Addicted After All (11 page)

Oh God. My face contorts in humiliation. I’m not turned on by his brother—he can’t believe that. Not when Mr. Clean on the Febreze bottle made me hot and bothered the other day. And he’s old and bald and very two-dimensional.

But Lo’s features have marbleized in this
I hate the fucking world
expression that he carries almost twenty-four-seven. “Your cookies are burnt,” he snaps at Ryke, breaking my gaze.

Wait, come back.

Ryke detaches from Daisy in an instant. “Fuck,” he curses and checks the tray on the stove. His brows pinch. “They look fine to me.” He flips one over, the bottom light brown.

“My bad,” Lo says dryly.

I open my mouth to call him over, but his back suddenly spins, like he’s icing me out. My heart lurches.
Turn around
. I need to know I didn’t upset him…or offend him. I usually have the best read on Lo, and I have no superpowers of mental persuasion or any magic like Connor. I am too much of a squib to fix this.

Turn around.
Nothing.

Lo whispers with Connor, and a pit wedges even further in my lungs.

And then Daisy’s phone rings while Ryke washes his hands.

“Who is it?” Rose asks.

Daisy’s face falls a little. “Mom. She’s trying to convince me to go to a plastic surgeon for the scar again, on top of planning my birthday.” She lets out a tired breath and rubs her eyes. “I’ll be a couple minutes.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Rose says, outstretching her hand to snatch the phone as Daisy passes.

“No.” Daisy hugs the cell to her chest and walks backwards to the basement door. “You don’t need the stress. It’s all cool. I can handle her.” With this, Daisy disappears. The last thing I hear her say is, “Hey, Mom.”

I try not to worry about Daisy or Lo, and instead focus on Ryke who chucks some dirty bowls into the sink. Maybe I can squash this and convince Lo that
nothing
is happening. I’m repelled by Ryke. We’re
so
platonic it hurts.

In a nonsexual way.

I cringe. I really need to stop thinking. I ask Ryke, “What are you getting her?”

He rotates to me, his features all dark. All stone to his brother’s ice. “For what?”

Rose lets out a not-so-surprised half-laugh. “Her birthday,” she says flatly. “Tell me you’ve already bought her something.”

“For fuck’s sake, it was
just
Valentine’s Day.” And he cancelled his plans of camping under the stars with Daisy that day, the paparazzi just too rabid after the small car wreck. Any time we pop up in the tabloids like a newsworthy blip, our photos start selling for more money. So February 14
^th
, Ryke just cooked Daisy dinner and spent the night indoors like Lo and me.

Connor and Rose were the only two who ventured out, and Rose called the evening “hellish” since they were late for their dinner reservations in New York. Even though their whereabouts were tipped to the media, Rose returned home with an uncharacteristically giddy smile and a limo
full
of red and pink roses.

They were from her fans, who showed up to see her, just to say
I love you, Rose Calloway,
and give her a present on Valentine’s Day. I love our short-lived reality show for bringing this type of unexpected joy into our lives, and it verifies why these kinds of fans should rule the world.

“So what if it was
just
Valentine’s Day,” Rose snaps, redirecting my thoughts to the present, “it’s still her birthday on the twentieth, and she’ll expect a gift from her
boyfriend
.”

“I’m working on it,” Ryke says, nearing the bar counter while Lo and Connor share furtive whispers a few feet away.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, my palms sweaty. I wish I wasn’t on the outs.

“Look,” Ryke continues, “a lot is going on…” He trails off as Rose snatches the nearest utensil—a whisk—and points it at him threateningly.

This would be scarier if it was something sharp. Like a knife or a fork.

“Do not tell me that you forgot her birthday,” Rose says in her icy tone. Oh no.

But I remember that Ryke isn’t Lo. He holds his hands up defensively. “Daisy is not the type of fucking person to remind anyone about her birthday. It’s not my fault.”

“That was directed towards me,” Rose says like she caught an insult midair with a baseball glove.

Ryke frowns in confusion. “What?”

“Because I emailed you my birthday itinerary in advance…” Off Ryke’s scrunched gaze, she adds, “Do you even
check
your email?”

“To be honest, I don’t even know my password,” Ryke tells her. “And who plans their birthday
six
months in advance?” Solid points. I look to Lo, wondering if he sees how cordial this conversation is—how unsexy we all are.

My heart just keeps sinking the longer I stare at his back.

Rose drums her fingers on the bar counter. “I’m not ashamed. It’s the one day of the year dedicated to
me
, so if three-hundred-and-sixty-four days fail to live up to my standards, I still have this one.”

“You sound like Connor,” I point out with a small smile.

She glares. “If Connor appreciated the narcissism in his own birthday that’d make sense, but he refuses to believe they’re anything more than meaningless.”

I wait for Connor to pipe in about how he won’t celebrate his birthday, but like Lo, he’s not paying attention to our discussion.

I find myself scratching my arm, and I immediately freeze in slight panic. I haven’t done that in a while. Ryke’s face hardens in that masculine concern—something I do not want to see right now. In fact, I need to stop making eye contact with him altogether. I have a new tactic: Avoid Ryke Meadows.

Rose is still drawn to the birthday topic, thankfully not noticing my strangeness. “Buy her diamond earrings,” she says.

“She’d fucking hate that.”

I stare at the bar counter while I mutter, “She’ll like anything you get her.” Daisy is pretty much the easiest person to please.

“Is there something interesting about the counter that we don’t fucking know about?” Ryke suddenly asks me.

I squint at the granite, speckles of gray, white and black. “I think if you close one eye like this…you can see a bunny rabbit.”

“Everyone is so fucking weird.”

Rose dismisses that comment with the swat of her hand. “Just wait until you have your first fight with Daisy.” She says it like she’s expecting the moment to happen. Why is she putting that thought into his head?

I lightly elbow Rose. “Don’t say that. They don’t fight.” I can’t see Daisy being
that
upset over a present.

“Everyone fights.”

I point my finger at Ryke, and it accidentally pokes him in the eye. Oh my God! When did he get that close to me?

“Fuck, Lily,” he curses, his hand flying to his face.

I wince. “Sorry… I was going to tell you not to fight with her.”

“I fucking got that.” He sighs with a heavy growl. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He drops his hand, his eye a little reddened from my attack. He glances at the basement door and then back to me. “You okay?”

“Yeah?”
Do I not look okay?
My heart is racing with anxiety.

If I shift a little, I can feel how soaked my panties are, and I hate, hate,
hate
that he was the cause. I’m not even attracted to him right now.

He suddenly walks around the bar counter, his nearness alarming me, especially as I notice Lo watching us and my reaction. Ryke clasps my wrist, prying my hand from my arm, half-moon nail indentions by my elbow. I was scratching again?

I can feel his body heat, and I instinctively hop off the stool and push him away with two firm palms, a little more aggressively than I intended.

“What the fuck?” Ryke swears.

“Just stay back,” I say, breathing heavily. I shuffle into the kitchen.

“Lily—”

“Shh. It’s better if you don’t talk of this,” I tell him.
Let’s just forget my weirdness ever happened and pretend that everything is okay. Nothing is happening between Ryke and me. Nothing.

Ryke glowers. “Are you reading the fucking tabloids again?”

“Yes.” I nod. “It’s important that I’m up to date on all the rumors.” The three-ways, the
I’m having Ryke’s baby
ones are out of control. Lo says it doesn’t bother him, but at the hospital, I could tell that comment from the doctor dug underneath his skin. It hurt me just as much.

“That’s the stupidest fucking excuse,” he tells me. “We’re friends, Lily. That’s
it.
You know it. I know it. So what if the fucking world doesn’t believe us?”

“I care!” I shout. I can’t turn it off like he can. After a while, the ridicule hurts.

“You’re fucking stronger than that!” he yells back. I don’t feel it. Not today. I think Ryke just wishes I was at his level. If all of us didn’t give a shit, then he’d never have to watch us crumble.

I feel tears crest my eyes. I wish, so badly, that I could be more like him. Doesn’t he understand how much we’d all replace parts of ourselves just to have a little of what he possesses?

“Hey,” Lo cuts in, his tone not as sharp. “Leave her alone, man.”

My heart skips, and even though Lo sticks up for me, I still can’t read him. It frightens me. We’re out of sync, and I can’t remember the last time where this happened. Maybe in college, when we went without talking for a whole week and our addictions overtook our lives.

Ryke breathes heavily. “I don’t want the fucking tabloids ruining my friendship with her.”

Rose pipes in, “That’s what they’re hoping, for all of us to break apart. Little assholes…” she stares off like she’s plotting someone’s demise.

“We’re still friends,” I tell Ryke.

“Then why can’t you fucking look at me?”

I’m scared of you.
It’s an awful truth. Really, I’m scared of me, but the weight on my chest lessens when I place the guilt somewhere else.

I raise my head, but I only meet Loren Hale’s gaze. He stares straight through me, like he is reaching right into my soul and piecing apart all of my intricate fears. What frightens me most: not knowing what my best friend feels.

I’m about to approach him in the middle of the kitchen and collide with his hard, rigid body. But I don’t have to lift a foot.

He walks to me. And he pulls my small frame to him, embracing me with two strong arms, a warm cocoon where my heart begins to slow. I rest my cheek on his chest, his body pressed along mine, and I shut my eyes.

His hand lowers to the small of my back, and he dips his head. His lips to my ear, he whispers, “I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses, an extended one that stops my pulse. “Lil…how aroused are you?” He would’ve checked without asking if we were alone.

I flush and tilt my chin up. I whisper quickly, “I’m only aroused by you.”

His face sharpens and he says, “Shhh.”

Why is he shushing me? “It’s true.” My voice shakes.

He kisses the outside of my lips, really tenderly. Where is his head at?

“Lil,” he warns, like I did something wrong. I concentrate and realize I’m pushing my pelvis right up against him, his bulge edging towards my wetness as I
hike
my leg around him.

I drop my foot, my whole body flaming with embarrassment. I cover my face with both my hands. This is one of those days I wish I could erase. Dr. Banning, my therapist, says that everyone has them, but I always play my bad days on loop, tormenting me for eternity.

“It’s okay, Lil,” he breathes. “Look at me.” He grips my wrists, tearing them away from my face. Still I tighten my eyes closed, too ashamed…I’d like to vanish again.

Invisibility, kick in. Please.

“I love you,” he says so empathetically that it tears open my heart. “I understand you. Please hold onto that, Lil.”

He should be angry at me. He should hate how disgusting I am—what my body is craving. It’s not right.

“
Lily
,” he forces, cupping my face in both his hands. “Breathe, love.”

I take a deep one, and then I sense a tall masculine body a couple feet behind me. Most likely Connor. He’s not too close, but the longer he stands there, the more my body reacts in ways I dislike. Lo studies all of my muscle tics and spasms. Diagnosing me. I cross my ankles and shut my eyes again, snuffing out every perverted image that I should not have in public or at all.

Why? Why do I have to like things that I shouldn’t?

The heat of two bodies stimulates parts of me that my brain has abandoned. The sensual parts that cares little about names, relations and faces. Just the high of a climax.

Not Connor.
I can’t grow wet from him.

This is so wrong.

I cling to Lo, shaking, afraid of myself. I haven’t felt this gross in a while.

His lips fall to my ear at the right moment while he rubs my back. “Shh, Lil.” He pulls me even closer to his body. No space between us. “I’m going to take care of you, love.”

With sex?
I wonder. The guilt sinks to a low, hollow place.

“Not with sex,” he says, as though he can read my mind.

“I’msorry,” I mumble together, burying my face in his arm and refusing to acknowledge Rose, Ryke or Connor.

Today is a not-so-good day.

I could have reined myself in, but I slipped off the diving board and belly-flopped in the deep end. I know addictions are up-and-down kind of things, but the downs really, really hurt. At least Lo was wading in the water, there to keep me from drowning this time.

He hasn’t given up on us.

It’s silly to think that’s a possibility anyway. It’s an irrational fear that I should never let cling to me. He is my soul. I am his. The moment we give up on each other is the moment that neither of us exists.

Lo lifts me in a front-piggyback, and he carries me towards the staircase while I clutch him like a koala bear to a tree.

As we leave, I hear Daisy enter the kitchen. “Mom has already planned my birthday.” A long pause before she adds, “We’re taking the yacht out, and everyone’s invited.”