Page 17 of Wild Like Us
“You okay, Sul?” Akara asks with furrowed brows. He comes up to the bar counter that separates me and Banks from him.
His shoulder. His chest.
Wide-eyed, I wipe dribble off my lips and zero in on the freshtattoo.Colorful ink covers his shoulder, upper bicep, and part of his upper-chest like a plate of armor. The design is mesmerizing: a snake winding around budding red roses and some type of yellow flower. Scales a rich green.
Beyond the new tattoo, sweat casts a glossy sheen over his bare chest and abs. His black hair—grown out enough to curl behind his ears—is a little damp.
My face begins to slowly fall.
It’s not wet like he took a shower. It’s damp fromsweat.
Oh fuck me…
Five minutes.
Though, I ask hopefully, “Were you just getting tattooed?”
“What?” he frowns and glances at his fresh ink. “No, I got it a few days ago.” He’d been talking about getting a tattoo, so I shouldn’t bethatfucking shocked. But I guess I always thought I’d be there. That he’dwantme there. Before I ask if it’s Donnelly’s work, he explains, “I was around Old City and passed a tattoo shop. It was a spur of the moment thing.”
I just nod, not sure what to say.
Banks bites into the toast I nibbled.
“What’s up?” Akara asks me.
I texted him to talk.But I can’t shake how tense he looks.
He checks over his shoulder. “Can we go in the hall to chat?”
Someone’s in his room.He’s not sweating from weightlifting like I’d been doing.
Sex.
He was 100% having sex. The fact settles heavy in my stomach for some strange reason. Am I seeing mid-fuck Akara right now? Or is this his post-nut high?
My thoughts aren’t making this any better. A knot twists inside me.
“Um…” I stumble for a second before settling on a decision. “You know what, it can wait. You go back to Bone Town. Finish strong.”
I’ve actually said these words to him before—but today,afterthe funhouse, it feels a little different. I go fast for the door.
Nearly there, Akara reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait—” he starts.
“Akara?” a woman calls out.
Akara and I spring apart like an electric shock.
A blue-eyed, auburn-haired beauty has strolled out of his bedroom. She looks older than me. Probably closer to his age. Late-twenties. Freckles splatter her flushed cheeks, and a sheet is wrapped around her curvy, naked frame. Like she could be modeling for a half-nude oil portrait.
Suddenly, I’m highly attuned to my sweat-stained gray shirt, messy ponytail, and frumpy running shorts. My lack of shower this morning shouldn’t bethatregretful, but the dark hair on my legs is longer than the usual prickly layer.
My leg-hair is obvious in a way that sends alarm signals in my brain.
Sulli the Sasquatch.
Insecurities fucking suck ass.
So I think,W.W.F.M.J.
