Page 118 of Wild Like Us

Banks laughs like that’s wholly untrue, and now Ireallywant to test out kicking his ass. I’m about to ask how much he can bench-press.

But Akara tells me, “It’s not us versus you, string bean.”

Banks goes to wrap an arm across my shoulders the same time that Akara goes in—and their forearms knock together.

They glare at each other. Hands drop to their sides.

Quickly, I add, “I also don’t like Akara versus Banks—that is the fuckingworstmatchup.” While they’re on either side of me, I curve one arm around Akara’s waist and the other around Banks’. Squeezing them closer to me.

They ease.

“We’re cool, Sul,” Akara assures me.

Banks nods.

I touch their lower backs, and their gazes roam over me in a sweltering beat. It’s really fucking hot out here. I retract my hands and retighten the knot of my jacket on my waist. And I reroute to the other topic. “Just let Farrow and Moffy do their thing.”

“Well, I have to,” Akara sighs. “They’re not budging no matter what pitch I give.” To Banks, he says, “Thatcher gave me some updates on the guys back in Philly.” He must be referring to Quinn and Donnelly.

“What’s the word?” Banks asks.

While they talk, I study the hiking trail guide on the corkboard. My finger travels the line to The Bitterroot Buttress.

No part of me wishes to return to the rock face. The path there is cursed. And I don’t want to replay the cougar attack every time we trek to the base of the crag. I’m leaving the goal unfinished.

Incomplete.

Safety is more important, and I need to be completely focused. Not halfway back in the past. And anyway, I’ve become more used to scrapping goals and beginning new ones. It’s not that devastating.

Moffy not being able to run the Chile ultra-marathon helped me take small bumps and hiccups in better strides. Shit happens.

Fuck it all and start again.

I tap a finger to the next rock face my dad once free-soloed. The climbing route is dubbedRattlesnake Knuckle.

“I don’t remember him bringing home any girls since we’ve been living together either,” Banks says to Akara. My ears pick up mid-conversation.

“Who?” I ask.

Yeah, I’m fucking nosy. Maybe because I over-share my life, and it feels like everyone elseunder-shares.

“Donnelly,” Banks tells me.

Akara explains more, “Quinn said he hasn’t seen Donnelly bring home any girls to hook up with.”

While we trek up the path to RV Campsite #12, they flank either side of me, and I ask them, “Is that out of the ordinary for Donnelly or something?”

“Yeah,” Akara says. “When I was living with him in Epsilon’s house years ago, his one-night stand stole his wallet, mine, and Greer’s in the morning and then bolted.”

Greer Bell.He was my bodyguard before Akara. From age 8 to 16, Greer protected me, and he’s currently the 24/7 bodyguard to my sister Winona. Since Greer joined security at twenty-two, he’s now in his mid-thirties.

I snort. “She was able to steal from legitsecurityguards.”

Banks laughs with me.

Akara tries not to smile. “That’s sonotthe point, you two.”

“Yeah, what’s the point then?” While we walk, I go to lightly slug his shoulder, then retrack. Remembering he’s hurt.Good call, Sulli.