“No service,” Akara tells him. “It’s fine. Thatcher is keeping tabs on everyone.” Thatcher Moretti. He’s the SFO lead. Banks’ identical twin brother is actually higher than Banks on the security hierarchy.
Metal disks line the hallway, and they spin Akara 360-degrees when he steps foot on one. He keeps complete and total balance.
Like a badass.
Banks trips. “Jesus, Mary—”
Akara catches Banks’ wrist and pulls him onto the second spinning disk. They’re hugging to stay on the same metal plate.
I grip the side railings and use my upper-body strength to avoid touching the disks. Leaping my way through.
Akara cups his hand over his mouth. “Cheating!”
“Hey, I’m being fucking resourceful. Why else put railings here?”
“For people like Banks,” Akara quips, stepping easily on the next disk.
Banks follows and laughs. “She’s allergic to land, so she’d know how to avoid it. I’m a fucking tree. I actually like standing.”
“She’s not a mermaid,” Akara says as we pass the rest of the spinning disks.
Banks looks a little ticked. He even shoots Akara an annoyed glance.
Akara frowns back like, What?
I look Banks over, my pulse quickening, and I bite my lip, feeling a smile. He came to my defense. Feels like some type of romance—or I could be really fucking playing myself. How far-fetched is it that Banks could see me as more than a friend?
He’s never even made a move.
I get that there are bodyguard rules. Close but not too fucking close, but some of my cousins have decimated those rules.
Maximoff.
Jane.
They deserve a round of applause for doing the fucking impossible and making it all work.
We enter a much larger blue room. Polka-dot-painted boxing bags hang like a maze. And I tell Banks, “Don’t mind Kits. He doesn’t believe in mermaids.”
Banks cocks his head at Akara. “You don’t believe in beautiful women who swim in the sea?”
“With a tail?” he asks incredulously. “No, man. That shit is for Disney movies. Anyway, Sulli is more like a…” He eyes me. “String bean.”
My mouth falls, and I’d slug his arm if he were closer.
He smiles teasingly. “No muscle. Can’t lift a five-pound weight. Way too tall. Definitely a string bean.”
I push a boxing bag aside, trying not to zero in on the “too tall” part. I am taller than the average woman, but the rest of his words were bullshit. I have a lot of muscle and a fucking six-pack that I worked hard for.
Plus, I can lift over a hundred-fifty pounds.
I mean, fuck, I can lift him. “Let me carry you out of here and we’ll see how much of a string bean I am.”
Akara just laughs.
Banks grips the top of a boxing bag, and when my eyes meet his, it feels like he can see right through me. Heat blazes my neck because I’m not totally fucking sure what he’s thinking. But I just know I wish I could hear it.
We loiter around for a second. Standing among the colorful boxing bags. And I look between them while they joke about redecorating the Studio 9 gym with polka-dots and stripes.
Would I like Banks or even Akara to pull me closer? Yeah. But not just in playful jest. Not just to protect me. In actual, real want. Desire. Fucking passion.
Things I’ve only ever seen as a bystander and on TV shows like Roswell (thanks to Luna’s obsession). I don’t want to make out with an alien though.
I want to be devoured by a hot fucking man. Who I trust, who makes me feel so completely comfortable and confident even in my inexperience.
I’m picky about guys. I won’t physically let just anyone in. I crave those comfortable, trusting pieces while being mixed with the I wanna bang you attraction.
But it’s right here. They’re beyond bangable.
And I trust Banks.
I trust Akara.
They’d never take advantage of me. Never hurt me. I know they’d take care of me before, during, and afterward. They’re completely different guys, and I should be lucky that I’ve made two friends out of them, out of bodyguards.
Two friends who I’m attracted to.
“What’s that look?” Akara asks me with playfulness.
I won’t lie. “You’re both fucking hot.”
Banks smiles, one of those shadows of a smile.
Akara laughs brightly.
They know they’re hot.
I wrap an arm around a boxing bag. “I feel comfortable and safe around you two, and I figure if I never have another boyfriend in my life, I could totally see myself losing my virginity to either of you.”
Akara’s face drops.
Like plummets.
Like I took a needle and popped a fucking balloon.
Oh my fucking God.
Banks scratches the back of his head. His eyes are on Akara.
We joke all the time! This isn’t that different, right? Boobs, tits, ass, penis, cock—what’s so different about me mentioning my virginity? It’s not a joke to me, but they should at least respond like we’re friends, right? I said everything really casually, right??