Wild Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  The fire crackles. Embers dying out in the soot. An eeriness falls over our camp. Akara looks rattled, and I’m too superstitious to think anything he just described is good.

  18

  AKARA KITSUWON

  The announcement of my dreams sucks the last oxygen from the fire. Flames burn completely out.

  I try to sit straighter.

  Sulli looks to be in deep, haunted thought. She’s superstitious. Not more so than Banks, but she’s pretty spiritual. No one here is rooted solely in the kind of logic that you can see. I’m the closest one to that rationale, and even then, I believe in leading with intuition.

  So if I was looking for someone to tell me, it’s just a dream, Akara; it’s not real—I chose the wrong campsite to have a fireside chat.

  But I know her.

  I know him.

  And I knew my audience. I’m not looking for them to placate me. Just to share in the what the fuck feeling I’ve been feeling.

  Banks bites hard on a toothpick. “What do you think it means?”

  “It feels like a warning.” I lick my lips, then I notice how Banks rubs his temple a lot. I eye him more. Is he okay?

  He drops his hand.

  I lean back, looking him over. His face screams ouch, but his body says, I’m fine.

  Sulli shifts uneasily. “Could the dreams just be a sign that the three of us are fucking badass? We all saved each other in them.”

  I want to smile at her cute optimism. “Maybe.” I stare at the burnt logs. “You know, my parents were always really superstitious. My dad more than my mom. He used to tell me how back in Thailand, my great-grandparents would consult monks and fortunetellers for everything: before a career change, before buying a house. He even believed in the whole nickname thing.”

  “What nickname thing?” Sulli asks.

  “There’s an old belief in Thai culture that malevolent spirits might harm a baby if they know the infant’s real name. So parents nickname their kids.”

  “Nine,” Sulli says in realization.

  They both know my nickname, but they haven’t known the significance of why I have one until now. With friends, I rarely bring up the nickname unless I’m writing a fast note and don’t want to spell out Akara. It’s easier jotting down the number.

  I nod. “I was born at nine-oh-nine p.m.—they thought the number was good luck.”

  Banks nods back. “So you named your gym Studio 9.”

  “For good luck,” Sulli chimes in.

  “And narcissism,” Banks adds.

  “Yep to both.” I smile, then watch a centipede crawl over a twig near my foot. “I always felt most connected with my culture through Muay Thai. It was my mom’s profession, something she taught me—but it’s funny to look back and realize there was a lot more about my life that was more Thailand than Philly, more than I even realized.” I sit up more again. “I’m fourth-generation. My parents don’t speak Thai. Their parents didn’t speak Thai. I don’t even have family still in Thailand to visit. Everyone is in New York. I think as a kid I didn’t realize that culture isn’t necessarily just a place.”

  Banks nods strongly.

  “Anyway,” I exhale a breath. “I don’t know if my dad’s belief in dreams is a Thai thing or just my dad.” I smile more softly, remembering when I was just a kid. “Before he left for work in the mornings, he’d always ask me about my dreams and analyze them for me. He’d get so animated about it that I knew he really believed in them. In what they meant.”

  Quietly, like so as not to disturb any ghosts, Sulli asks, “You really believe in them too?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I knead my palm with my thumb. “And if I told my dad about these recurring dreams, I think he’d say, be careful, Nine.”

  Banks sucks in a coarse breath.

  Sulli stares up at the mountain looming over us. Her determination never wanes. Not even as she looks to me. “I’m still going to climb.”

  “I know,” I say softly. “I wasn’t trying to convince you not to, Sul.”

  She eases. “Okay, good. Maybe we should all just believe I have wings so nothing bad will happen.”

  Banks cracks a smile. “The flying mermaid.”

  “Doesn’t exist,” I add with a teasing smile.

  Sulli stands up. “And here’s my shot to prove you wrong, Kits.”

  “Yeah?” I look at her head to toe. “I’m glad you’re going to take it, string bean!” I have to call after her because she’s already walking away. On a mission to succeed. I smile more. When I turn back to the extinguished fire, Banks is watching Sulli with the same infatuated expression that I feel.

  Shit.

  I rise and start cleaning up our camping dishes.

  How do we prepare for bad fortune when the worst outcome could be heartbreak or death?

  Turn back now, Nine.

  I hear my dad’s deep voice. I always hear his voice in my head like a moral compass throughout my life. Guiding me.

  And I just want to tell him, I can’t turn around, Dad.

  19

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  Day 1 on The Bitterroot Buttress, I mentally prepare for the ascent. Kicking dirt off my climbing shoes, I chalk my hands, a bag tied around my waist.

  Akara’s dreams drift to the back of my brain. I’ve stuck them in deep drawers and turned a lock. If I’m not focused, I’ll fall, and I need to map out my route.

  Moss covers the bumpy, jagged rock face. Three-hundred feet high, the foliage is concerning. If it’s too wet, I might need to either find a better route or scrape it off.

  Since this is a practice run with safety gear, I texted Jane, Moffy, and Charlie before I lost cell service. I told them to just meet-up tomorrow. For one, I need to climb without the added pressure of my cousins watching.

  For another, there would be zero pressure if I weren’t keeping a humongous fucking secret. Akara and Banks are casually dating me, Bachelorette-style.

  When I see my family, I’m afraid it’ll be written all over my face. I sincerely wish I were a better liar. And right now, I’d rather be thinking about this beautiful, challenging behemoth than worrying about unearthing that news.

  I recheck my harness and rope.

  “Knock ‘em dead,” Banks encourages, coming up to my side. “Or whatever climbers say.”

  I smile up at him. Something flutters inside my body the longer he stares back down at me. And I know, for fucking sure, that he’s not looking at me like a buddy.

  My face hurts from grinning. “I usually tell my sister to scale that bitch.”

  His mouth curves. “You better scale that bitch, mermaid.”

  “I’ll try my fucking hardest.”

  His gaze descends my body in the hottest wave. I’m just in knee-length cargo shorts my sister bought me last year and a Camp Calloway tee, but Banks makes me feel like I’m in full glam on the red carpet. For a while there, I was scared I’d need to wear lipstick and a dress for a guy to look at me like how he’s looking at me. My fear: real life actually imitates teen movies where the girl has to have a blow-out, makeup, and high heels to finally be noticed and desired.

  To be me and still be longed after is one of the best experiences, one I never really knew I needed this badly.

  He glances at my chalk bag. “That hooked on right?”

  “Yeah.” Does my voice sound raspy? “I’m all secure.” I recheck again, just to be safe.

  He curls his hair behind his right ear, then left, and he leans in. My heart races as he places a tender kiss on my lips. I smile against his mouth, and while I lean in more, his hand dips to the small of my back. When we break, I feel nervous.

  Because Akara is also here.

  How the fuck does the Bachelorette date like fifteen guys at once?

  As Banks reluctantly steps back, he tells me, “Stay frosty.”

  I’ve heard him say that phrase to other bodyguards before. “What does that mean? Stay frosty?”

  “Stay cool.” His shadow of
a smile reappears. “Stay on your toes.”

  I like that. “You stay really fucking frosty.”

  “Not frostier than you.”

  Akara approaches me like he’s chugging a gallon of antifreeze. He gives me a look like put me out of my misery, Sul.

  I return that with a glare. “I’m allowed to flirt, Kits.”

  “I’m just trying to switch the TV channel off the Hallmark Movie.”

  I check my harness again. “What are you putting on instead? Stranger Things?” It’s his favorite TV show. If it’s trending and popular, Kits has seen it. If it’s obscure, he’s never given it any time. My mom has a theory that Akara tunes into popular things because there’s less risk of disappointment. He’s too busy to be let down by the few things he has time for.

  “Stranger Things would be up there.” He smiles, stopping an inch away. “So would Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead—”

  “You’d rather watch flesh-eating zombies attack me than me and Banks—”

  “We wouldn’t let a zombie attack you,” Akara cuts in fast, then he emphasizes, “I wouldn’t.”

  I smile. “Oh no, it’s already too fucking late, you included him.”

  Akara shakes his head into a smile. His eyes descend my build, much like Banks’ did. “What about if I tune into Fifty Shades.”

  I snort. “Right, like you’ve watched that.”

  “I haven’t,” he admits, “but I could probably show you how to knot this.” His fingers brush mine as he takes an end of the rope out of my hand.

  My heart skips and a strong pulse throbs between my legs. After Moffy’s bachelor party this summer, I walked in on Banks and Akara’s conversation about rope and sex. Mainly, Akara was showing Banks knots using a shoelace.

  He’s more experienced than me.

  Fucking duh.

  They both are.

  I reclaim my rope, our fingers brushing again. “Maybe later.”

  He nods, and our eyes do a back-and-forth dance that speeds my pulse. Anticipation intensifies before he places a light kiss on my cheek. Then he touches my chin, lifting my mouth up, his lips meet mine in a softer, more sensual kiss that dizzies me.

  Fuck. Breathe.

  I grip his neck while his tongue slides against mine. I feel like I’m falling and I haven’t even started the climb.

  As we pull apart, I can barely lock eyes with Akara without blushing. I touch my burning face.

  He inhales strongly. “See you, string bean.”

  “Yeah. Bye.” I wave behind me and shake my head at myself, facing the rock and cringing. “What the fuck, Sulli?” I blow out a controlled breath.

  Focus.

  Concentrate.

  I kick more dirt off my shoes. Shake out my limbs.

  Concentrate.

  I glance back one more time.

  Akara and Banks stay next to each other. Spectating several feet behind me, they’re two men, older than me, and I’d be more intimidated if they didn’t make me feel powerful.

  I liked dating Will Rochester—that first experience was a pretty good one—but I realize how small I felt around him. Like there were parts of me that I should hide a bit better.

  Try not to say cum so often. Shave a little bit more. Strapless shirts need to go because if I show my muscular shoulders, he won’t be into me as much.

  Stupid.

  So fucking stupid, and most of those were just my insecurities rising up like a swelling tide.

  I face forward with a stronger, deeper breath.

  With Akara and Banks, I feel as mighty as the mountain I’m about to climb.

  Concentrate.

  While they watch me prepare, I realize I’m used to their protective gazes on me while I climb. Having them here begins to calm me. My pulse eases, and the rush of the river, the chirp of birds, and rustle of leaves all fall silent.

  It’s just me and the rock…and my dad.

  I smile up at the crag. Imagining him in his teens, using his raw strength to free-solo to the fucking top, and here I am, years later.

  “I’ll see you up there, Dad,” I whisper, my heart filling. “I just have to practice first.”

  With another measured breath, I see the path I need to take like a map in the natural stone. Smiling, I grip the rough edge.

  And I ascend.

  20

  BANKS MORETTI

  Covertly, I pop three Advil in my mouth while Akara and I watch Sulli’s first day of climbing. The pain meds aren’t for my internal oohs and ahhs and Mary, Mother of Gods seeing Sulli do death-defying shit. It’s just for the thunder-fucking headache.

  Though, watching her climb is incredible and agonizing. Her strength and agility are on full display as she scales the rock over and over. Nothing I could accomplish.

  Right now, the harder pill to swallow is knowing I can’t do anything for her. It’s all Sulli up there, and I can only protect her once she’s back on solid ground.

  The upside: she’s still climbing with rope.

  She’ll be practicing for a while, until she’s positive she can climb without safety gear.

  Akara is beside me. Quiet. He hasn’t said anything since this morning when we kissed her. With Sulli in the air and us on the ground, we only have each other’s company. Cell service went to hell once we left our campsite, and our comms connection was lost too.

  Akara has been sitting. Leaning against a flat rock that juts up like an arrowhead.

  I can’t sit down.

  My arms are crossed. My nerves at an all-time high watching her attempt the same portion of cliff over and over again.

  She leaps between one protruding rock to another, a cavernous hole separating them. Each time she tries, she misses the second handhold, and her rope catches her before she falls.

  “She’s gotta do that without a harness,” I whisper more to myself.

  Akara must hear because he says, “It’s not a big gap. She’s done larger. I think she’s just unfocused.”

  I uncross my tensed arms. “So we’re distracting her?”

  “Probably,” he says, but he doesn’t seem worried. “She’s careful. She won’t free-solo until she’s ready.” His confidence in her—and lack of blatant outright fear—reminds me how much he’s seen her climb over the years. How much he’s probably watched Sulli’s dad and sister also scale mountains.

  I’ve only just recently tagged along in the past year—when Akara created his security firm and he kept putting me on her detail.

  “Sit down,” Akara suggests. “It’s always worse if you don’t relax.”

  Taking his recommendation, I sit back against the same rock beside him. We’re almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and I flinch when she falls again. Rope catches her and she gingerly swings back to the same handhold.

  “The Rooster has a girlfriend,” Akara suddenly says.

  “You’re still keeping tabs on him?”

  Ever since Sulli broke up with Will Rochester, Akara has put the shitbag on his watch list. Disgruntled exes coming back into the famous ones’ lives isn’t a far reach.

  Jane’s ex-friends-with-benefits did even worse than tiptoe into her sphere again. Nate, the sick fuck, stalked Maximoff and then created a scene out of The Shining in his bedroom with animal’s blood.

  Wasn’t around to see it.

  My brother was.

  Thatcher wouldn’t talk much about what he saw—much like I don’t care to rehash Sneakers, the stalker that I encountered with his dick out in Jane’s bedroom.

  Sulli’s ex is probably less likely to do something sadistic, but I wouldn’t put it past him to say mean shit online. How he went around Sulli’s back to tell Akara not to flirt with her was pure coward shit. He could’ve just talked to her about it.

  Respected her enough to have a conversation than play games.

  Even thinking about that rich turd is like listening to two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. Annoying as hell.

  “I’m just keeping him on my radar for right
now,” Akara says to me, our eyes on Sulli. “He posted on Instagram.”

  “When?” I pull out my phone. No service.

  “Yesterday. I would’ve told you, but I couldn’t really figure out how to segue into that after the whole we kissed the same girl conversation.”

  I almost laugh, but the sound is knotted. “What’d she look like?” I ask. “The Rooster’s girlfriend.”

  Akara rolls his eyes just thinking about it. “She looks like Daisy Calloway. Well, a young Daisy.”

  I make a face. “That fucking cock.”

  Akara nods slowly, gaze stuck on the mountain. “I don’t think Sulli has seen the post yet. Maybe she won’t. I don’t know if she checks his Instagram.”

  It might hurt her, knowing her ex pursued someone that resembles her supermodel mom. Not that Sullivan isn’t worthy of supermodel status, but she has more of her dad’s features: strong jaw, athletic build, and dark hair.

  I shut one eye, the sunlight bothering me more. “As much as I can’t stand the Rooster, I’m glad her experience was good. Can’t replace your firsts.”

  Akara unzips a backpack and looks to me. “You still agonizing over your shitty firsts?”

  “Maybe.” I force both eyes open. Because he’s studying me like he has a fucking magnifying glass up to my face.

  “Your first hand job was not that bad.”

  I bite the toothpick clean in half and spit out the pieces. “She got a cramp in her wrist after thirty seconds, Akara.”

  He laughs. “You were both sixteen, and you have a big dick. She probably didn’t know what to do with it.” He pulls a water bottle and slowly spins the cap off. “It’s just math.”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t there.” I shake my head when he tries to hand me the water.

  Akara scrutinizes me one more time before taking a swig.

  “She was embarrassed as hell,” I continue, “and I felt like shit after. I just wouldn’t want Sulli to have to feel that her first time.” I add more strongly, “And she wouldn’t with me. Confidence and experience guarantee that.” I’m not sixteen fumbling around anymore.