I’d rather be burned alive.
Being a best man, easy.
Organizing a bachelor party, easy. Buy some booze. Some wings and pizza. Probably go to Uncle Joe’s row house, the biggest place among our family that’d cost us nothing.
Do it cheap.
Not that I wouldn’t want to spend a lot of money on Thatcher. It’s just not fucking sensible. It’s a party. We grew up saving cash for practical shit. Clothes, toothpaste, the bad-luck day where you get in a wreck or the water heater breaks.
But Thatcher isn’t marrying some good ole Italian-American girl our grandma introduced him to. Come November 1st—less than two months from now—he’ll be married to a Cobalt.
American fucking royalty, and now I need to throw a bachelor party that includes Cobalt brothers on the guest list.
Thatcher has told me, “Let’s not do it at Uncle Joe’s row house.”
Fuck me.
Anything for my brother. But opulence isn’t something I understand. Like a gold brick fucking another gold brick, it makes no damn sense to me. Somehow, I gotta pull a rabbit out of a hat so this party looks made-for-royalty.
Akara and I fixate on Sulli as her phone rings.
She does a quick 360, making sure no one is in eyesight or earshot. Her eyes sweep me, then Akara for a brief second before answering her cell.
Squatting, Sulli hides behind a display of mountain bikes, phone to her ear.
She does that in public sometimes.
The squat and talk.
It’s hotter than she knows because she squats with her legs spread open. It takes all my unholy energy not to stare at her so that I can focus on her AO. And her area of operations right now is as riveting as water dripping from a spigot.
The store is practically empty.
Too easy.
No targets, no shitheads, no threats.
Akara’s eyes are rooted on Sulli. I can’t tell if he’s staring at her pussy, and I’m not about to triple-fucking check like a tennis match to figure it out.
She talks quietly enough that we can’t hear her call. And the tension from the car ride to REI swarms me like a bad memory. The suffocating heat, her revoking the offer to take her virginity after we were little church mice, silent as can be.
I tuck hair behind my ear, and I slip Akara a glare.
“What?” he asks calmly and quietly under his breath.
“You know you’re an asshole.” My voice is deep and hushed.
He picks a bright neon-yellow bike helmet off a shelf in reach, and then reaches up to put it on my head. “In what way?” He smiles a little, even as he eyes his four o’clock, scanning the aisle.
The straps dangle by my chin. “You literally ordered me not to answer her declaration or question—whatever it was in the funhouse. And you’re ignoring her too. Now she’s retracting her offer—and she’s allowed to change her mind,” I add fast, “but how much of that is because we’ve made her uncomfortable by staying silent?”
Her statement was a moment of sincere vulnerability.
She said she was comfortable with us.
Trusted us.
And we’ve nuked it.
A groan dies inside his throat, and he places a closed fist on the shelf next to him. Eyes still on Sulli. “There’s no good way to answer it without ruining…what we have.”
I smack his chest. “Which is?”
“We’re friends.” He licks his lips, pushing back his black hair. “But it’s not like you and me. The two of us are closer in age. We’re both men. I’ve been friends with you longer. She’s older now…but it’s…” He sighs, confused, then shakes his head. “Her statement was hypothetical anyway. She’s going to have a boyfriend who’ll take her virginity. Let’s just thank whoever it’s not the fucking Rooster.”
Yeah. Her ex-boyfriend, Will Rochester, is a cock.
I almost smile, remembering our exchange with Sulli when she found out her boyfriend’s code name on comms.
“He’s not a cock!” She slugged Akara’s shoulder.
I laughed, then she slugged mine.
“His cock is probably ten times bigger than both of yours,” she said in defiance.
“No way in hell,” I told her.
She stared at our crotches. Unabashed, brazen as fuck.
This was almost a year ago. Akara reassured her she wasn’t the butt of a joke, but I get the feeling she’s thinking she’s one now. Left out. And we can’t help that sometimes. Akara and I are older, like he said. We have a friendship that’s different than when she joins us.
Not better or worse, just different.
In REI, Akara tells me quietly, “She doesn’t need me or you to do it.” To take her virginity.
“Then tell her that,” I say. “Tell her something.”
He shakes his head. “She wants me to say yes.”
“Then say yes.”
He goes quiet.
“Mary Mother of God,” I groan. “Then I’ll say yes.”
He shoots me a look like no you will not. And we’ve returned to square one.
Back in the funhouse, I was so close to replying to Sulli, if that’s what you want, I’d be of service. But against better judgment, I turned to Akara. He gave me one of his classic shut the fuck up, Banks looks. So I shut down.