Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Just as he says the words, my phone buzzes.
Maximoff’s chimes.
Luna’s lets out a galactic ping-ping-ping.
Farrow’s phone vibrates on the countertop.
Along with them, I check my phone and see the group chat labeled Roommates.
Thatcher and I will be home in an hour. Let’s do charades! I can’t wait to see all your faces again. – Jane
Charades.
Oh fuck. Stress builds on my chest. I didn’t imagine telling my roommates about my relationship during a game of fucking charades. Alright, it’s only a slight screwball in the grand scheme of things. Maybe a game will ease the tensions and be the perfect time.
Maybe this will all go superbly well.
Maybe I’m just fucking fooling myself.
7
AKARA KITSUWON
“A lion!” Donnelly shouts.
Luna prances around on all fours, taking her turn at charades. “Nope,” she says from the ground. Others on her team throw out incorrect guesses from the blue, mod sofa.
Jane, Sulli, and Luna decorated most of the communal areas, and of what Sulli told me, the living room is 50s Mad Men inspired. With the brick walls and family photographs, some part of the penthouse still reminds me of their townhouse that burned down.
Flames flicker in the gas fireplace and warms everyone on this cold November night, but Team O-Squad (Sulli, Luna, Donnelly, Farrow, and Jack), headed by Oscar, is snuggled under heaps of blankets and cradling bowls of popcorn, pretzels, and some kind of Filipino chips Jack brought over.
Team A-Squad (Banks, Thatcher, Jane, Maximoff, and Quinn), headed by me, has been showered with a couple stale bags of Fritos. Normally, I’d butter up my team like Oscar. Normally, as a team captain, I’d even be all-in on winning. But my concentration, attention, complete brain capacity is zeroed in on Sulli and Banks.
Romance.
My love life.
Something that I’ve never fretted over. Something that I’ve never placed before career success or Security Force Omega. I never met anyone important enough.
But that’s a lie. Because Sulli has always been there, and she’s always been my greatest importance. You were in so much damn denial.
I push back my thick hair, only for the strands to fall forward.
“Panther,” Jack guesses.
Luna shakes her head. “Uh-uh.” She crawls even slower across the floor.
“Sloth?” Farrow throws out.
“Nope.”
Luna isn’t on my team, so I stay quiet.
Banks and I are sitting on round, pincushion ottomans, and I’ve reached a point where I just want this out. The anticipation feels like a splinter underneath the bed of my fingernails. My muscles are pulled taut, and the only thing loose is the beer bottle hanging limply in my hand.
“Anteater!” Donnelly shouts.
She can’t tell him if he’s close to the answer. But she continues on crawling.
I take a tense sip of beer.
Comms chatter is dead tonight since all of SFO is here. Their radios are unhooked. Earpieces out. Except I have mine in, my radio switched to a frequency for temp bodyguards. Oscar took tonight off to spend with his husband and younger brother. I’m listening in case the temp on Charlie’s detail has problems.
So far, no issues on the security front.
And I’m vaguely interested in charades because I already know this game is going to be cut short.
Hopefully by me.
Banks and Sulli could be the ones to unleash the final blow, but I want to. It makes the most sense for it to be me. Not just because I have experience in hosting “team meetings” fit with messy news—but because no one is so personally connected to me here like they are to them.
I have no blood relatives in the audience. No one who cares too deeply.
My closest friend is Banks’ twin brother, and I’m sure Thatcher will have more to say to Banks than to me. So I need to be the one to rock the boat.
Luna makes a hissing sound.
“The stray locked in the bathroom,” Oscar guesses.
Jane gasps from my side of the room. “I take offense; LJ has never hissed like that.”
Banks says into a swig of his beer, “Little Jane hissed at me earlier while I was taking a piss.”
“Same,” Donnelly pipes in.
Sulli jumps up. “Stop the clock, Jack. Foul play from A-Squad, they’re interrupting our team’s time.” She looks to me like I’m going to contest her rules. Normally, I’d smile and say, your call is just interfering with the pseudo-interference, and you want extra time, Sul.
But I’m not invested in charades right now. I’m just invested in her.
Jack pauses the timer on his phone.
“LJ is still unsure of the dogs, is all,” Jane professes. Six of seven cats are all over her and Thatcher, purring against their ankles, nudging their hands, and curled on their laps. Happy their parents are back from their honeymoon.
Thatcher is officially home, and my friend’s homecoming is going to be derailed by me. Could I have planned this news-drop a lot better? Yeah.
Definitely.
I could’ve bought him some whiskey or a pack of Guinness. I should have gifted him something before his head is going to roll.