They’re definitely men.
So quick to take care of me.
They lean against one side of the kitchen counters, and I rest against the island, facing them. Cheeks are singed from more than regret, I feel my inexperience and the youth of my age. They’re twenty-nine and twenty-eight to my twenty-one years of innocence in some facets of life.
But the longer they tower, their eyes stroke, they care—the more I blaze under attraction. How sexy they are…I feel beloved. Fucking coveted. A girl they’ve chosen to carry home and make feel better.
“How’s your head?” Banks asks sweetly. “Still spinning?”
“No more spinning. I’m not really tipsy anymore…I think the crackers helped.” I keep roasting. Pulling off my pom beanie, my hair must be sticking up every which way but I don’t try to flatten the strands. Why is it getting harder to hold their gazes? “I’m really sorry we had to leave the festival early. Especially on your birthday, Kits.”
“Hey, you don’t need to keep apologizing, string bean.” He presents me a classic Kits smile, sparkling his eyes. I prefer their smiles over the fists that were flung earlier tonight. Warmly, Akara adds, “I’d rather be here right now than there.”
“Really?”
He smiles more. “Here is where you are, Sul.”
My lips rise, and I glance between Akara and Banks, their smiles so different—yet, they have the same overwhelming effect on me, swelling my heart out of my body.
“Thanks,” I say to both of them. “For being here with me. I mean, I know you kind of have to be, but thanks for choosing to be, too.” I blush at the intensity of the attraction, at their gazes that try to devour me.
Devour me, I dare you. I want to scream the words, but I stay an arm’s length away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Banks promises.
I’m not on a period, I almost declare. But they start asking more questions:
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“You need more crackers?”
“You wanna lie down?”
After answering each one with a peeking smile (God, I feel like such a lovesick puppy), I just say, “I’m okay; I’m okay.” To shake their concern that comes in each sizzling beat, I switch topics off me. And to something that I’m concerned about. “Are you two going to talk about what happened tonight between you guys?”
Even though I’d love to bury their fight into the ground, I don’t want them to use me as an excuse to avoid their feelings.
Akara and Banks both give each other hesitant looks.
“I can be a pretty fucking great referee,” I tell them. “If one of you looks like you’re going to punch the other, I’ll just jump between you two.”
Akara assures with a rising smile, “We’re not going to punch each other.”
“But feel free to jump in between us, mermaid.” Banks opens the space, and Akara gestures to the spot between their bodies.
The goal post is there. Calling out to me. I’m craving, begging, aching to be sandwiched between Akara and Banks, but knowing they’re okay means more to me than the longing.
Ripped and tattered suit jackets are splayed over kitchen barstools. Their clothes took a worse beating than their bodies. Akara lost a button on his button-down, and their white shirts are stretched and torn from pulling each other.
All the money Kits spent on their designer suits is down the drain.
“But what happened back there then?” I ask. “Because it looked like fist-fighting to me.”
Banks cocks his head to Akara. “She has a point.”
I lean my ass more against the counter. “I don’t like when you two fight.”
Akara nods strongly. “Then we can solve this right now.” He turns to Banks. “Give me a reason not to fire your dad that has nothing to do with me or my company.”
Banks stares hard at the kitchen countertop. “My dad wants to make amends with me…and as much as I don’t want to give the bastard a chance, if you fire him, it’ll close all doors to that.”
“But you don’t want to make amends, so what does it matter?”
Banks lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll change my mind. Someone taught me that forgiveness can be hard, but it could be worth it in the end.” His eyes are on me.
Forgiveness. It’s a struggle that I’m still struggling with in terms of my dad. And where I stand in terms of Banks’ dad is in the direct fucking middle. I can’t take a side. One hurts Akara and one hurts Banks. I wish there could be a perfect option, and maybe there will be with more time. Right now, this is all they have.
Akara looks conflicted.
“Please,” Banks emphasizes. “I’ll fuckin’ beg and it won’t be cute.”
Akara and I begin to smile, and then Akara lets out a heavy sigh, “Shoot, Banks—you know how hard it is to stay mad at you?”
Banks’ mouth curves in those almost-smiles. “Is that a yes, you’re keeping him?”