My experience with guys, dating, kissing—the works—is microscopic. I have one ex to compare all guys to. I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle kissing two men in less than 24-hours. Guilt pried my lips off Akara pretty fast. Was I cheating on Banks?
It’s not like we solidified anything.
But it felt shitty.
Really shitty.
Because I still really, really, really fucking like Banks, and I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt Akara.
What the hell is even happening?
Two guys.
Two kisses.
I am not Elena Gilbert. I’m not emotionally prepared for a love triangle. And oh fuck, I can’t believe I’m thinking about The Vampire Diaries right now.
I totally blame this on my mom and Aunt Willow. One rainy summer at the lake house, they sat my sister, some cousins, and me in front of the TV and demanded we binge-watch all seven seasons.
Was I invested in Elena’s complicated love triangle with Stefan and Damon? Yeah. We all were. There were teams and sides, and the lake house was split for weeks. All I could think is that it’d fucking suck balls to be in love with two people and have to choose one.
Good news is that I’m not in love with Akara or Banks.
I just really like them. And it was just a kiss.
From both of them.
My feet pump harder, Akara not too far behind me as I sprint back to the motel with all my might and drive. Leaves and branches whip at my face until my shoes hit pavement of the parking lot.
Already outside, Banks is tossing sleeping bags into the back of Booger. When he turns around and sees me, he reaches down for the radio clipped to his pants. But the cord is wrapped around the battery pack. As he unwinds it swiftly, urgently, his eyes ping to me in concern.
I stop to a breathless halt in front of him. Hands on my knees, I heave for air. I’ve never been this out-of-breath from a morning run.
Banks steps in front of me protectively and shields my whole body in a snap-second. “What’s wrong?” He’s in full bodyguard stance. Stoic, alert, and this is so far from a security problem.
It’s just a me problem.
A love life problem.
A friendship problem.
I try to form words but I just breathe heavier, not able to catch air into my lungs.
He fits his earpiece into his ear and bends down to me. “Sulli?”
“I…” I trail off as Kits comes into view.
Skidding to a stop beside us, Akara has the same hands-on-knees posture. Hair hangs in his eyes in a casual, cool way like he’s pretending to expel air for a 90s-style, skateboard photoshoot. He really has no fucking right to look that sexy being so out of breath.
Banks glances between us with mounting worry. He packs on the I’m-going-to-take-care-of-you attitude that draws me in. He really has no fucking right to look that sexy being concerned.
I like them both.
This wouldn’t even be such a bad problem to have if I were someone like Jane. She’d multitask like a boss bitch, all in pastels and sequined heels while being surrounded by a hundred fucking cats.
Banks zeroes in on Akara. “Please tell me you two knucklefucks just made a stupid bet and raced over here.” His vigilant, unblinking gaze sweeps the woods past our shoulders. He must think we’re running from someone.
Dead-fucking-honest, we were just running to him.
Akara straightens up in a bigger breath. “Sul.” His voice is pleading for answers.
I rise more too, a hand on my cramping hip. “We should all clear the air.” My lungs feel tight. “Um, starting with…” I motion to Banks, then back to myself. Signaling us.
Is there even an us?
Is it too presumptuous to say it?
Maybe, because I can’t spit out the words.
Banks nods slowly in realization. More clear understanding. Our kiss. We meant to tell Akara last night, and Banks is probably connecting those dots.
Not that he can connect the dot that reads: Akara & Sulli just kissed in the woods!
Yeah, that fucking dot is off the page. No line can possibly be drawn to it.
“You want to tell him first?” Banks asks me.
“Tell me what?” Akara snaps at Banks.
Fuck, this is bad. Hand outstretched to Akara, I cut in fast, “Last night, Banks and I kissed.” I look to Banks. “And this morning, while we were out for a run—”
“I kissed her,” Akara tells Banks, his voice as taut as a stretched resistance band.