Page 71 of Wild Like Us
He wears a crooked smile. “Hell have mercy on my soul.”
My lips rise, then falter.He likes Sulli too.Maybethat’swhy 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 ourtemp 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 justjinxedmyself.
Banks laughs. But he’s staring at the door frame like heneedsto 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 anecessityin 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,faraway from Sulli because my Spidey-sense—what Banks calls a “fuckbag detector”—is tingling. Though, maybe it’s broken. Maybe it’s off.
