Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“Kits?” Hurt stabs me.
He winces. “It’s nothing, Sul.”
“It’s not nothing. You’re acting like it’s something.”
Banks keeps his phone in hand, glaring at the screen, and with a heavy breath, Banks tells me, “It’s not anything good.” His face is hardened, moodier, nose flaring.
Banks is mad? He avoids my eyes a little bit. I’ve seen him overprotective. Aggravated. Angry, even, but I’d say Akara is feistier than him.
What could’ve struck a nerve with Banks?
“Is it the viral video of Dean and Kingly?”
“What video?” Banks asks.
Not the video then.
“Just…something annoying.” I expel a breath. “Dean recorded himself and Kingly jumping on a bed to see how many jumps it’d take to break. Luna said they’re being called the ‘best Olympic bromance’ or something like that. Which A. is totally false, because the best platonic bromance at the Olympics is you two.”
Fucking duh.
As soon as I say platonic, they seem off—and realization kicks me back. “Fuck, sorry. I forgot…fuck. You two haven’t kissed yet, or maybe you have and I wasn’t there—”
“We haven’t,” Akara cuts me off, thankfully.
I breathe. “Right, okay.”
“I mean, we could still be platonic,” he explains. “No sexual attraction.”
“We haven’t tested it,” Banks adds, an awkwardness in the air. I think mostly due to the uncertainty.
“Cool.” Cool? God, I suck at conversational segues. I wipe a driblet of shower water off my brow. “Um, and you know B.—my second point—if I made a funny video jumping on the bed, I’d be called ‘disrespectful’ and probably scolded by national media. Whereas, Kingly is being praised.”
“It’s not fair,” Banks agrees. “They’re gonna hold him to a different standard because he’s a guy.”
I realize that Banks and Akara hold Kingly to a normal standard. Probably more normal than anyone watching on TV or anyone here. Even me. I’ve elevated him to extreme, untouchable godly levels because…because I did revere him.
Part of me wishes I still could, in the same rose-colored way.
As Banks returns to his phone, my mind reels back onto their hidden agenda.
I wince at a thought. “Oh fuck, is the internet still obsessing over the goggle thing?”
Banks shakes his head.
I can tell I’m really off. “The flagbearer drama?”
Another head shake.
“No one leaked anything about the cinnamon roll, did they?” I panic for less than a second. Seeing Banks with a heartier head-shake.
“Sul,” Akara cringes like I’m stepping into a five-car pile-up. “Can you stop guessing?”
“Is it that bad?”
Their silence is a big fucking yes.
“Cum, fuck,” I mutter, and I eye the phone, how Banks is typing. Confusion amasses higher than even curiosity, and I just want to climb this confusion like it’s the mountain keeping me from winning.
Maybe if I grab the phone…?
Hair sopping wet in a messy bun, I regrip my towel snug around my chest.
Akara stares right at my boobs.
I instantly smile.
His breath shallows. He licks his kissable lips. He runs a hand through his black hair, and even as he shifts his gaze off my boobs, they return and drip down the length of my body.
He thinks I’m hot.
I feel sexy beneath his desire, and I can’t help but remember last Olympics. At eighteen, all hope that Akara found me attractive began depleting. Like sand in an hourglass, I watched the likelihood of us ever kissing or having passionate, wild sex or falling in World Series kind of love flit away.
But now, I think it was always supposed to be this path, this way. Akara and Banks with me.
Grab the phone. I haven’t forgotten.
I come so close that my knees knock into Akara’s knees. I tower above him. The flap of towel draws his carnal gaze towards my bare thighs. “Can I get a hint?” I kick his feet apart.
“It’s social media.”
Un-fucking-surprising.
With his legs spread, I take a seat between them. Resting my back against his chest, I feel his muscles warm and flex in arousal.
I start to ache for hardness inside me. Throbbing for Akara and Banks. But I concentrate. “Another hint?” My voice sounds raspier.
Banks turns his head. He freezes. I look right at Banks as he looks at me, and I part my sore legs so they spread open against Akara’s. The towel hides my pussy, but the temptation is all over their roaming gazes.
I bottle their reaction like liquid arousal, and the fumes intoxicate the air. Intoxicate me. I melt back against Akara.
His hands glide down my thighs along the towel. Tantalizing, tormenting. I quiver, needing his skin on my skin, but his fingertips stop at the fabric’s edge. “Kits.”
“Are you trying to seduce us?” he whispers against my hair.
“Maybe.”
“I’m better at this game, Lady Meadows.”
God, Akara is hot, and I don’t doubt he is better at seduction. He’s had more practice, and he oozes sex appeal. “I said maybe it’s my goal.” And that’s when I reach for the phone.
“Fuck,” Banks curses as I capture his cell.