rough laugh sticks to my throat. “If this is a race, Akara, you’re at the fucking finish line.”
“That’s not true.” Sulli stops in her tracks on the slope of a wooded hill.
Akara and I halt further down the incline and turn to face her.
She gives me a hard look, then Akara. “I’m not going to base this decision on what other people know. If I did, I would have picked Banks days ago when Akara friend-zoned me in front of everyone.” Her gaze hits mine. “And Jane thinks you like me.”
Akara whips his head to me. “Did you tell Jane something?”
I honestly can’t remember what I said to Jane at the motel.
“No,” I say, then scowl in a grimace. “I told my brother Sulli and I kissed—”
“You idiot,” Akara snaps.
“Hey, hey.” Sulli races down the hill. Coming between us fast, she puts a hand to my chest and then Akara’s. We’re actually not moving in towards each other. We’re just glaring. But I’m not gonna move the mermaid. I like her where she is.
To Akara, I say, “That was ages ago. Back at the motel before I even knew you two kissed.”
Akara’s shoulders slacken, relaxing.
I add, “My brother promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Jane. She probably just thinks I like Sulli because I do. I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as you.”
Akara runs his fingers through his hair, then mumbles, “I guess that’s true.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Sulli says to Akara, “if my little sister knew about this situation, she’d be cheering with Akara Kitsuwon pom-poms.” Before my stomach plummets at that news, she swings her head to me. “And Jane’s firmly Team Banks.”
Yeah, I’m smiling.
Akara makes a face. “There are teams?”
“Unofficial fucking ones,” Sulli pats our chests. “Just so we’re clear, I’m Team Akara and Team Banks right now. Equally.”
I believe her. She truly cares about me and Akara, and she’s not going to needlessly string one of us along. When she knows who she wants to be with in the end—she’ll tell us.
Akara snaps a finger to his palm, eyes on me. “So Thatcher knows you kissed Sulli. Charlie knows I kissed her. That sounds almost even.”
“Almost,” I agree. Because we both know Thatcher’s more likely to take this secret to his grave than Charlie’s likely to keep this secret to tomorrow.
Continuing our hike, we reach an area in the woods that has the best vantage of the Team Apex campsite, while we’re out of earshot. All three of us crouch behind two large boulders.
I pass Sulli a pair of binoculars.
She puts down her harness and peers through the binoculars, looking out for movement. Before Sulli began her climb today, we released crickets in Team Apex’s tents.
Now we wait.
Hopefully they’ll spend as much time clearing out the insects as we did the snakes. I light a cigarette, and both Akara and Sulli shoot me disapproving looks.
I blow smoke away from them. “What? You two have never had a smoke during a stakeout before?”
They’re trying not to smile.
Times like these, Akara would smoke a cigarette. He’s a social smoker. But he must really want me to quit because he doesn’t ask for one.
“I think I see their Jeep,” Sulli whispers in eagerness. She lowers the binoculars to double-check.
Sure enough, the Jeep Wrangler is headed to their campsite. After everything, I need a win. Let this be one.
Akara’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket at the same time Sulli’s chimes. She fumbles to remove it from her backpack on the ground, while Akara slides his out.
I take the binoculars and peer through.
They’re piling out from the Jeep. Looks like they’re aimed for the campfire, carrying bundles of logs. Thankfully they’re not searching for the cellphones ringing out in the distance.
I’m about to ask Akara and Sulli who’s calling, when my phone pings.
Xander Hale is sending a text to a group chat with Thatcher and me.
Rare.
He’s only sixteen.
When we were his full-time bodyguards, he was supposed to only use the thread for emergencies since he’s a minor and we report to his parents. Sometimes, though, he’d recommend us fantasy TV shows and books to watch. More so lately, our text communication is about boxing since Thatcher, Farrow, and I started to teach him on our days off-duty.
But the message I’m staring at now has nothing to do with Jon Snow or Frodo Baggins, the dweeby-looking elf, goblin thing, or sparring when we come home.
Banks. Thatcher. PLEASE don’t let Donnelly get fired. It’s not his