Page 170 of Wild Like Us
This can’t be happening.
If I utter a single word, I’ll be caught in my lie. My lips have cemented together, and I try to be all cool. All casual. I remember how easy it was for Akara to skate through his lie like it was nothing, and hurt blossoms in my chest.
It shouldn’t be easy to lie about this. To lie about them.
Because I lo…Icareabout them both. Fucking immensely.
Luckily Moffy pries the conversation off Banks and Akara and refocuses it onto the bride-to-be. Moffy doesn’t know it, but he’s definitely helping me be better at secret-keeping. Thank God for the man of honor.
40
BANKS MORETTI
As the best man,it’s my job to make sure my brother is having a good time at his own bachelor party. But Thatcher Alessio Moretti is making that task harder than I thought he would. I’d have better luck flying my ass to the moon.
He hasn’t touched his beer and we’re at a fuckin’brewery.
At least he keeps sending ice-cold lagers to his fiancée.
“Thatcher,” I lean into his ear, clamping a hand on his strict shoulder. “You can drink more than the baby sips you’ve been taking. We’ve got temps and SFE here.” I hate to give that much credit to Epsilon, but if it’ll ease my brother’s stress then I’ll be spitting those words all day.
Montana Moose Foot Brewery is on the ground floor of this enormous lodge. Complete with barrel-drum tabletops, leather barstools, and mounted bison heads. Bougie, but also something my brother and I would’ve walked into if we had the cash and the people didn’t side-eye us to hell.
I’d love to give myself kudos for the venue, but Jane and Thatcher basically chose it themselves with an assist from Maximoff.
We bought out the brewery for a “private party” for the whole day, and right now, various cliques pack the bar area, leather sofas, and tabletops. From my cousins at the bar—Morettis, Piscitellis, and Ramellas—to the Cobalt brothers at an entire sofa section, and to Omega at the high-top tables.
It’s like high school all over again.
My brother and I currently occupy a tabletop dead-center of the brewery. Right now, it’s the worst damn place for Thatcher to be. He has a perfect view of all the guests, which is causing him to act more like a bodyguard than a man about to be married.
Thatcher stares at the beer, a dark porter on draft, that I shove at his chest. “Herteenagebrothers are here, Banks. If anything happens to them—”
“It won’t,” I cut him off.
His eyes peel to the sofa area. Eliot and Tom Cobalt are in some deep whisper-conversation. Nothing good is going to come from that, but I’m not advertising my pessimistic thoughts right now. I’m a fucking rainbow of joy for my brother today. He deserves the hype man, not a Debbie Downer.
But Christ, it’s hard when I’m playing babysitter to Cobalt brothersandI’m a goalie playing defense as I try to keep Tony Ramella from approaching my brother. Lord knows Tony will throw out some dumb comment that’ll tank my brother’s mood.
Which is already too uptight to begin with.
“You shoulddrink,” I try to encourage. “You’re not on-duty, and you won’t see Jane later. We’re not meeting up with the bachelorette party.” The thought sours my stomach because I’d love nothing more than to hang out with Sulli in a brewery, spa, barn, fucking horse-manure stalls—I’ll take anything, being honest. As long as I can spend more time with her.
“Agreed,” Akara says, approaching with a couple beer flights. “You need to enjoy this, Thatcher. You’re only gettingonebachelor party.”
Thatcher doesn’t ease at those words. Not really sure what’ll take the ice out of his bones tonight. “What’s the word on the security meeting?” he asks Akara. “SFO is finally together now, we could have one in five before the gents are drunk.”
Akara checks the time on his watch. “Maybe in twenty.”
I wag a finger, then pound the table withsaidfinger. “No work.No meetings. This is a fucking party. Can you two please shove the pencils and calculators in a drawer foronenight?”
Akara fits on a black beanie, smiling. “Hey, I’ll do whatever the groom wants.”
Thatcher shoots me a look. “If we’re not talking about work, what do you want me to bring up?”
“Phillies, Eagles. Hell, I’ll take an hour of Jesus and Mary and rehashing the birth of Christ.”
Thatcher almost smiles.
