trust is small. Like Fisher-Price plastic fishing toy-set small.
But the secret boyfriend is long-gone now. Will Rochester is in the past, and our relationship wasn’t totally secret to everyone. Just the public. Thank fucking God. I couldn’t have imagined dealing with the scrutiny of a million eyes while dating for the first time.
Water guns squirt clown targets at a nearby game booth, and all I hear is the forceful splash of water. My need to pee intensifies. “Oh fuck that last sip of soda.” I pick up speed into a slight-jog, and I’m going to outpace the two men in front of me if they don’t haul ass.
I place my hands on their backs, and at the exact same time, they glance over their shoulders. They look downward to meet my eyes, and I’m really fucking tall—especially in my worn-leather boots, I crest over 6-foot—but they’re taller.
“Go, fucking go,” I say strongly, pushing them towards the bathrooms.
They easily lengthen their stride, but they’re on the cusp of full-bellied laughter.
Akara’s brown eyes twinkle, his lips lifting as he looks to Banks, his six-foot-seven Italian-American friend. “You hear that running water?”
Banks cracks a smile at me. “You mean the waterfall between her legs?”
I’d probably laugh if I weren’t so afraid of wetting myself. “Hardy-har-har.” I twist my long brown hair into a messy bun to distract my bladder. Putting my hands on their lower backs again, I shove them forward as they skillfully weave between carnival attendees.
Akara teases, “Hey, Sulli, I hear that waterfall right now.” He glances back at me. “You hear it? Goes something like woooosh.”
I almost tinkle. Fucking God. “You’re going to regret that when I piss myself and jump on you.”
Banks is laughing his ass off.
I playfully slug his side. “Why are you laughing? I’d jump on you first.”
Akara bursts into laughter now.
Banks bites down on a toothpick, mouth curved up. “You wanna jump on me, just don’t miss. It’s a long way from my body to the ground, and I wouldn’t want you to break your ass.”
I laugh hard at that, and we’re all smiling on the trek and the urge to piss actually recedes for a second.
And then we pass a long, winding line for funnel cake. Teenagers—boys and girls around my sister’s age—eye me, and their heads shift in eerie unison. Like something bizarre from Black Mirror.
I wince at the thought. Only because that’s Beckett’s favorite TV show.
We’d binge-watch all the episodes together between his ballet schedule. Since we’re not really talking that much right now, I try to push my best friend (ex-best-friend?) out of my head.
“Is that Sullivan Meadows?” a girl yells loudly from the pack of teenagers.
I do the dumb fucking thing and look. As I make slight eye-contact, they all start shouting my name.
“SULLIVAN!”
I can’t stop and chat.
“SULLIVAN!”
“CAN WE GET A SELFIE?”
I really will piss myself in that photo.
And I’m not Jane or Moffy—my older cousins are so willing to sacrifice their time and heart and energy to fans. To strangers. Who I know could turn on me in a second if I do anything they deem “unacceptable”—I’ve seen them turn on my mom and dad as easy as the flip of a pancake. And I’m not good at small talk with people I can’t trust. I’m constantly in my head wondering if I said the right or wrong thing. One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and they could blast private info to the world.
And of course I want to do the right thing. I want to be as fucking good as Moffy.
But my dad is good and so selfless, and the media still calls him “inappropriate” and a “disgrace” because he dated my mom when she was only eighteen.
Because some people still believe he had an affair with my Aunt Lily, and they believe that Moffy is actually his son.
It’s not true. He’d sooner die than cheat on my mom.
So I don’t care to try to prove anything to anyone but myself. Tabloids can call me standoffish and disrespectful when I decline photos and autographs. I just march on.
“SULLIVAN!” another teen screams, and they begin to detach from the funnel cake stand and follow my tracks.
Akara slips Banks a silent look, and then Banks falls back behind me.
I joke, “Boobs and ass coverage.”
Banks lets out a laugh. “Looks like you’re covering Akara’s ass, mermaid.”
Mermaid.
My lips rise, but from behind, he can’t see my smile. As Akara walks ahead of me, my eyes fall to his ass.
He has a nice ass. Round. Perky.
He has a nice a lot of things. A sharp, heart-shaped jawline, thick black hair that’s grown longer in the summer, an athletic build highlighting long hours spent at Studio 9, the MMA gym he owns, and also kissable lips (that I’ve obviously never kissed).
With my limited experience in kissing, I just think his lips look like they’d do the job fucking well. The same way that Banks’ long tongue looks good for eating girls out.
Some lusty observations aside, I focus on Akara. “Kits,” I call out to him. “You should turn around and cover Banks’ ass. Spread the love.”
Akara smiles back at me. “Your boobs are more important, Sul.”
“Amen,” Banks chimes in.
I laugh, but the sound slowly fades. A part of me wishes they were actually flirting and not just cracking crude jokes with me.
They quiet down as the teens gain speed. Banks edges closer, his chest almost brushes up against my back. He maintains a sliver of space and seems aware not to touch me.
I can’t help but focus on him. On the closeness. On the not-yet-there touch. His body heat prickles my skin, and my pulse thumps.
Hot guys can become ugly the second they open their mouths and heinous shit comes out. So I don’t put a lot of stock in good looks, but Banks Moretti is a beefcake at first sight.
Scruffy jaw and a strong pairing of muscles with an imposing height.
After getting to know him, he’s a sweeter, beefier beefcake. He can make me double-over laughing, and he’s only ever been considerate and nice to me.
Banks’ and Akara’s vigilant eyes rest on the teenagers, then up ahead to our destination: a row of porta potties near a kiddy train-car ride. Akara speaks softly in his mic, and Banks adjusts his earpiece.
With our easy banter, I forget that they’re not just two buddies. Two of my friends.
They’re my bodyguards.
Akara Kitsuwon is the one who acts like Sullivan Meadows on the verge of pissing herself is the funniest crap since last week where I ate asphalt doing a shitty trick on a skateboard. What’s funny is that Akara looks more like a twenty-seven-year-old pro-skateboarder. He’s even wearing a pair of scuffed Vans and a black tank that shows his lean-cut muscles. But he’s worse than even me at attempting an ollie.
His skills are in Muay Thai, snowboarding, rapid-fire texting, and being a badass boss.
To think he’s the leader of an entire team of men would shock a lot of people. Not just because he looks ready to hit a skate ramp. But because he’s younger than five of the six m
en he leads.
As far as how he fits in my life…I can barely remember a time where he wasn’t there. He’s been my permanent bodyguard since my ripe teenage years of sixteen. Where I was determined to win gold.
Banks Moretti, on the other hand, I’ve gotten to know more personally in my ripe adulthood of twenty. Where I’ve free-spirited my way into new experiences: my first international trip without my mom or dad, my first kiss, my first failed romance.
He’s the floater on Omega who always seems to float towards my detail, and he’s really good friends with Akara.
They’ve never said it explicitly to me, but I can tell in so many different ways.
Like how they speak through single glances. How they feed off each other’s jokes. How they know exactly what’ll push the other one’s buttons—and they seem to not only appreciate the raw honesty, but they rely on it.