Wild Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  His mind seems to be somewhere else. And for the umpteenth fucking time, I wish I were in Akara Kitsuwon’s head.

  13

  AKARA KITSUWON

  “I gave them my key,” I answer Banks, a little distantly. “They wanted to surprise Sulli.”

  He shifts the grocery bag of Ripley’s extra applesauce and Teddy Grahams to his other hand. “They surprised me,” Banks says. “I nearly shit myself.” His tone is light-hearted.

  I want to smile, but as we walk back to our motel room, I can’t stop picturing Sulli.

  Naked Sulli.

  I tilt my head, eyes drifting. Spacing out. Bodyguard 101—do not drift. I’ve ripped into my men for doing what I’m doing. That glazed “where’d you go” feeling is all so…unfamiliar.

  But so is seeing Sulli without panties. Or a bra.

  I thought I’d want to toss clothes at her. Tell her to cover up like I’m some prude. Like I’m her brother. But I’m not.

  I’m not her brother.

  The fact has never been more firmly set in my brain. Like concrete, it solidified tonight.

  Flinging clothes at Sulli didn’t even register. Maybe I was in shock. Yeah. I was definitely slack-jawed, stumbled-back shocked that she’d drop her towel in front of us. But I kept my composure. Inwardly, I felt more like a Looney Tunes character—where my heart ejected from my body, pumped five-times bigger, then went back inside.

  While we walk to the motel, I’m still dazed. “How is she?” I ask Banks, then quickly remember the scorpion, how I left Sulli too quickly. “Shit, I hate that I had to run out on her like that.” I wipe a hand down my face. “It was right after I saw her naked too. She probably thinks I find her grotesque.” I groan and expel a cringing, nauseous breath.

  And I’m expecting Banks to ask, You like what you saw? But he’s pretty quiet. I wouldn’t categorize him as a chatterbox, but whenever I bring up Sulli, he’s never silent.

  Maybe what he said in the motel room is coming to fruition. He’s trying not to sway my feelings for Sulli one way or the other. But Banks yelling at me earlier has already chiseled me open. It’d be nice to have his advice, but he’s not my moral conscience.

  He’s just my friend.

  “You okay?” I ask him, making sure I’m not assuming too much. He had this same odd look when we were around the other guys and Jane.

  Banks nods. “Sulli is alright too. Farrow checked her out.”

  “I saw.” We stop on the stoop to the motel room. Bugs chirp in the night. I dig in my pocket for the key. He’s not avoiding my eyes. So there’s that. “How are we not talking about this?” I ask, dropping my voice. “When she was with the Rooster, we never hesitated to talk shit about him or discuss Sulli—and now she got naked in front of us and we’re acting like it’s nothing?”

  He scans behind us. “You didn’t want to talk about the funhouse.”

  “Just with her,” I retort in a cringe. “Which was stupid. I was scared.” Scared of change. But I’m more scared of losing her because…

  Because you like her, Nine.

  My chest knots, the key cold in my hand. I miss Banks flinging the topic of Sulli in my face, even if I end up telling him to shut the fuck up. I can’t lose Banks. I’m afraid of losing him too. “What was your first thought?” I ask him. “When you saw her naked?”

  He wears a crooked smile. “Hell have mercy on my soul.”

  My lips rise, then falter. He likes Sulli too. Maybe that’s why he’s being more guarded. I brush a hand through my hair and fit the key into the lock.

  “What was your first thought?” Banks finally asks.

  I go still. Remembering a very naked Sulli, her nipples perked—and I wanted to throw her on the bed. Tie her up. Kiss her places she’s never been kissed, until she’s writhing for more. Those weren’t my first thoughts though.

  It was simpler.

  And before I open the door, I say, “She’s a babe.”

  Banks doesn’t pat my shoulder. Doesn’t look as happy as I thought he’d be for me. Here I am, breaking down walls he’s spent weeks forcing me to stare at.

  He just nods.

  I nod back, sensing his hurt. How much does he really like her? But I hesitate to even touch the subject. Because it’ll be a reason for me to slam on the brakes towards Sulli, and I’m just now hitting the gas harder.

  I don’t want to stop.

  He switches subjects. “Who called you? When you ran out of the bathroom,” he clarifies.

  “Price.” I crack the door, seeing Sulli lying on a sleeping mat, then close it so we can talk outside a minute longer. “Apparently one of our temp guards tried to call Connor Cobalt for a corporate job recommendation. Which led to Price trying to wring my ballsac.” I seethe just recalling the Alpha leads’ patronizing voice. I tell Banks, “I don’t know how the temp got Connor’s number, but it made Kitsuwon Securities look like the Walmart version of Price’s firm, which he already thinks is Versace.” I exhale. “Hopefully your dad will be able to weed out the bad temps.”

  Michael Moretti can’t come soon enough.

  Banks whispers, “Is he still flying in?” I think he’s still expecting his dad to let me down.

  “Yeah. I’m having a car service come pick him up since Thatcher isn’t in Philly anymore.”

  I asked Thatcher about his Uncle Dino’s car service, a mom-and-pop company, but he told me flat-out, “Uncle Dino hates him. He hasn’t talked to my dad since the divorce.”

  Hiring Michael is beginning to feel like doing business with the devil.

  Before we go inside, I just give Banks a run-down on the plan. How we’re linking back up with Thatcher, Oscar, and Farrow in Montana.

  “The good thing is they lost paparazzi outside of Ohio, so we should be media-free for a while,” I add. “And hey, people may not even recognize any of us out here. It could be the easiest time in security we’ve ever had.” Still, an uneasiness hangs in the air.

  I rap my fist to the wooden door frame, feeling like I just jinxed myself.

  Banks laughs. But he’s staring at the door frame like he needs to touch knuckle-to-wood too. “Fuck it.” He knocks the wood.

  And then we enter our motel room. Foam mats are already splayed on the ground, near the foot of the bed.

  Banks inhales sharply, then seems to exhale roughly. His shoulders drop. Not sure why.

  Gently shutting the door behind me, I slide the deadbolt. Sulli is fast asleep and curled up, she didn’t even grab a sleeping bag. They lie in a heap by the window.

  I grab one and unzip it like a blanket. Nearing her quietly, I crouch down and lift the green sleeping bag up to her shoulders.

  She stirs a little, nestling into the warmth, but she doesn’t wake.

  Taking care of Sulli and being with Sulli is so natural to me. It’s not a routine, I realize. It’s a necessity in my life, and maybe that’s why I’ve butted in every time someone has tried to fill it.

  Banks and I get ready for bed: brush our teeth, change into drawstring pants, then I cut the lights. “You want me by the door?” Banks asks.

  I’m the boss. I call the shots.

  Including where I want a bodyguard to sleep, and I could be a complete dick and banish him to the door. Far, far away from Sulli because my Spidey-sense—what Banks calls a “fuckbag detector”—is tingling. Though, maybe it’s broken. Maybe it’s off.

  Because Banks isn’t a fuckbag.

  I mean, I was wrong about Jack Highland-Oliveira. He’s genuinely that nice.

  I snap a finger to my palm. Don’t be a dick.

  Don’t be a dick.

  “You want the door?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He makes a concentrated effort not to look at Sulli.

  I lick my lips. “Okay, you take closest to the window. I’ll take her other side.” Basically, we’re on either side of Sulli.

  Banks nods, not questioning my decision. “Night.” He smacks a hand to my arm.

  I nod t
o him. “Night.”

  A minute later, we’re lying down on our backs, covered with our own sleeping bags. Sulli is turned towards me. Resting my hands under my head, I stare at a stain on the ceiling.

  Trying not to stare at her. But my eyes flit to her lips, soft breath expelling between them, then I look back up. Every part of today rushes into me. Between what I feel for Sulli and my friendship with Banks, my brain is a rotating planet of thoughts and varying emotions.

  I can’t even shut my eyes.

  So I turn my head and see Banks on the other side of Sulli.

  He’s awake.

  Staring at the ceiling.

  Fuck.

  It’s going to be a long, sleepless night. For both of us.

  14

  AKARA KITSUWON

  My dreams have been unusually vivid these past few years. They’re hard to shake out of, and the biggest indicator I’m still dreaming is always the snow.

  No matter where I am.

  It starts snowing.

  Even tonight, Sulli pounds at a steel door. Latched shut. Trapped in a tiny, cramped metal room together, heavy flurries fall from the ceiling. Snowing in an enclosed room.

  Dreaming.

  I have to be dreaming, but I don’t wake up. I’m stuck inside my head. Snow drifts into her long, chocolate-brown hair, and as I try to wrench the latch open, my fingers bleed.

  She bangs her fists. “HELP!” Her shrill scream punctures something in me. Swiftly, I draw Sulli back against my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist. Lips to her ear, I whisper, “Hey, it’s okay.”

  She grips onto me.

  She heaves for air.

  Oxygen depletes from the room.

  I struggle to inhale, but I use every strained breath to whisper, “It’s okay, Sul.”

  Still in my hold, she reaches back and cups my neck, squeezing as though to say, don’t leave. Our eyes rest on that steel door.

  Snow packs higher around our bodies.

  I barely feel the cold.

  “We’re going to die here,” she chokes. Has to be a dream. Sulli wouldn’t give up this fast.

  “We’re not.” I don’t understand my certainty until I hear two pops from the other side of the steel door.

  It swings open, and Banks stands there. On a mound of snow. Chest rising and falling heavily as he sucks on the brittle air. His gun looks comfortable in his grip, but he drops it anyway.

  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.

  I’ve seen her do that a thousand times before.

  And each time rushes back to me in a heat wave.

  Sulli hands me the bottle, and I take a swig. I watch as she spits on the ground. Would she spit out my cum or swallow it?

  I think she’d try both.

  Cold wind barely pricks my skin. I try to regain some focus by handing her the empty bottle back. I spit the mouthwash in the grass.

  She free-throws the bottle into a dumpster we l
eft back at the motel. A basketball court away, and the mini-bottle still lands perfectly in the trash.

  I shake my head. “Foul ball.”

  “Total swish.” She walks backwards into the woods, a playful smile on her lips. “Race you?”

  “Only if you pretend to tie me,” I tell her seriously. “We’re shit-knows where. I can’t lose you out here.”

  “Deal.” She holds out her hand for a handshake, but I know better.

  I go for it, and before she can clasp her fingers with mine, I drop my hand and run past her.

  “Cheater!” she calls out with a grin.

  “I didn’t say I play fair!” I yell back.

  Darkness is just receding. Light barely rising from the horizon. This has always been my favorite time to run with her. Early mornings with Sullivan Meadows—they’re a strong heartbeat to my life.

  Can’t live without them.

  Can’t live without her.

  She takes what I said to heart and keeps my pace, which definitely isn’t the one she normally sets. She’d be at least a mile ahead of me by now.

  We venture further into the woods, on a path that I scoped out last night during my call with Price. Just in case she’d want to do a morning workout.

  When Sulli runs, she looks free. Like she’s letting go of every stressor. Every worry. She doesn’t clock her run times as often as her swims. Though, she’s made for the water. That’s undeniable. No asshole can say otherwise.

  Not even me.

  My soles pound the dirt much heavier than hers. She takes measured, controlled breaths, and each foot down is a stronger, lighter foot forward. She’s physically stronger than any woman I know. And while we run, I can’t stop looking at her.

  I skim her up and down. Hot blood courses through my veins. My eyes land on her ass, her legs that flex, her green eyes that give me a you-keeping-up-Kits? competitive smirk.

  No I haven’t kept up, Sulli.

  I’ve fallen really far behind. It hurts to think that it’s taken me this long to see her. To really see her.

  But I know it’s good I didn’t before.

  It couldn’t be too early.

  I just hope I’m not too late.