Addicted After All (29 page)

I’ve never done my laundry with Lo, even when we were fake dating and sharing an apartment. It’s not that it was too intimate. It’s that we were both too lazy to harass the other person for their hamper and any other dirty clothes lying around.

I am one-hundred percent certain that Connor does his own laundry and he’ll even wash Lo’s on occasion. I assume that Ryke does his own too, but I’ve never seen him even
pass
this room, let alone venture inside. 

I sit on the cold linoleum floor and fold panties, something I didn’t know had to be done. When I returned Rose’s undies to her all crumpled next to her neatly folded blouses, she gave me a serious stink-eye. How was I supposed to know you fold underwear? Don’t they naturally unwrinkle when you put them on?

Rose was not buying my argument. So here I am, taking my time to separate our pajamas and panties and (unenthusiastically) folding them.

I set aside Daisy’s “day of the week” cotton underwear and focus on the large pile. I apply the reach-in-and-grab method, never knowing what’ll come next.

When I pull out dark cotton fabric, I expect a pair of Daisy’s PJ shorts to reveal themselves. Instead, I hold a pair of boxer-briefs.

Male
underwear.

Dark green.

I know Lo’s underwear, and that is not a Loren Hale color.

I drop them on instinct. They’re either Connor or Ryke’s, but only one of them is rude enough to sneak his clothes into the girl piles.

Ryke.

I just touched Ryke’s underwear! The same fabric that has also touched his penis. Does that mean by process of deduction that I just…

Grossgrossgross. I back away from the mound of clothes like it has turned into a tiny bomb ready to explode at my feet.
Do not imagine the underwear on him.
I’d rather be skeeved out than aroused, even if Ryke tells me it’s okay to feel the latter. I may be able to look him in the eyes now, but it still feels a little wrong being turned on by anyone but Lo.

“Lily!” Rose calls my name again.

“Okay! Okay! I’m done!” Not really, but I’m glad for the excuse to leave his underwear behind. Where it should be. Far
far
away from me.

When I enter the spacious living room, I realize that I’ve been tricked. Not everyone is here yet. And the person I looked forward to seeing the most (Loren Hale) is blatantly absent. Connor stands by the window in black slacks and a white button-down, texting quietly, while Ryke lounges on the nearby couch, his hands all chalky from a morning climb.

“Where’s Lo?” I ask Rose, who’s sitting on the Queen Anne chair, as though waiting for her royal subjects to arrive. She’s in a gorgeous black Calloway Couture dress, one of her prettier maternity designs, so she does appear regal.

“I don’t keep tabs on Loren,” Rose says.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Ryke tells me, his bare feet on a pillow. Rose looks like she wants to save the plush yellow pillow from his calloused soles.

“And Daisy?” I frown, not seeing my little sister anywhere either.

“Blow drying her hair,” he replies. My brows scrunch. When does Daisy ever blow dry her hair? She’s a
let-it-air-dry
kinda person.

I’m about to ask, but the six plastic babies on the heavy cedar coffee table distract me. When Rose announced that we’d all have to take baby CPR class, I almost had a mini-panic attack. I could just see the headline:
Lily Calloway fails baby CPR. Another reason she shouldn’t be a mom.

Of course, Rose came up with an alternative: a “private” course, taught by her and Connor since they’ve both earned their certificates last week. I’m less nervous of tripping up in front of them.

“How is twenty-three so far?” Ryke asks me, making conversation as we wait for the others. I lean my butt on the loveseat armrest, adjacent to his couch. I try really hard not to think about his underwear or the junk that goes in them.

“Huh?” My eyes flicker to his package like a nervous tic.

If he noticed, he brushes it off. “
Twenty-three
. How’s it been?”

I’ll be twenty-four in three months, after I have Maximoff, so it’s not such a random question.

All the websites online say that twenty-three is the worst year in your twenties. Twelve months of identity crisis and “what the fuck am I doing with my life” realizations.

In the past year I’ve hit some major road bumps, including forgetting my birth control. But I love this year the most. I have conquered immeasurable fears. Public places don’t scare me as much. The articles and headlines don’t make me want to touch myself. The world feels smaller and more manageable. And the best part, I can be
me
and not feel so ashamed by it. My crazy (controlled) sex life and all.

How has twenty-three been?
“Better,” I tell Ryke. “How was it for you?”

He rubs at the chalk on his palm. “It fucking sucked.” He doesn’t elaborate. I wonder if it’s because he couldn’t be with Daisy back then or because he was on bad terms with his brother. Probably both.

“Did you finish folding?” Rose cuts in. “I need my black shorts for tomorrow.”

My cheeks heat at this.
Laundry
has now cursed me into a new shade of red. My life has taken a sad turn. Rose’s glare intensifies my swelter.

“What in that is sexual?” she chastises like I’ve offended her ability to talk to me without causing me to flush.

“Uhh…” I trail off. I can’t exactly admit that I touched Ryke’s boxer-briefs. Can I? It’s his fault they were in our pile to begin with.

“What did she say?” Lo’s voice stirs me awake, and I pop up from the armrest, happy to see him but not so happy to be on this conversation still. His black crew-neck outlines his fit, lean body, but it’s his well-styled light brown hair, cut shorter on the sides, that attracts me like a panda bear discovering bamboo for the first time.

I think I’m drooling.

His eyes flit from my head to my stomach to my toes, assessing that I am all in one bright, tomato-red piece. “Lil?”

“Lo,” I reply back.

His brows rise and then he grinds his teeth, his jaw twitching.
God
, I love that, and my body responds, my toes curling a bit. I smile and inwardly cheer with pom-poms and high-fives. Nothing is better than being turned on by Loren Hale.

“Rose asked if Lily was finished folding,” Ryke rats me out.

I gawk and point an accusatory finger at him. “It’s your fault! You’re sneaking
your
underwear into
our
laundry pile. Ha!”

Ryke rolls his eyes. “This is about my underwear?”

“So you’re not denying it.”
Double ha!

“I’m not fucking denying it,” he admits. “Do you have an underwear fetish now?” His tone is serious.

“No…” I say, roasting further.

Lo stands behind me and presses his hands playfully to my ears. “Don’t say the word
fetish
, it turns Connor on.”

I smile, and Connor wears a billion-dollar grin. “Words are my favorite sex toy,” he says and then walks over to his wife.

I take a deep breath, not feeling so much like the abnormal sex-crazed monster now.

Ryke nods to me. “What’s the deal, Lily?” He’s trying to understand more parts of my addiction, especially since I opened up to him at Hale Co., so it’s only right that I clarify.

“I touched your underwear.” I scrunch my nose. That’s good enough of an explanation, right?

It clicks for him. “It’s a piece of cloth, not my fucking cock.”

Please stop talking about your cock, Ryke.
I spin around, wanting to leave before my body turns into Brutus, the ultimate betrayer. I turn right into Lo’s hard chest. Perfect. I love it here.

Lo rests his hands on my shoulders, hugging me closer to him.
Even better.

“What’d I do wrong?” Ryke asks, concern in his voice.

“Maybe don’t mention your cock in front of my girlfriend,” Lo says dryly.

I can practically feel him grimace. “Got it.”

Connor chimes in, “Are you sure, Ryke? Those were really complex instructions. I can always transcribe them for you.”

I peek from my Loren Hale cocoon to spot Ryke flipping off Connor. I let out another breath, glad to have overcome this little hurdle. I could’ve given Ryke another week-long silent treatment instead of sticking it out.

“What…did you do to your hair?” Rose suddenly asks, seeing Daisy first and everyone quiets.

{ 27 }

LILY CALLOWAY

“Stop looking at me,
please
,” Daisy announces to the entire room. All the couches pushed aside, we stand on the cream rug in a circle. Her hair has taken the spotlight for the past ten minutes. I’m kinda grateful to have a distraction. I hold my plastic baby, carefully attempting to emulate Rose’s baby-cradling form. Sweat gathers under my boobs, which is a whole new feeling for me. I’ve never had big enough breasts for boob-sweat.

“It’s hard not to,” Lo tells her, his doll cradled on his arm. “It’s just so bright. I’m almost blinded.”

I elbow him in the side to stop. Normally he’d mock wince, but his focus is on Daisy. She groans and covers her eyes with one hand. I notice how she holds her doll by the wrist, the plastic torso dangling.

“I know, I know. It’s really bad,” Daisy says.

Ryke tucks his doll underneath his armpit. Literally, he just shoved the baby’s face in there. Only Rose seems to be paying attention to Ryke’s placement, her eyes slowly narrowing to pinpoints. He’s busy messing Daisy’s hair with a playful hand. She exhales a breath.

Her medium-length locks are dyed
yellow.
Like a highlighter. I’m with Lo on this one, it’s bright. Over the past few months, Daisy has changed her hair to every color under the sun, some highlights, some a full-dye job, some pretty, others ugly. All the while, she took the change with enthusiasm and excitement. This is the first time I’ve seen her visibly upset over the hue.

“What color were you trying to dye it?” Connor asks, his doll cradled a little differently than Rose—the head more supported. I hone in on this detail and shift my doll to a better position. I glance at Ryke.

He’s still suffocating his baby.

“Blonde,” Daisy admits.

“You wanted to return to blonde?” Rose asks with a frown, not mentioning how Daisy may damage her hair if she keeps dyeing it so much.

Ryke’s hand has dropped to the small of Daisy’s back, more caringly, but his face has hardened to that familiar stone.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Daisy grips her doll, dressed in a pink onesie, more securely underneath the arms. “Please let’s do this CPR class.”

“Can we not call it a class?” I ask, my arms trembling a little with nerves. “I just graduated, and classes and I aren’t the best of friends.” I have bombed more college courses than the average person, but maybe I can blame Princeton for being unnaturally hard.

“CPR training then,” Connor amends.

“Ryke has already smothered his kid,” Lo jokes, nodding to his brother across our circle.

Ryke just realizes that he has his doll in a blue onesie tucked in his pit. He holds him in one hand by the waist, like a football. “Why do we have to fucking do this again?” Ryke asks, motioning between himself and Daisy. “You all probably won’t let us babysit your kid anyway.”

“If you plan on holding him like
that
I’m not going to,” Lo tells his brother.

Ryke adjusts the doll again, and I end up smiling at the way he’s cradling the baby, like Lo. They’re both being as gentle as they can be, taking it more seriously. I thought Lo was going to throw jabs at Rose the whole time, but he’s being considerate and looks kinda sexy with a baby in his arms.

“I just can’t see any of you leaving your kid with me,” Ryke suddenly admits.

Connor stares right at Ryke, and they meet each other’s eyes. “You’d be surprised about what I’d let you do,” Connor tells him.

Rose doesn’t even disagree. I try to wipe the mental image of Ryke handling the doll with less care. Now that he pays more attention, it seems like he’d be okay with Maximoff.

Ryke looks to Lo like
you don’t want me near your baby, right?

“It’s your choice, man,” Lo says. “You don’t want to be a part of my kid’s life. That’s fine.” The edge in his voice doesn’t match his words.

Ryke scowls. “You know I do.”

“Then that’s why you’re here.”

Daisy bounces on her feet, hugging the doll to her chest. “I’d love to babysit whenever you need me.” She looks to Rose. “You’d let me watch your girl, right?” Her lopsided smile makes the room glow. Her hair helps.

Daisy might as well have kissed Rose’s heels. Our older sister is beaming, so happy that someone else is playing into the idea that she’s having a girl. Personally, I’d love for Rose to have a daughter. Just to see her happy. I think all of us want that. Well, except Lo. He wants her to have a boy in spite.

I expect Rose to flower Daisy with compliments and
yes, of course, you can watch her
words. Instead, she says, “If you pass.”

Lo lets out a short laugh. “Are you going to make everyone who wants to touch your baby fill out a hundred-page questionnaire?”

“Maybe.” She fixes her hair to one side of her shoulder while Connor studies Rose with more concern, sidling closer to her. He whispers in her ear and she nods to him. The bad thing about nerd stars: they’re so high up that it’s hard to hear or see unless you exist in space with them.

I’m not smart enough to even breach the Earth’s atmosphere, so I just try to watch from down below.

“I actually have something for you Rose…” Lo says, detaching from my side. This can’t be good. He sets his boy doll on the table and heads to the hall closet.

“If it doesn’t come in a jewelry box, you can keep it,” Rose snaps.

“I’m not keeping this.” Lo rummages around for a couple seconds before returning with a flat box wrapped in green, pink, and blue paper. I wear a confused expression, not involved in this plan. Lo must’ve bought that on his way home from work or something.