Page 171 of Wild Like Us

There we go.

He grips the porter but doesn’t drink yet. “What about Sulli?”

I stiffen and shift, then scratch the back of my head. My brother is making casual conversation like my dumbass suggested, but I didn’t think he’d surface Sulli.

Akara is the one to say. “What about her?” He does a much better job not looking like he has spiders in his pants.

Thatcher’s gaze slices between us. “One of you likes her, one of you said you’re just friends. I thought you two would’ve talked it out by now.”

Lying to my twin is the biggest sin of my life. It’s more painful than any migraine. Like drinking gasoline by the gallon and lighting a match in my lungs. So I struggle to clarify the truth. That Akara hasn’t actually friend-zoned Sulli.

That we’re both dating her.

That I’m still likely to be heartbroken in the end.

“No conclusion yet,” Akara says to Thatcher, skating by a lie into a fucking gray area that I’m not sure I could find as easily.

Thatcher retorts, “Go talk about it then.” His South Philly lilt comes out in his simmering ire. He wants both of us to get our heads out of our asses. “If you need time alone, I can find Farrow.”

It’s surreal how buddy-buddy he is with Farrow. So much so that Farrow is one of five groomsmen. Along with me, Akara, Charlie, and Beckett. Never really saw a friendship with Farrow and Thatcher coming, not for how long Farrow reallydespisedmy brother. Probably for good reason since Thatcher had to single Farrow out, but I think pretty highly of Farrow that he was able to see the good in my brother in the end.

It means a lot to me, even if I’m not as close to Farrow.

Akara reaches up and clasps Thatcher’s shoulder. “It’syourbachelor party. We’re not going anywhere, man.”

Thatcher nods once, but he sets down his porter again.

Akara mimics one of my cousins, “So how about them Eagles?”

We all laugh.

Though, my brother isstillscoping out the venue, mostly hawk-eyed on the Cobalt brothers.

We’re not alone here for long. Oscar, Quinn, and Donnelly leave their tabletop once they see our beer flights. “Don’t mind me,” Donnelly reaches for a small tasting glass and downs the beer in one gulp.

“That’s not a shot, bro,” Oscar says into a laugh.

“Where’s the stout?” Quinn asks, inspecting the flight.

“I’ll get it,” Oscar says, eying the bar. Pretty sure, he’s more likely heading that way for his husband. Jack is flagging down the bartender with zero to little luck. His brother Jesse seems to be chatting his ear off too.

Before Donnelly can down all the beer, Akara steals two from the flight and hands them both to me.

“Thanks,” I say.

If my brother’s not going to drink, I’m doin’ it for him. I take them both like shots, too. Warm liquid slides down the back of my throat, and then I tell Thatcher, “The temps are actually trained well, so you really shouldn’t worry about anyone.”

Thatstatement shocks him out of his vigilant stance. “What?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said.” He stares at me like I’ve grown three horns. “Just didn’t think you’d be praising Dad.”

“If it gets you to enjoy yourself tonight, I’ll kiss his fucking feet, if I have too.”

That gets me a major eye roll. “I’m having a good time.”

“Says no one.”