Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
“It’s fine,” Thatcher says coldly.
Banks glares. “Don’t be like that, Thatcher. We’re just messing around.”
“Is that what this is?” Thatcher snaps back. “Just messing around?” His words have greater meaning than just the food fight. He’s talking about our triad.
I grow hotter. “Thatcher—”
“Forget it.” He leaves.
“Shit,” I curse.
Sulli limply taps my shoulder, looking sad. Banks pulls her into a hug. She wraps up into his burly chest, and I scrounge the kitchen. Trying to find my phone.
I grit my teeth. There it is. In the sink. Covered in salsa and beef.
Great.
Just great.
And honestly, I’m not upset at sour cream streaks on the screen. I’m upset that my best friend is acting like the three of us are adolescent teens. Horny at Spring Break.
Spinning to Sulli and Banks, I tell them, “We did nothing wrong. If they think this is us just fucking around, then whatever. Let them think that, but we know it’s not.”
Banks takes a deep breath, nodding strongly to me.
I finish with, “I don’t want to lose what we have just because they think it’s us being reckless and wild for a season.”
Sulli unburies herself, eyes reddened. “I shouldn’t have wasted the food they made, Kits. They’re not your roommates. They’re mine, and I was fucking inconsiderate.”
“It’s on us too,” I tell her. “Banks and I started it.”
“I started it,” she says. “I hit you with the first tortilla.”
We all slowly smile, remembering.
She groans, “God, I don’t want to love what we did because it was fucking bad.”
Banks shrugs. “No use crying over spilled guacamole.”
I smile more. “If they’re that hungry, we can order more food.”
“Solutions,” Banks says. “Akara has them.”
She exhales. “Okay. Alright…I feel better. Thanks.” She gives me a smile, then Banks. “And I ditto everything you said, Kits. I don’t want to lose what we have either.”
Before we meet with Sulli’s roommates, we clean off and try to scrub the floors, at least.
“Here’s some mapeens.” Banks throws me and Sulli dish towels.
After the floor is less slippery and we’ve wiped our faces, I check my phone and see the email again. Without much thought, I just say, “Someone wants to buy my gym.”
“What?” Sulli frowns. “I didn’t think you wanted to sell it.”
“Me either,” Banks frowns too.
“I didn’t ever consider it.”
“So why are you now?” Sulli asks.
I flip my phone, then shake my head. “Money, less headache.” I push my black hair back, the strands sticky.
“We can find the money,” Sulli assures. “I have the money, Kits.”
“No,” I cut in. “Save your money. Your trust fund isn’t limitless.”
“But I can invest in my boyfriend’s gym.”
“No.”
“Pride,” Banks says with a nod, “is gonna be the death of you, my friend.”
“Metamour,” I say proudly. “I’m your fudging metamour, Banks.”
He almost, almost smiles.
But tension still hangs in the air. It won’t escape us. Because we have more tense crap to deal with. Like the Royal Leaks.
Leaks that Banks and I haven’t discussed with Sulli yet. Days ago, the website was a minor security threat, but a new leak popped up this morning.
Real.
True.
Farrow told Maximoff, who’s now freaking out.
Sulli looks at the salads we grab from the fridge in disdain. Ones we left here a few days ago, but she’s not curling her nose at the expiration date.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“You can’t eat the air,” Banks says. “My cock probably has more nutritional value than oxygen.”
“I’ll eat your cock,” she says triumphantly.
He laughs.
I smile, and she adds, “I’ll eat yours too, Kits.” She grabs our waistbands, drawing us to either side of her, and as cute and hot as Sulli is right now, I look down and tell her, “As much as I want to fill your mouth with my cock, it’s not the way.”
“The way of what?”
“The way to Sullivan Minnie Meadows staying healthy.”
“I know how to stay healthy,” she says strongly. “I’d just rather eat the vegan chips on the floor than eat that green stuff.”
Banks and I smile, and solutions, I find another one in the form of a vegan power bowl in the freezer. I pop the frozen meal in the microwave.
“Thanks, Kits,” she says, “but just so we’re crystal, I really do want your cocks too.”
Banks touches her head in fondness, pulling her closer to him. She wraps her arms around him, and I’m smiling as the light in her eyes reaches me. It’s a good feeling heading into the meeting.
Food in hand, we’re ready. “Here we go.” We make our way up to the patio terrace.
“Come what fucking may,” Banks says. His lets push through any hell hole attitude is one of the few things keeping me going these days.
18
BANKS MORETTI
Being mid-November, my nuts should be frozen hockey pucks on the penthouse’s rooftop, but my sister-in-law and her bright thinking ordered patio heaters for the colder weather. Go, Jane Moretti.
Heaters surround the iron dining tables and the pool lounge chairs nearby where Sulli and I take seats. We smell like a bum-fuck-nowhere Taco Bell and we look like weeks’ old dirty laundry.