Page 134 of Wild Like Us
“Jesus,” Banks scrunches his nose.
Sulli’s on a mission, aiming for the back of the store that says “PET SHOP” on a poster board. I sprint to slip out in front of my faster-than-lightning client.
“Slow down, Sul.” I skim a hand against her hip, near her ass, as I move in front. I’ve never touched her like that before this trip.
So I don’t think it’s my words that make her feet suddenly stop. Her gaze flits quickly around the shop like she’s seeing if anyone saw me touch her.
Fish Hooks is empty.
Part of me wouldn’t really care if someone saw.
You should care, Nine. I hear my dad—at least imagining what he’d tell me, that moral, paternal voice guiding me through life.
I know I should care. Because it’d complicate things, and I don’t want to force her hand and have her choose me just because we were spotted together.
Shit, though, I want to touch her in public.
It’s killing me not to.
We make it to the counter. A sticky note taped to a bell says,tap me for service.
I tap twice.
Ping. Ping.
Sulli bounces on the balls of her feet, and her eyes flit to Banks. “You alright?”
He’s slipping on a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses and just gives her a single nod.Migraine,probably. Not just a passing headache. I stiffen the longer I watch him.
How many has he had recently? I hope that I’m not wrong and these are just infrequent. I could just be more attuned to his health than usual since we’ve been spending more time together.
I motion to the parking spot. “I left a bottle of Tylenol in the glove compartment. I can grab it for you.”
He puts a hand to my shoulder. “I’ll get it.”
Before he leaves, a gray-bearded man pops out from anemployees onlydoor. “If you’re here for snakes, we’re all out.”
“Shitbags,” Banks mutters on his way out.
Sulli frowns. “Someone boughtallyour snakes?”
I zone in on the empty snake habitats. “How many did you have?”
“About fifty of ‘em,” Gray Beard says, nametag readingChuck.“Some organization for birds of prey is using ‘em to feed their eagles.”
Sulli and I share a look. Yeah, that’s bullshit.
“We’re not here for snakes.” I push my black hair back, fitting on a red baseball cap backwards. “Do you have crickets?”
He nods. “Sure. Sure. How many?”
“As many as you have,” Sulli says. “I have a colony of toads.” She says it with as much seriousness as she can muster—which isn’t a lot.
I lick my lips to try to stop from laughing.
Chuck just shrugs. “Whatever. Don’t care what they’re for as long as you’re paying. Wait here.” He disappears into the back.
Big Skyadventure brochures—rafting, fishing, kayaking—are displayed in dozens on the counter. Resting my bad elbow on the surface, the ache is small. Stitches came out yesterday, and Farrow said all of our wounds are healing well.
