Fearless Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  He frowns. “Would you rather do a martini? Beer?”

  “I’m not drinking tonight. This is a work thing.” A WORK THING! I scream in my head. Seriously, I’m seconds from yelling out loud.

  “Come on, one glass of wine won’t hurt.”

  The waitress must sense the awkward shift because she gives me a sympathetic look before turning to Coach Reed. “Sir, I don’t think she wants anything to drink.”

  “I don’t,” I say, and give her a small smile. Thank you.

  She nods back. “I’ll come back in a few more minutes to grab your food orders.”

  Coach Reed slouches a little in his chair. “Sullivan—”

  I cut him off. “Coach Reed,” I snap, hot with annoyance. “I’m only here for work. I want to make it crystal clear that this is not a date.”

  Words. I’ve found them deep in my core, and I’m so fucking glad I didn’t stumble over them. I think about how proud my mom and dad would be of me, and my carriage rises tenfold.

  Coach Reed nods. “You’re right. The signals got crossed. I thought it was clear I was asking you out.” He winces harder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more upfront.”

  I take a tight breath and scoot my chair back. “Can we just talk back at the gym?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Coach Reed places his cloth napkin back on the table.

  Akara and Banks stand up at the same time as me, and the tension in the air strains. Their glares are cemented on Coach Reed, and I’m lucky they didn’t intervene at any point on my behalf. They knew I had the power to work this out myself.

  “Bye, Sullivan,” Coach Reed says.

  Before I leave the room, I say, “It’s Coach Meadows.”

  Akara plants a hand on my shoulder. “Take her to the car,” he whispers to Banks.

  I feel Banks’ hand on the small of my back, and he’s already guiding me out. Away from the private room. Akara doesn’t follow. I stop suddenly, glancing back as the door to the private room swings closed. “What is he doing?” I ask Banks.

  Banks doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “Having words with The Rodent.”

  27

  AKARA KITSUWON

  I hated every second of watching that interaction. It was hard not to swoop in, but I’m proud of Sulli for sticking up for herself. And as her security, I need to make sure Ryan Reed won’t be a bigger threat down the line. I wait for the door to the private room to swing closed before I turn back to the coach.

  “What are you still doing here?” Coach Reed asks me.

  I remain standing. Towering. I may not be six-seven like Banks, but I can hold my own when it comes to intimidation. “I want us to be clear,” I tell him. “That you won’t be asking Sulli out ever again. Don’t even think about making a move on her.”

  Coach Reed leans back in his chair, frowning. “I told her this was a misunderstanding, and I meant it.”

  “Good,” I nod. “So there isn’t any more misunderstandings, I need you to know something. Something that will stay between you and me per the NDA you signed.”

  Curiosity blankets his face. “I won’t tell anyone anything. Sullivan is a part of Warwick University now, and if she helps Frankie and Ravi get on the Olympic Team, that looks good for the school. And it looks good for me, since I’m the one who recommended her for the position.”

  That’s good to know.

  Honestly though, I don’t care if he blabs this to the whole world. That risk still exists no matter what he signs or what he says to me.

  Right now, all I want is to make sure he doesn’t think Sulli is free to be asked out or set up. She’s taken.

  “Sulli isn’t single,” I tell him, unleashing this truth in one blow.

  He leans back, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t she say anything about that?”

  “Because she’s dating Banks, her bodyguard, and it’s not something she wants out in the public. You can understand that, right?”

  His brows rise. “Yeah…wow. Yeah, of course.” He nods for a while and stares haunted at the table. “So Banks…” He looks to the door where Banks left, and worry crests his eyes. “He’s not going to have any hard feelings, right? I just don’t need a pissed off Roman god trying to smite me down.”

  Roman god?

  I almost laugh.

  I lift a shoulder. “Don’t hit on her again, and you won’t have to find out.”

  Coach Reed nods. “Yeah, thanks for the warning. I appreciate it, Akara.”

  My stomach tenses. I don’t want to be on The Rodent’s good side, but I have a natural habit of trying to deescalate situations. To remove the fire out of a fight.

  I leave the private room with weight bearing down on me.

  I told Ryan Reed that Banks and Sulli are dating. That realization hits me all at once.

  Good.

  I’m tired of all the Kitsulli praise when Sulletti gets crickets. A part of me hopes Coach Reed blabs to the wrong person and this ends up online. Maybe Tumblr will make Sulletti fan pages. Maybe Banks can come out on top for once.

  I make a pitstop at the hostess stand. “How can I get my hands on three pizzas? One vegan?”

  “Right now?” she asks.

  “Right now.” I open my wallet.

  Down three-hundred later, I’m walking out with three large mystery pies. We parked in a deck around the block. Once I’m on P3, the floor deserted, I open Booger’s passenger door and realize Sulli and Banks are in the backseat.

  “—I’m more used to being everyone’s buddy and pal, not being the girl that gets hit on,” Sulli says, mid-conversation with him.

  “Guys were probably interested in you. You just didn’t notice.”

  “Like you?” Sulli asks, then sees me. “Kits.” The look in her eye says, come here.

  Keeping the pizza boxes on the passenger seat, I abandon that side and slip into the back with them. Sulli sprawls lengthwise across our laps. With her ass on me, her legs rest on Banks.

  “Hey,” I whisper, cupping her face. “You okay, Sul?”

  She nods strongly. “I feel good that I didn’t run away. At least he knows now that I’m not interested in him.”

  Banks rubs her legs.

  I ignore the knot in my stomach that’s pushing me to tell them what I said to Coach Reed. I don’t want to. They’re going to be pissed, and I’m not breaking this moment for anything. I tell Sulli, “You adulted so hard back there.”

  Her lips lift, matching mine. “Thanks for letting me stand my ground.” Her eyes fall to Banks. “Both of you.”

  “Anytime, mermaid.”

  “Oh hey, and I didn’t have to use any codewords tonight. Another success.” Her head swings to me. “What’d you say to him anyway? Banks told me you were having words.”

  “I told him not to hit on you again.” It’s not a lie, but it’s an omission of the complete truth. It’s good enough. “And he won’t,” I assure Sulli. “He touches you, he’s dead.”

  Sulli nudges me like I’m overly dramatic.

  I playfully cup her ears. “She thinks I’m nice.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Banks says, surprising me.

  Sulli sniffs the air. “Is that…pizza?” She leans forward, nearly crawling into the front. “Kits!” She brings the pizza boxes to the back. “My hero.”

  “My hero,” Banks combats. “How the hell did you swing this?”

  “How I swing most things.”

  “With your fists?” Sulli says, like that can’t be right.

  “With his words,” Banks counters confidently.

  “With my money,” I say.

  “Take it back,” Sulli tells me. “We don’t want it.”

  Banks closes the top.

  “Come on. You’re both starving.”

  “Let me pay you back then,” Sulli says.

  “No, it’s a date.”

  “Akara and I can split the cost,” Banks adds.

  “Wait…” Her brows spike. “This is a date?”

  “Yeah, w
hy not?” I eat a slice of plain cheese. “It’s a drive-in without the movie.”

  Her lips rise.

  Banks smiles off her smile, and soon, they’re both digging in. With our girlfriend lounged across us, we bite into pizza and talk about the best toppings, which veers into a thousand other directions. Donuts. South Philly. Mermaids. Disney movies. Gyms. Muay Thai. We laugh and smile and laugh harder, and I’m so dang happy with them.

  Just crammed in the backseat of an old Jeep. Eating three-hundred dollar pizza. Even after the painful moments, the saddened minutes, we find joy together.

  But behind that feeling, I’m holding my breath.

  If you loved her at all, you wouldn’t do this to her.

  Ryke’s declaration is still ringing in my head.

  28

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  Ever since no bugs were found, we’ve been back at the penthouse. This morning, Akara spots me on a weight bench in the penthouse’s home gym. Love my old bench in my room, but the home gym has a fuck ton more plates, and I’m going heavy today. Using all my strength in my core and arms, I heave the barbell overhead.

  Last one.

  I finish strong.

  Akara takes the bar and sets it in the holder.

  I grin. “Top that, Kits.”

  Banks smiles while doing bicep curls. He rarely uses a mirror. Just faces me while he works out, and I didn’t realize how much I’d love being in the gym with both guys. Distractions always felt like poison to progress, but I’m willfully chugging this poison.

  Being around a shirtless beefcake and a shirtless dreamboat is the pinnacle of eye candy. Akara’s washboard abs and Banks’ six-pack glisten with sweat.

  Akara is quick to say, “Lest you forget, Lady Meadows, I can still lift twenty-pounds heavier than you.”

  While I grab my phone, I motion to the plates. “Put twenty more on. Let’s go.”

  “No quit in her,” Banks says, curling his heavy hand weights.

  Akara smiles. “That’s how I like her best.”

  “I thought you liked me best naked and against you?” I say, hearing the smokiness in my own voice. My lips rise as Akara gives me a clear onceover.

  Banks drinks me in too, and I’m finding greater footing in the realm of flirting. As I straddle the weight bench, I open my legs wider for Banks. He looks at my pussy.

  Today is one of the few mornings where cramps aren’t annihilating me. We’re all sweaty, pheromones swirling in a primal state of existence, and I hope they both rush forward and just take me like I’m too fucking hot to ignore.

  Just as Banks sets down his hand weights and Akara moves closer, their cellphones go off with a knock knock sound.

  I go eerily still.

  Every SFO bodyguard rigged their phones to notify any Royal Leak updates. Knock knock is the tune they all chose. My phone already in hand, I quickly open and refresh the website.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Close family members call Maximoff, Farrow, Jane, and Thatcher “The Seasons” collectively.

  #TodaysLeaks #WeStanTheSeasons #SummerWinterSpringFall #winteriscoming

  “Fuck no,” I gape at my phone, realizing the awesome name that Luna and I came up with for our cousins is going to be desecrated by media and trolls.

  I almost chuck my phone.

  29

  BANKS MORETTI

  Eating chow at Warwick with Akara and Sulli, I found a new love. College dining halls. All you can eat lunches? Pizza oven, hoagie station, a fucking sushi bar—sign me up for the meal plan. (Akara already did.)

  With a mountain of food on my plate, students give me side-eyes like I’m eating for twelve.

  I’m a big guy, leave me the fuck alone. At least I’m not my brother, shoving lunchmeat in my pockets. Although, almost a year ago now, security thought I was the lunchmeat-pocket-eater.

  Still makes me smile.

  As Akara steals and eats the cherry tomatoes out of Sulli’s salad for her, I scarf down a burger.

  Knock knock.

  I glare at my phone, then the ceiling. Couldn’t wait until I finished my food? Wiping my mouth and hands with a napkin, I pull out my phone.

  Akara and Sulli do the same.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Luna Hale, Jane Cobalt, & Maximoff Hale made pot brownies.

  #TodaysLeaks #holypot #CanWeSayScandal?

  Sulli chokes on a lettuce leaf.

  Akara pats her back, and she spits out the lettuce.

  “Drink this.” I pass our girlfriend a water.

  Once she clears her throat, she takes a gulp, then shakes her head, “When did they make pot brownies? They had to have made them, right?”

  “Yeah.” Akara tenses. “These have all been real.”

  “Maximoff Hale made pot brownies?” I say with disbelief. “Seems far-fetched to me.” He’s sober concerning alcohol and stays away from weed. Except that one time I heard he accidentally ate an edible.

  “It didn’t say he ate them,” Akara points out.

  Gotta stop the leaks.

  Security meetings are now daily and sometimes taken via FaceTime. We’re all waiting for the mole to slip-up. Post something that might greater identify who they are. We’ve been dissecting the leaks to figure out the origin.

  Everything is still pointing to the penthouse.

  Akara and I hawk-eye the dining hall. Students start eyeballing Sulli more and more, phones in their possessions. Leaning into their friends, cupping hands to ears, they whisper.

  “That’s not good,” Akara breathes. Slowly but surely The Royal Leaks gossip site is gaining traction, especially at Warwick where Sulli’s existence on campus is well-known. Students love snapping photos and video-recording her from afar. Like an A-list celebrity spotting.

  At the moment, a girl with glasses not so furtively records Sullivan looking downtrodden. Sulli’s bummed expression is one I’ve seen before.

  She has FOMO.

  Fear of missing out. Or Sulli’s version: Fear of Missing Every Fucking Thing.

  “Sulli?” Akara nudges her side, noticing too. “They could’ve made the brownies while you were at work.”

  “Or while I was hiding out in my room.” She sighs, “I just hate that it’s so awkward between me and them that they wouldn’t even invite me to make pot brownies.”

  Before either of us can respond, a student shouts, “HEY, SASQUATCH, YOU HAVE ANY POT BROWNIES?!”

  I glare colder at that shitbag.

  Akara glares hotter.

  Sulli moves her chair forward, pressed up against the table. Understanding what she wants, we move our chairs further backward. Our bodies create a barrier behind her and block Sulli from onlookers. She shelters herself in front of us and mutters, “Fuck the mole.”

  30

  AKARA KITSUWON

  Disco lights flash on the wooden skate rink, closed for a private event.

  As per Oscar’s party invites, everyone is wearing their “Long Beach, California” best. Floral shirts, cut-off shorts, fanny packs—we look more like 80s beach babes, but hey, we tried for Jack Highland-Oliveira’s 28th birthday.

  Which is strangely exactly one month before my birthday. Before he married Oscar, we actually talked about combining our birthdays into one party—we both share a lot of the same friends and it seemed better to do one party instead of two—but now he has a husband who wanted today to be all about him.

  Hey, I get it.

  I’m not a big birthday guy. So less is usually more for me anyway.

  Hand-in-hand with Sulli, we skate easily into the barrier where Banks is struggling. At first sight, you’d think he’s clumsy, but he’s not. He can stand still, on guard, like an unbreakable wall. Just put wheels on his size-15 feet
and his balance goes in the crapper.

  “Leave me,” Banks says, his skate almost slipping out from under him. He grabs onto the side. Dang. Banks. I almost laugh.

  “Never,” Sulli says strongly, hunched a little forward from a bout of cramps today. (I really hate when she’s hurting.) Clasping Banks’ hand too, she declares, “I leave no fucking boyfriend behind.”

  I tease, “You better only have two.”

  “Hardy har—”

  Knock knock.

  Knock knock.

  Great.

  Just great.

  The notifications hit multiple cellphones. Donnelly glides on his skates while taking out his phone. He’s wearing the shortest cut-off shorts. His white ass is hanging out.

  Oscar, Farrow, and the rest of SFO pull out more phones. Clients even take out their cells, but Sulli peers at mine. Selfishly, I’m thinking, just not Sulli.

  Just not Sulli.

  I don’t doubt for a second Farrow is hoping it’s not Maximoff, and Thatcher is hoping it’s not Jane on the receiving end.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Sullivan Meadows had heavy, nonstop bloody periods and now has daily cramps.

  #TodaysLeaks #SharkWeek #crampycramps

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” Sulli is squeezing our hands to death.

  Jane skates closer, then waits as Sulli turns more to Banks and me. Our girlfriend’s face is beet-red as she whispers, “I didn’t want the other bodyguards, let alone the fucking world to know about the bloodbath between my legs.”