Before us, before this relationship, I had a clearer idea. And maybe I wouldn’t care to define anything if people didn’t constantly fucking ask.
On the internet.
From the press.
In person. (Thanks, Mom).
I breathe harder like I’m running up a fucking hill. “Do you know?” I gesture to him.
“No. I don’t know either.”
I expel a rougher breath. Wishing he had an answer, but maybe it’s better that we’re both fucking confused. Would I be upset if he said he had no attraction towards me?
Would I be upset if he did?
I don’t know.
But at least we’re at the same starting line.
Looking back, we haven’t really dug deep into our sexualities. Too much has been going on. Sulli training. The media encroaching. Fan mail and hate mail piling up and taking half-a-day to sort through. For the most part, we’ve maintained a status quo for the past six months and haven’t tried to leapfrog into new territory. We’ve just been preserving what we fought for. The three of us together. Our triad out in public.
I check the bathroom door. “Look, I don’t care about being bi or queer or whatever-the-fuck, but I’m feeling aggravated having everyone tell me what I am before I figure it out.”
Akara nods. “This uncertainty sucks.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I wish I could tell them all, having sex with the same girl doesn’t mean we’re gay or bi or not straight. But it’s not even the fracking answer they want.”
I bite on the toothpick. “I guess there’s only one way to figure out if we have sexual attraction. Nip this in the fucking bud.” Though I know there’s other forms of attraction like emotional and romantic attraction. But I think this is the one we’re hung up on.
Akara smiles, one full of humor. “You asking to fuck me, Banks?”
“I was gonna start with a kiss.” I put a hand to my chest. “Personally, I like to move slow, and I’m not sure you can take me, Kitsuwon.”
He laughs.
Hell, we’re both laughing. And then the sound fades, and we exchange a knowingness. That we both want answers.
“I’ll kiss you,” Akara tells me. “A real kiss this time though. Not any of that pecking-the-cheek bullcrap. That’s the only way we’ll know.”
I remember during truth or dares we’ve kissed on the cheek. Never anything beyond that. I cock my head. “Or I’ll kiss you.”
“Or I’m kissing you.”
This isn’t a hill I care to die on. “You are the logistics guy,” I say just as the bathroom door swings open.
Our heads rotate to the twenty-two-year-old beauty. Aphrodite has nothing on her. Still and forever a smokeshow.
Sullivan Minnie Meadows—she’s decked out in the Ralph Lauren Team USA outfit. Her dark-brown center-parted hair has grown longer in the past six months. Her traps are more pronounced. Her body leaner, shedding some muscle mass she gained from weightlifting during her retirement-phase.
Still, she can bench press me and Akara. She hasn’t let us forget.
Seeing her usually does a fuckin’ number on me. Like I’m in junior high with a lovelorn crush. But seeing her beet-red cheeks…and cagey glances right now does something else.
Alarm bells clang in my head. Kicking my ass towards her. “You alright, Sulli?” I shut the door behind her. Concern grips me to her uneasy expression.
Akara studies her in a sweep.
“Yeah?” She looks everywhere but at us and reties and unties her hair in a messy bun. “What were you guys talking about?”
“Later, string bean. We have places to be.” Akara twirls a piece of her hair over his upper lip. The fake mustache is his effort to calm her nerves.
She stares at the fucking wall.
First try failed.
We watch her touch her cracked lips.
I dig into my pocket and pass Sulli a tube of vanilla Chapstick.
“Thanks…” She clears her throat, anxious. After one swipe, she pockets the Chapstick.
Akara hoists her wrist, checking the time from her watch. “We’re late for your very important date, Lady Meadows. Hop to it.” He smacks her ass forward.
Sulli would normally slug him. Or slap his ass back, but she rests her hands on her head, fingers threaded. I’m used to Sulli finding comfort in my eyes. In me.
But when she casts a glance to me, then to Akara, then back to me—her breathing hitches in a strange pattern. “No, not later. I actually need the fucking distraction before…” she trails off. “Just…what were you talking about? Kissing each other?”
I splay my arm over her broad shoulders. “Me kissing Akara.”
“Me kissing Banks,” Akara amends.
“He hopes.”
She’s not exactly shocked. She’s asked us if we’ve ever wanted to “touch each other” during sex. Her exact words: are you ever interested in going for each other’s frank and beans?
And we both just answered truthfully, not really.
If we did, I think we would’ve already. We enjoyed what we’re doing. We still do, but now the questions are too big. Confusion is too strong.
Akara explains to her, “We were talking about sexual attraction earlier. We’re not sure if it’s there between me and him.” He braces more weight on his uninjured ankle. “We’ve never really tested it or had a desire to. That’s where the kiss comes in.”
“Right. Yeah, fuck. You guys do what you gotta do. And…wait, fuck, I’m still a part of the equation in the end, right—”
“Of course you effing are,” Akara cuts in.
“That’s not changing,” I assert.
She almost, almost smiles, but her hands finally fall off her head…and to her face. She’s covering her face. My muscles tense. Stomach knotting.
“Sul?” Akara touches her wrist in comfort.
“I’m fine. I can do this,” she mumbles in her palms. “I know I can fucking do this.” Feels like she’s speaking more to herself than to us.
“You can,” I nod to Sulli. Though, she can’t see me nod. “You’re about to carry the flag for your country, and you’re gonna look like a beautiful, un-fucking-stoppable woman out there.”
She peers out between her fingers.
I hold her gaze. “Which is exactly what you are. And we’re going to be cheering you on the whole way.”
Sulli breathes in strongly. Her hands drop farther. Off her face and into my hand and into Akara’s hand. I lace our fingers, and she flips our hands over, wrists up, all of us wearing braided bracelets. Blue. Red. Turquoise.
Her green eyes graze the black ink on my wrist, her wrist, and his wrist that spell out the same tattooed phrase.
Forward & Onward.
“I can fucking do this,” Sulli says more confidently. Her grip tightens on our hands, turning my skin red. I’m not shaking hers away.
“We heard one country already dropped the flag,” Akara lies. “They totally bombed out there. So you can’t do worse than them, Sul.”
I slip him a look.
He’s lying. It’s a half-baked lie, but I’d pretend I saw a pig flying across a rainbow if it meant eradicating Sulli’s nerves. I’d also admit the lie. Eventually.