“I’m good.” I fit a toothpick between my lips and flip the third pancake. I have to go one at a fucking time on this teeny-tiny fold-out pan.
Akara reaches for a pancake off a plate.
“Those are for Sulli,” I say fast.
He makes a face and points at me with the floppy, half-burnt pancake. “Who are you and what have you done with Banks?”
I chew on the toothpick. “I’m the same as I’ve always been.”
“You don’t cook. You especially don’t cook special breakfasts for anyone.”
My lip nearly rises. “You sure I haven’t cooked one for you before?”
“Thatcher has. You? Never,” Akara says. “If you cooked me breakfast, I would’ve marked the date on a calendar and stuck OMG stickers around the words Banks Loves Me.”
I hold his gaze. “What’s today’s date?”
“September 29th.”
I nod to him. “Go get your OMG stickers. I made you scrambled eggs.”
“Not pancakes?”
“Those are for—” Sulli. I cut myself off as Akara bites into the pancake.
Cringing, he spits it out in the sizzling fire. “Shit, these are bad, man. Like charcoal putty.”
Fuck.
I try one and barely chew before spitting the hunk in the flames too.
“Here.” Akara comes closer. “Let me help.” He’s about to take the pan from my hand, but I rock back.
“I’ve got it. You’ve already had time with her alone in the tent. Just let me try to make a fucking pancake.” I have some batter left. And this would be a power-move on my part if I could actually cook a goddamn fucking pancake.
Akara is like a king, bishop, and rook on a chessboard. I’m just one knight trying to move in an L-pattern that makes no sense half the time.
After I toss the third pancake on the plate, I pour more batter in the frying pan.
Akara sinks down on a rock across from me. He just keeps looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not used to seeing you this frustrated. Not much gets under your skin. Except me right now.” He sends me an apologetic look.
I exhale roughly, hating being in a state of agitation. Feeling like I’m going to come up short when I pride myself on being there, without question or hesitation, for people who need me.
Quietly, I tell him, “It’s the situation. I’ll get over it.” I pass Akara a bowl of scrambled eggs.
“Thanks.” He finds a fork. “Sulli is still sleeping, you know. We weren’t kissing or having some kind of marathon conversation—and I can’t believe I’m even giving you these details.” I can’t either. He didn’t have to tell me any of that. Akara stabs the eggs a few times, then says, “It’d be easier if you were some asshole blueblood like the Rooster.” His eyes meet mine. “Then I’d just kick your ass.”
I laugh. “You can still kick my ass if you want. But I’ll probably put you on yours.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “In your dreams, Moretti.”
I smile back. “I’d take that dream. It’d be better than the shit I’m sleeping through these days.”
Akara’s features grow more serious. “You’re having bad dreams?”
I lift a shoulder and flip the newest pancake. “Just restless ones.”
While he takes a strong bite of eggs, he stares at the ground. He must be thinking hard about something. If it were related to work, he’d confide in my brother in an instant. But I’m not sure if this is about security.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
He looks up and lets out a dry laugh. “Other than the fact that we both like the same girl?”
I flip the pancake again, looks golden. “Other than that unfortunate thing, yeah.”
“Unfortunate is an understatement,” Akara replies into a sigh. “I hate that we’re competing for her attention…her affection. Because I want it, but I’m also going to feel badly when you don’t get it. And I’m going to feel like even worse shit when you do and I don’t.”
“Same here.” I bounce my head, a migraine shooting pain in my left eye. I try not to close it. “Guess that’s what happens when someone you care about falls for the girl you like.”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair and then answers my earlier question. “I’ve been having dreams.”
I tense and scan him quickly. “That’s what’s bothering you?”
He nods once, then swigs from a water bottle. He’s about to reply, but Sulli zips herself out of the tent. She’s already dressed in workout gear and carries a perfectly coiled rope. “Hey, guys. That smells good.”
Before it burns, I toss the golden pancake onto a plate. “Lower your expectations. Akara’s food review came in and it wasn’t good.” I sprinkle the top of the pancake with yellow gummy bears. Standing up, I walk over to Sulli.
“Akara’s not a good food critic, so it’s probably amazing.”
“Hey, I’m a great food critic for mainstream tastes,” Akara defends. “Not your sweet-tooth concoctions.”
She smiles at him, then really looks at the plate I hand her. “Did you only put the yellow gummy bears on here?”