“Jane says you play it every time you’re over there,” Beckett says, “so obviously you enjoy it.”
“It’s a nice piano,” Charlie says, “that I enjoy there.”
Beckett suddenly notices me off the phone. “How was that?”
“Bittersweet. My dad is the bitter part. Mom is sweet.” My phone buzzes.
House meeting. Tonight. Required. – Thatcher
I make a face.
“What?” he laughs.
“Thatcher. Your brother-in-law is not the easiest roommate to live with. Yesterday, he made a chore list. I might’ve missed dish duty on accident.” I grimace. “Granted, I was swimming on the roof, and I just lost track of time.”
“He sounds like someone I’d actually want to live with,” Beckett says.
“Let’s trade him for Eliot,” Charlie quips.
Beckett laughs with the shake of his head. “You would never, and neither would I.”
Charlie doesn’t disagree, but asks me, “What did Thatcher want?”
I pocket my phone. “I have a house meeting tonight. It seems serious, but it might just be another chore list.”
A knock sounds on the door.
A girl with curly brown hair pulled into a bun and light golden-brown skin peeks inside. “Hi, sorry to be a bother. Beckett?”
“Roxanne,” Beckett nods.
Charlie says a couple words in Russian.
Roxanne looks surprised but also in a hurry, just telling Beckett, “Curtain in three.” She shuts the door, but we hear a squeaking sound.
“Did she slip?” Charlie asks Beckett.
“She’s a little clumsy for a ballerina,” Beckett says but also gives his brother a foreboding look. “Don’t, Charlie.”
“Don’t, what?” Charlie knows what Beckett means.
“You promised to never fraternize with anyone at the company.” Beckett stands up. “I work with Roxanne.”
I chime in, “How do you know she understands Russian?”
“I told him,” Beckett says to me. “Back when I thought he didn’t like her.”
“I don’t like her,” Charlie says. “I hardly know her, Beckett.” He moves away from the wall. “And I would never break a promise I made to you.”
But he’d blackmail me.
Don’t be bitter, Sulli. They have a twin bond. Charlie would do absolutely anything for Beckett. And I realize outside the dressing room door, I have two men who’d do absolutely anything for me.
17
AKARA KITSUWON
Hi Mr. Kitsuwon,
I saw the “closed until further notice” sign on the door to Studio 9 Boxing & MMA Gym, and I wondered if you’d be interested in selling? My son C.J. Bishop used to practice martial arts at Studio 9, and as he graduates college soon, I’d like to help him live out his dream of owning a gym and keeping the one he loved so much alive.
At your best convenience, I’d love to chat more and provide an offer you’ll find substantial.
I glaze over the rest of the email.
Here’s my number blah blah blah hope to talk soon. Yeah.
I bet.
In the penthouse’s kitchen, I hunch over the sink with my phone in my fist, and even if I want to flippantly write this offer off, I can’t stop staring at the email.
A dad wants to kickstart his son’s dream.
Is there poetry or symmetry in this offer? Is this what I should do? This is an easy out.
The logical out.
Especially when it comes with money. The financial burden of Studio 9 will be gone, but so will my hand in a gym that I love.
The one that I built.
The one that I’ve never even considered selling.
Until now.
All of a sudden, a flat tortilla smacks my cheek. I cut my gaze to the left where Banks and Sulli have been hovering over bowls of guac and salsa. Jane and Maximoff made a whole “taco bar” on the kitchen counters for Taco Night.
Last I saw, Sulli was eating a vegan corn chip out of Banks’ hand and giggling with the cutest smile—and that vibrant laughter should’ve taken my brain off of work.
But it didn’t.
A tortilla to the face did.
They act like nothing happened, but I clearly see the tortilla lying pathetically in the sink. “What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks?”
Sulli snorts.
I straighten up, phone still in my fist. “Who threw a tortilla at me?”
“Me.” Sulli bounces her brows. “I was testing the velocity of a tortilla. Fucking perfect projectile.” She turns to Banks. “You think corn tortillas are slower?”
Banks picks up a corn tortilla. “Only one way to find out.”
I point at him with my phone. “You don’t know what you’re about to start. You smack me in the face with a tortilla, Banks, and I’m not letting you out of here without retaliation.”
“Bring it on.” He chucks the corn tortilla at me.
I slip left. It splats against the forest-green cupboard, and we all explode into action. I fling the bowl of shredded lettuce at Banks’ face.
He gets a mouthful of iceberg and Romaine, and Sulli pelts me with vegan chips, laughing. We’re all laughing, and bowls clatter as food flies ceiling high. Ground beef splatters on the cupboards, my muscle shirt, my face, and I sling sour cream at Sulli and Banks with a spoon.
“Foul play! He’s gone for the fucking dairy!” Sulli laughs.
We slip on the floorboards, slick with taco juices and sautéed onions.
Shoot.
We laugh and grab onto each other for support before we reignite the food fight. Every concern, every stress, and burden retreat to make way for the ecstasy that explodes inside of me.
I’m not thinking about my gym.
Or money.
Or SFO and security.
It’s just me and Sulli and Banks. On our peaceful island together—where no crap can reach us. Where every dang thing makes sense.
With guacamole all in Banks’ hair, I’d say I’m holding my own for two-to-one.
But then Banks gives Sulli a boost. Throwing her over his shoulder, she descends on me with a bowl of shredded cheese. She pours the whole thing right over my head.
Colby jack catches my eyelashes.
I grin.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks like I already lost.
She’s waiting to eat my “sore loser” heart. Seeing her happy and safe, I’ve already won.
“Because of this,” I say, and with two hands, I smear salsa on her cheeks. The light in her green eyes barrels through me.
“Banks, more cheese!” Sulli calls to her other boyfriend, who’s still holding her over his shoulder.
He passes her more cheese, and after gently setting her down, Sulli is back on her feet. We slip, we throw, we laugh, and after we all nearly do the splits, we fall to the floor. Unable to stand with the amount of crap beneath our feet.
The food fight ends when we have nothing left to throw. We pant hard, our smiles softer. Leaning against the cupboards, Sulli is sitting between me and Banks.
I pry lettuce out of her long brown hair.
“Is beef juice on my lips?” she asks us. “Fuck, I don’t want to taste it.”
Banks reaches up and grabs a towel. He tenderly holds her jaw, then dabs at her lips. She smiles at him, and when he’s done, she looks to me.
I lean in and kiss Sulli. Softly, the moment quiet and serene, and she kisses back. Feeling her lips is like knuckles rapping my heart. Creating an extra thump. Thump.
Thump.
Dang.
After we break, she turns to Banks with light swirling in her eyes.
He leans down and kisses her next.
I watch their embrace. How her legs magnetically pull towards him. How her hand reaches out for me, and I draw her palm to my thigh. My pulse feels alive. Soaring. Like this is how life is supposed to feel.
Yet, there are responsibilities I can’t ignore.
Worrie
s.
Other people.
I bang my head back on the cupboard, realizing that I let go of my phone.
That’s good, Nine.
No, it’s not. I can’t totally let go of my promises to SFO. I can’t say goodbye to every responsibility I have and live in some happy fantasy forever.
Even if that sounds like peace on Earth.
Anyway, I love my companies. Who even am I without my ambition and pursuit of something more in this life?
“Kits?” Sulli catches my attention. “What’s wrong?” Her frown pinches her brows. “Was it because I kissed Banks after you—”
“No,” I interject. “That was…” I tip my head with a growing smile. “That was hot.”
Banks cracks a smile. “Tell me more.”
I reach over Sulli and shove him.
He laughs.
And then Carpenter and Walrus race into the messy kitchen.
“Fuck,” Sulli curses.
We all spring up, but the calico cats roll in the salsa, cheesy beef combo.
Banks picks up both cats by the scruff, and a shaggy puppy bounds into the kitchen. Orion’s paws skid on the sour cream, and his furry body collides into kitchen stools.
Thatcher suddenly appears.
Sulli freezes like Thatcher caught her reckless misbehavior. “Um, I’m going to clean all this up.”
“We will too,” I tell Sulli.
Banks nods.
She wrangles Orion. “Go find your Mommy.” After a pat, the dog races away.
Banks passes the cats to the Thatcher, the Cat Dad. “Everyone already got food?”
He nods strictly. “We’re all on the terrace waiting for you three before we start the meeting.” The House Meeting that I said should coincide with Taco Night and a Security Meeting. Even though I don’t live here, security issues are cropping up, which is my responsibility to have under control.
While Thatcher lingers, the air tenses and grows more awkward.
He won’t make eye contact with me. Ever since I announced my relationship with Sulli and Banks, it’s been frost and cold-shoulders.
So my friendship with Thatcher is officially on thin ice, only propped up by the fact that Banks cares about me. Otherwise, in Thatcher’s eyes, I’m the guy that’s orchestrating a scenario that could hurt his brother. I don’t have any siblings, let alone a twin, so as much as I’d like to understand that kind of love, I only have what I know.
My endless love for Sulli.
My enduring love for Banks.
Still, I’m Thatcher’s boss.
He’s my lead.
There’s one thing I know about Thatcher Moretti. He’ll do his job to the best of his ability no matter what asshole he’s working for.
Even if that asshole is me.
Right now, I pick more lettuce out of Sulli’s hair. Thatcher’s stern eyes graze us, then the wasted food.
I can tell Sulli feels like crap. Even before she tells Thatcher, “We can cook something else if everyone wants seconds. I wasn’t fucking thinking—I mean, I know Jane put a lot of effort into this roommate meal with Moffy. I just, we just—”
“It’s fine,” Thatcher says coldly.
Banks glares. “Don’t be like that, Thatcher. We’re just messing around.”
“Is that what this is?” Thatcher snaps back. “Just messing around?” His words have greater meaning than just the food fight. He’s talking about our triad.
I grow hotter. “Thatcher—”
“Forget it.” He leaves.
“Shit,” I curse.
Sulli limply taps my shoulder, looking sad. Banks pulls her into a hug. She wraps up into his burly chest, and I scrounge the kitchen. Trying to find my phone.
I grit my teeth. There it is. In the sink. Covered in salsa and beef.
Great.
Just great.
And honestly, I’m not upset at sour cream streaks on the screen. I’m upset that my best friend is acting like the three of us are adolescent teens. Horny at Spring Break.
Spinning to Sulli and Banks, I tell them, “We did nothing wrong. If they think this is us just fucking around, then whatever. Let them think that, but we know it’s not.”
Banks takes a deep breath, nodding strongly to me.
I finish with, “I don’t want to lose what we have just because they think it’s us being reckless and wild for a season.”
Sulli unburies herself, eyes reddened. “I shouldn’t have wasted the food they made, Kits. They’re not your roommates. They’re mine, and I was fucking inconsiderate.”
“It’s on us too,” I tell her. “Banks and I started it.”
“I started it,” she says. “I hit you with the first tortilla.”
We all slowly smile, remembering.
She groans, “God, I don’t want to love what we did because it was fucking bad.”
Banks shrugs. “No use crying over spilled guacamole.”
I smile more. “If they’re that hungry, we can order more food.”
“Solutions,” Banks says. “Akara has them.”
She exhales. “Okay. Alright…I feel better. Thanks.” She gives me a smile, then Banks. “And I ditto everything you said, Kits. I don’t want to lose what we have either.”
Before we meet with Sulli’s roommates, we clean off and try to scrub the floors, at least.
“Here’s some mapeens.” Banks throws me and Sulli dish towels.
After the floor is less slippery and we’ve wiped our faces, I check my phone and see the email again. Without much thought, I just say, “Someone wants to buy my gym.”
“What?” Sulli frowns. “I didn’t think you wanted to sell it.”
“Me either,” Banks frowns too.
“I didn’t ever consider it.”
“So why are you now?” Sulli asks.
I flip my phone, then shake my head. “Money, less headache.” I push my black hair back, the strands sticky.
“We can find the money,” Sulli assures. “I have the money, Kits.”
“No,” I cut in. “Save your money. Your trust fund isn’t limitless.”
“But I can invest in my boyfriend’s gym.”
“No.”
“Pride,” Banks says with a nod, “is gonna be the death of you, my friend.”
“Metamour,” I say proudly. “I’m your fudging metamour, Banks.”
He almost, almost smiles.
But tension still hangs in the air. It won’t escape us. Because we have more tense crap to deal with. Like the Royal Leaks.
Leaks that Banks and I haven’t discussed with Sulli yet. Days ago, the website was a minor security threat, but a new leak popped up this morning.
Real.
True.
Farrow told Maximoff, who’s now freaking out.
Sulli looks at the salads we grab from the fridge in disdain. Ones we left here a few days ago, but she’s not curling her nose at the expiration date.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“You can’t eat the air,” Banks says. “My cock probably has more nutritional value than oxygen.”
“I’ll eat your cock,” she says triumphantly.
He laughs.
I smile, and she adds, “I’ll eat yours too, Kits.” She grabs our waistbands, drawing us to either side of her, and as cute and hot as Sulli is right now, I look down and tell her, “As much as I want to fill your mouth with my cock, it’s not the way.”
“The way of what?”
“The way to Sullivan Minnie Meadows staying healthy.”
“I know how to stay healthy,” she says strongly. “I’d just rather eat the vegan chips on the floor than eat that green stuff.”
Banks and I smile, and solutions, I find another one in the form of a vegan power bowl in the freezer. I pop the frozen meal in the microwave.
“Thanks, Kits,” she says, “but just so we’re crystal, I really do want your cocks too.”
Banks touches her head in fondness, pulling her closer to hi
m. She wraps her arms around him, and I’m smiling as the light in her eyes reaches me. It’s a good feeling heading into the meeting.
Food in hand, we’re ready. “Here we go.” We make our way up to the patio terrace.
“Come what fucking may,” Banks says. His lets push through any hell hole attitude is one of the few things keeping me going these days.
18
BANKS MORETTI
Being mid-November, my nuts should be frozen hockey pucks on the penthouse’s rooftop, but my sister-in-law and her bright thinking ordered patio heaters for the colder weather. Go, Jane Moretti.
Heaters surround the iron dining tables and the pool lounge chairs nearby where Sulli and I take seats. We smell like a bum-fuck-nowhere Taco Bell and we look like weeks’ old dirty laundry.
I almost laugh at the thought.
Christ, I love this life.
Sulli isn’t hurrying to shower, and she doesn’t seem to care that salsa is crusted on her cheek. Still, I pick some off for her while she wipes away sour cream I missed on my neck.
For the big meeting, Akara takes front and center near the edge of the pool. He’s on his phone for a hot second.
Sulli whispers to me, “Are you okay with distancing ourselves from the pack? I just don’t really want to congregate at one table. God, look, they’re looking at us.”
Sure enough, Quinn, Donnelly, Jane, Maximoff, Luna, and my brother are eagle-eyeing us to fucking death. At least Farrow doesn’t seem to care, and Oscar is up in New York, on-duty.
“Pack of vultures,” I say lightly, putting a toothpick between my lips. A slow thump beats at my temple, the start of a (hopefully) dull migraine.
Sulli notices me shutting one eye.
“I’m alright.”
“Is it the sun?” She blocks the setting sun with her hands, shielding the orange rays from bludgeoning my brain.
My lips curve. “Thanks, mermaid.”
She smiles. “Are they still looking?”
I check in my peripheral. “Affirmative.” After I pluck out my toothpick, I notice how her eyes descend to my lips. “You wanna give them something to talk about?”
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