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)
When our lips break apart, I struggle to catch my breath. His chest rises and falls in unsteady rhythms, and we both cling harder to each other. Banks buries his head in my shoulder. I rest my forehead atop his head. We stay like this for what feels like an eternity. Trying to breathe.
There’s nothing sexual about what just happened.
I’m not aroused. And I can feel that he’s not either.
I’m just spent.
“Nine,” Banks whispers. “You okay?”
“I think so.” I swallow hard. “You?”
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
“I still love you, you know.”
“I love you too.” Banks sniffs. “I wish it were simpler than this.”
“I know.” I kiss the top of his head. It’d be easier to just tell everyone we fuck the same girl and we fuck each other. It’s harder for people to understand that I’m straight (at least, this label is the one that feels right to me), but I still love a man. And is this kiss even a good enough test for our sexualities? I don’t know. Probably not. It’s just one part of the equation—the sexual part.
Sexual attraction. Romantic attraction. Emotional attraction. Are those things that can even be so easily defined? Who has those answers anyway? And maybe it’s not about fitting into a certain label. Maybe it’s just being comfortable with what I believe I am.
We both break apart to look at Sulli.
She has her knuckles to her lips. Her eyes are glassed, breath a little uneven.
“Why are you crying, string bean?” I ask, even though no tears are really escaping. She looks near tears. “Don’t you know it’s bad for the bean sprout?”
She makes a noise and crinkles her nose. “Did you just call our baby a bean sprout?” She launches a pillow at me. I catch it easily.
Banks laughs. “I like it.”
“Thank you,” I say to him, just as Sulli kicks his ankle.
I grab hold of her foot and yank. Her back thumps against the bed. “Wait—Kits.” She props herself on her elbows. “I just want to know…you’re both okay, right?”
I love Sulli so dang much. “We’re not the ones crying.”
“I’m not crying.”
“And so what if she was?” Banks tells me, and I’m happy about the interjection. I don’t want Sulli to think she can’t cry.
“Switching allegiances so quickly, Banksy,” I banter to him.
He wears a crooked grin.
Sulli sits up fully, questions in her eyes. “So you two aren’t attracted to each other then?”
Banks looks to me. “We’re both limp, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Is that how you determine sexual attraction?” Sulli wonders.
“Don’t know.” Banks shrugs.
“I don’t either, but it’s as good as we have,” I say.
“Yeah, and if the goal is to get my blood pumping, I’m not dying to kiss you again.”
“Same.” Kissing Banks is like being in a hurricane. It’s not something that turns me on, but it rotates my world.
I climb off the bed, but as I grab my clothes, we all share a look that says, stay close. The cot feels a thousand miles away, and without speaking, we just move. Throwing pillows and blankets on the floor. In minutes, we all cuddle up together.
Sulli curls against my chest while I hold her back against me, and she buries her face into Banks’ warm body. We should go to sleep. The lights are off, and the commotion in the hallway dies down as athletes gear up for tomorrow.
But Sulli glances from me to Banks, back to me. She has to crane her neck to meet my gaze, and her eyes say, I don’t want this to end. This moment.
Us.
Together.
I don’t either. I could spend eternity in the solace of this room with Banks and Sulli. It’s always felt safer. Just us three.
It’s going to be four.
That thought nearly tosses me into another dimension. My expression falters.
“What is it, Kits?” Sulli breathes.
I shake my head. I don’t want her to think I have doubts about having a kid with her. I have none. It’s just…a change. A big change. As soon as we find our footing with a new change, we’re being pushed harder into another.
We don’t live on land. The three of us.
We’re made for the unsteady waters. Balancing upon the waves as they crash underfoot.
22
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
400m Individual Medley is underway.
My first of five finals.
Arms propel over my head with strength and purpose in the butterfly. The first stroke in IM. Breath is locked in my lungs as I push stronger, faster, harder. Don’t overdo the first 50 meters. I can’t gas out, but every fucking second counts.
The splash of water, the thump of blood pumping through my heart, and my narrowed focus drowns out the noisy crowds. I am a windmill powering the Earth.
I am a fucking torpedo blasting through the ocean.
Nothing can stop me…but me.
Don’t lose focus.
Don’t fuck up.
I’m in the zone as I touch the wall and make the turn. Gliding through the water like this is my permanent residence.