“That’s still true,” she says strongly. “That hasn’t fucking changed.” She frowns. “But…something has changed with you?”
I push my black hair back. “I guess I just need you to know that whenever I tease you mercilessly—it’s because I really effing love you. Not as a friend or like some Kindergarten crush—I love you like a man loves a woman, like something eternally deep. And it might not feel that way when I call you string bean or steal your gummy worms, so if you want me to stop—”
“Never fucking stop, Kits,” she interjects, eyes glassing. “I know your love is deep. It’s never been some shallow thing to me.” She brushes tears away. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m crying.” She sniffs hard.
I breathe fuller breaths and find a napkin in my backpack for her to blow her nose into.
“Thanks,” she mumbles. Blowing hard.
We laugh softly.
And she says, “You don’t always need to be our rock, you know. You let Banks be there for you, and I want to be there for you too. And no matter how bad things get in the fucking world, I hope you feel like you can always talk to me.”
I relax into that and nod. “I’ll try to be better about it. I want to be.”
She squeezes my hand. “Cut the bubble-wrap, Kits. Set me free.”
I smile and lean in, cupping her cheek. “What if I just bubble-wrap the three of us together?”
“Sounds like love to me.”
I press my lips to hers, deepening the kiss for a second. Her body bends closer, and no one records us or snaps photos. Anyone auditioning had to sign an NDA.
When we pull back, we stay close and listen to offkey music, and Sulli looks around.
I read her expression and eat a handful of cereal. “Banks isn’t on his way yet.”
She slumps. “I feel fucking guilty.”
“For kissing me?”
“Yeah, and for spending the whole day alone with you. Like I need to make up this time so you two are okay—”
“We are okay, Sul.” I curve my arm over her shoulders. “You don’t need to stress about equal time between us or kissing us when one of us isn’t here.”
“I do fucking stress,” she admits. “I don’t want to cause ill-will or bad fucking feelings.”
“It won’t always be equal, and it doesn’t need to be.” Banks and I have already talked about it and come to this realization.
She’s confused. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, don’t be paranoid about who kissed who and how many hours we spent alone with you. If it’s bothering us, Banks and I will do something about it,” I whisper. “We’re two different people. We need different things at different times, and as long as all three of our needs are met, we’re happy.”
She eases more, smiling. “Thanks, Kits.”
We’re both feeling better.
I lean in to plant another soft kiss on her lips, just as another offkey drumbeat echoes throughout the room. Cringing, I pull away.
“Hey Hi Heidi Ho,” Luna whispers as she slides into our aisle. Gabe, who has floated onto her detail today, slips into the aisle behind us.
Luna carries a tray of iced coffees. “I brought refreshments. Decaf for Sulli.”
“You’re the fucking best.” Sulli takes a coffee.
I tell Luna, “I’ll pass, but thanks.”
Sulli nudges my shoulder with hers. “He had like five coffees this morning.”
“Three,” I counter.
“I’ll give yours to Frog then,” Luna says in a shrug. “She loves iced coffee. She kinda got me into it.”
Speaking of my cousin, Frog sits at a long table near the front door, another temp guard beside her. Today, she’s in charge of the NDAs. I specifically shifted Frog here so I could keep an eye on her. To gauge how she’s doing on-duty.
About three months as a temp guard, and really, she’s still too green to have this job, but the frat party mistakes were on me. She was way too new to be put in that situation alone. I didn’t think the other temp would bail on her, but I should’ve quadrupled security on Luna.
“I can give the coffee to Frog,” I say, then look from Luna to Sulli. “Can you two stick together for a sec?”
Luna nods. “Uh-huh.”
“My butt is planted,” Sulli promises.
I stand, fixing my earpiece, and look to Gabe. “Stay with them.”
“Not moving, boss man.”
Boss man.
Sulli snorts.
“Hey, you’re dating this boss man,” I whisper to her as I slide out of the row. I’d say screwing instead of dating but Luna is around.
Sulli’s smile grows bigger. Seeing her happy right now, especially after our heart-to-heart, also feels good. I didn’t implode our relationship.
After Luna hands me the iced coffee, I descend the aisle and approach the long table. Frog currently slides an electronic tablet to a short, doe-eyed blonde girl. I do a quick mental sweep.
Uneven bangs, longer strands hide her darker brows. Her soft-cheeked face screams young, and her ears seem unnaturally big for her round face and smaller frame. She’s paler than a sheet of paper and dressed in a black Metallica T-shirt, plus plaid green pants. I can’t tell if she is grunge or just putting on the clothes for show. To look the part of emo-punk.
She has to be underage.
Tom made it clear that no one younger than eighteen can audition.
I keep scrutinizing this girl, even as I pass Frog the iced coffee. “This is for you. From Luna.”
Frog smiles. “She’s my favorite.”
I give her a look.
“Not that I have a favorite.” She glances warily to the blonde girl, who is overhearing everything. “We’re not supposed to have favorites.” She sticks the straw into her mouth quickly, like she’s trying to stop herself from speaking.
My muscles tense, and I ignore my cousin to speak to the girl. “How old are you?”
“Oh, I already took her ID,” Frog says swiftly. “She’s cleared.” My cousin stands to grab the tablet back from the blonde.
“Hold on.” I outstretch a hand to the tablet.
Frog passes it over, but my senses are shooting off a million-and-one signals, blaring out the words SOMETHING IS WRONG.
48
AKARA KITSUWON
The blonde shifts her weight, arms crossing in defiance. She’s sucking on something. Candy? And what I mistook for big blue doe-eyes aren’t soft or innocent.
She peruses me in an up-down sweep like I’m a roadblock she needs to shove and hurdle. What’s worse: Frog and this girl share a cagey glance.
Why is Frog in cahoots with a stranger?
I read the signature at the bottom. It’s messy as hell. Illegible. “Harry…”
“Harriet,” the girl says sharply and crunches on what I think might be a Jolly Rancher. “But you can call me Harry if you want.”
“Last name?” I ask her.
“Fisher.” She lifts her chin to appear older and taller.
Yeah, that’s not working at all.
She’s short.
Like head-at-my-chest short.