Addicted After All (19 page)

This is a first if there ever was one.

Connor is subtly massaging his wife’s shoulder, and if she could see his overwhelming grin right now, she’d probably combat him with even more fiery passion. Nerd stars combusting—but not in a bad way or permanently. That’s
never
happening. I nod to myself.

“Everyone,” Connor says, gathering our attention with one word. I follow his gaze that has shifted to Ryke, who’s removed the contents of the paper bag already, in his own world with Daisy.

It’s a plastic carton. He pops the lid, places the carton on her lap, and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter.

My heart swells at the realization, and I peek into the carton to confirm.

Inside lies a slice of molten chocolate cake.

Connor’s grin has nothing on Daisy’s bright smile, a contagious one that causes our lips to lift just as high. Even Rose is showing off her pearly whites.

Chocolate cake.

That is what all four guys had been searching for. Not cigars.

It’s possibly one of the sweetest, kindest gestures I’ve seen. Because it’s something that Daisy loves.

Ryke lights the waxy candle, and then he messes her hair with a rough, caring hand. And we all start to sing happy birthday.

Daisy looks around at us, and her eyes begin to glass with tears. We’ve celebrated her birthday before, but this time it’s different. We’re all closer. She’s finally with Ryke. It’s like the puzzle pieces of our lives have begun to fit together just right.

When we finish the song, I have to wipe my eyes quickly.

I catch Rose wiping hers too, and I point a finger at her and gawk. She told me to
suck it up
last week when we were watching a movie and I cried at the end.

She mouths,
shut up.
And then she adds,
hormones
. Fine. I’ll let her throw out the hormone card, especially because I use it all the time.

Daisy blows out the candle. Not long after, she dips her finger in the chocolate and instead of sucking it off—
not dirty like that
—she draws a line of chocolate down Ryke’s lips.

“Lil,” Lo breathes in warning. I’ve scooted back up into his crotch. It’s not my fault. The way they are staring at each other—this is
eye fucking
if I ever saw it.

A second later, they attack each other with carnal desire, the kind that you search for in good porn. I squeeze my eyes shut at my perverted thought. This is bad.

When I open them, their kiss is front and center, spotlighted, but no one else seems to be watching. There is serious
tongue.
Tongue that is done right. His hand envelops her face as he deepens the kiss, and she breaks from him, just to let out a pleasured cry.

Holy shit.

This is so physical and explosive that it really does deserve a fireworks show.

The other couples are talking and flirting, and Lo suddenly stands. “Follow me,” he whispers in my ear.

“I’m okay,” I tell him quickly, whipping my head
away
from the PDA.
Do not watch, Lily.
I try to bury any gross, guilty shameful feelings.
They do not exist
, I chant over and over.

Lo’s brows rise and he says, “I know.” He smiles to show me that he’s being honest.

I believe him.

“Follow me, love,” he repeats.

I throb in good-bad places.
Yes.
I rise to my feet like a dream. He has a head start, exiting the little couch area and onto the dance floor. He walks backwards, beating his head to the music with very good rhythm. It’s a song that you salsa to, one that is full of fire, smooth vocals, and a melodic beat.

Lo’s dark gray crew-neck fits him snuggly, an arrowhead necklace against his chest: a present I gave him for his twenty-first birthday some time ago. I can see the lines of his abs tightening beneath his shirt, especially as he begins to move his body to the song. Girls record him with fangirling giggles, their cellphones directed at my best friend. But his gaze is solely planted on me.

When we were younger, Lo was the one who taught me how to dance.

He’s always been able to move like no one is watching, like no one can harm him in this brief expanse of time.

In his last year of college, before he was expelled, he refused to dance with me. Every single time. He sat at the bar and said
dance by yourself
when I asked.

It didn’t always used to be like that.

So seeing him, right now, dancing in the middle of the club, with no alcohol in his clutch—it possesses me in ways that I can’t express. It’s like my soul is alive. Like I’ve woken up from a long, long sleep.

I slowly walk towards him, and he holds out his hand, waiting for me to near and take it.

I do.

And he draws me swiftly to his chest, my breath escaping. His hips begin to move with mine, so sensually that a heat builds across my skin.

I flourish beneath his intoxicating eyes, drinking him in completely.

He twirls me, and I hit his chest again, my feet following his in a steady pace. It’s our bodies, melded together, that stirs every part of me.

I’m not letting go.

After a few minutes, the song dies down, and we ease to a slower sway. I want to hear his answer, even if it doesn’t make much sense now that we’re moving to the music. I grow the courage to ask anyway, “Will you dance with me?” For some reason, I still fear that rejection, the familiar response that always comes.

He cups my round face, his fingers lost in my hair, and his lips curve. Very softly, he says, “Yes, love. I’ll dance with you.”

{ 18 }

LOREN HALE

“Husbands can’t choose wives, boyfriends can’t choose girlfriends and vice versa.” Poppy sets out the parameters of the game as she sips a rum and Fizz. After claiming the leather couches by the wall, we decided to pay for VIP bottle service for Poppy, Daisy, Connor, and Sam. Anything is better than dealing with the shit bartender. Even playing truth or dare, which usually ends with someone throwing a fit.

Lily sits on my lap, her skin coated in a sheen of sweat from dancing earlier. It was a really good time. I missed it more than I realized.

I hold her to my chest, satisfied with the fact that we can’t disappear and ditch our friends and family. This, right here, feels close to perfect.

Sam cautiously glances at all the locals who snap pictures of us, some even film us from their bar stools. “Can we play this game some other time?” he asks us. “I really don’t want to have to call Fizzle’s publicists in the morning to clean up whatever happens tonight.”

He’s the head marketing guy or whatever at Fizzle. “Sammy,” I say with the tilt of my head, “I get that being a chaperone is so deep within your pores that no facial strips can remove it, but we’re not
ten
.”

Connor rephrases, “We’re all used to being filmed. Some more intimately than others.” His voice is conversational, not bitter. I’d be causing
hell
if sex tapes of Lily and me were circulating through porn sites. I get that Connor has taken the publicity to his advantage, but this type of invasion of privacy has to be eating at Rose. It’s been over a year since the first tape was released, and last I heard, there are now
five
online.

At his comment, Rose tenses and crosses her arms. “No one is allowed to mention the sex tapes until I can have a glass of wine.” Her head whips to her husband. “That includes
you
.”

“I was making a point,” Connor says casually.

“Make it when I’m not in the room,” she retorts.

They start bickering in French, and I tune them out. At the other end of my couch, Ryke slings his arm around Daisy’s waist and she rests her cheek on his shoulder. When Lily and I finished dancing, both Daisy and Ryke were missing. Poppy explained how they snuck off to the bathroom. To fuck.

Clearly.

It’s not as uncomfortable with them returning as I thought it’d be. Maybe because they’re not on top of each other—like Lily is with me. We’ll forever take the PDA championship title, I realize. What’s scary is that when we were just friends, we were always touching too.

It’s hardwired into us. I pull her further against my chest, and her breathing shallows. I watch her take a trained inhale and exhale to control her urges. I rub her arm in comfort. She’s doing well.

Sam clutches a vodka soda. “Let’s just try to keep it classy.”

Connor says, “Truth or dare by nature is juvenile. If you’re looking for a posh game, we should break out chess or Scrabble. However, you won’t beat my wife and you certainly won’t beat me. So the level of fun, for you, isn’t that high. I’d enjoy it though.” He grins.

I whistle at his conceited statement, but I’m smiling.

“Truth or dare is fine as long as no one takes it too far,” Sam says, his gaze landing on me.

I give him an invasive glare. Seriously, he doesn’t need to treat me like I’m twelve-years-old. I swallow a biting retort that’s about as nasty as what I said to the bartender. I don’t want to put Sam on that level, but he’s beginning to irritate me.

Connor fills the silence. “Some zebras can’t change their stripes.”

“Cobalt, are you calling me a fucking zebra?” Ryke interjects.

“Don’t be offended,” Connor says, not denying it. “Almost every animal plays a role in the kingdom. Even zebras.”

“Yeah?” Ryke says roughly. “If I’m a fucking zebra, then what’s my brother?”

Connor’s deep blue eyes pin to me, full of clarity, something I desperately crave. His face becomes a complacent blank slate. “What animal do you want to be, darling?”

My eyebrows rise. “I have a choice?” Something tells me that he would’ve picked an inferior animal if he was truthful. He tiptoes around me. It’s old knowledge by now. My muscles tighten, wishing he just called me a zebra like my brother.

Ryke groans. “I call fucking bullshit on this.”

“It’s called
favoritism
,” Rose chimes in, her hand clasped firmly in her husband’s.

“Favoritism
is
bullshit,” Ryke says.

“I agree,” Rose announces. Though infrequent, I hate when she teams up with Ryke. It’s like two bulldozers headed in your direction. Having them on opposite sides is easier.

“Bullshit aside,” Connor says, passing through this discussion quickly. “Who’s starting the game?”

“Lily should,” Poppy says, gesturing to Lil who’s been really quiet for the most part. In group discussions, she’s more like the observer, not as loud or as brash. Her cheeks flush red at all the attention placed on her.

“Uhh…” Her head whips around, trying to find a person to ask a question to. Her back straightens as she grows more confident with her thoughts.

“Rose,” she says.

Rose crosses her ankles, alert like she’s about to answer some collegiate quiz question. Of course she’s happy to be participating.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she says instantly.

“Unsurprising,” I add, just to tick her off.

Her yellow-green eyes drill into me.

“Umm,” Lily says, and her face just keeps reddening and reddening. I can’t read her mind, but I have a suspicion what’s rolling around her head.

I whisper in her ear, “It can be a sex question.” That’s the point of this game. It gets dirty.

Lily’s eyes flicker nervously to Sam. Yeah, she’s known him for a long time. It’s like speaking to an older brother, slightly estranged since you don’t know his likes and dislikes or the other side of his family. What makes it more awkward: he’s close with Greg since they work together.

Sam checks his phone, as though he’s hoping this will end soon so none of us embarrass ourselves.

“Oh noble Captain America,” I say dryly, “cover your ears.”

Sam pockets his cell. “Why?”

“You’re like her older brother, and you work with her dad.”

Confusion blankets his face.

Jesus Christ. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Still blank.

“S…E…” I start.

“Got it,” he says, avoiding Lily’s gaze. “Should she really be talking about that at all?”

Lily’s chest collapses.

“Yes,” I snap. “She’s a human being and human beings ask sex questions during truth or dare.”

Sam shakes his head at me. “I don’t.”

“Then you must be a reptile, Sammy. Go slither away.”

“Lo,” Poppy cuts in. “Be nice.”

“Yes, Mother,” I say back. I look at Sam. “Father. Are you going to ground me too?”

Sam is as unamused as me. I won’t let anyone shame Lily. I get that he’s confused about her sex addiction. Most people are, but their doubts plant something in her head. He can say that shit out loud when she’s not around. Fine. But she’s not in a good place to be welcoming comments from the fucking peanut gallery.

Daisy adds to the group, “I think anything should be game. It usually is.”

“I’m just more reserved around you girls,” Sam realizes.

“Which is why I told you to cover your ears,” I say with less edge.

A light bulb goes off in his head like
I get it now.
Most of us are too comfortable with each other, and he’s starting to understand that. So he nods but never plugs his ears, taking the risk.

“Okay, I have it,” Lily cuts in, her hands on my knees. She clears her throat. “Rose, what position do you like the best?” Lily smiles more, able to ask this without stumbling over words.

Rose clutches Connor’s hand so forcefully that his skin begins to turn purple. Lily bringing up the sex tapes would’ve been worse for Rose and way more awkward, so Lily went easy.

“My favorite position is Connor’s least favorite position,” she says.

“This isn’t called lie or dare, darling.” Connor fixes her hair over one shoulder, her neck bare.

Rose purses her lips, her collarbones protruding from her black dress. “Fine…my favorite position is missionary.” She pauses briefly. “With a few alternations.”

And just like that—Connor looks ready to fuck her across the couch.

I can’t shut my mouth. Habit. “Meaning handcuffs, whips and
yes sirs.
”