Ricochet (6 page)

I glare. “Yes.”

Thankfully we reach the dimly lit parking deck and approach
his Infinity that’s squeezed in between a Mini Cooper and a BMW. “My keys are
in my pocket,” he tells me.

I glance at his pants pocket.
Near his
crotch.

He rolls his eyes. “Now’s not the time to be perverted, Calloway.”

“Right,” I say, reaching in, my cheeks flaming. He doesn’t
look happy about me digging near his penis either. I pull out his set of keys
and press the unlock button. The car honks and blinks to life, the taillights
flashing.

“Get in the passenger seat, and I’ll put Daisy on your lap,”
he tells me. I do as he says, and he sets my gangly sister on the seat with me.
I drape her long legs to the side and put my hand to her head, clammy and cold.
I rest her cheek to my chest. In this moment, I feel solely responsible for
her.

“To the hospital,” I remind him.

“I know.” He turns the key into the ignition and pulls onto
the street. Only five minutes in, and we’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
So many people wander on the roads that they thud into Ryke’s car and throw
confetti at the windshield.

I keep my fingers pressed to Daisy’s wrist, checking her
pulse every few seconds.

As we sit in silence, I watch girls on the side streets,
swaying as they walk in heels, their guys keeping an arm underneath them so
they don’t face-plant on the cement. The couples remind me of Lo—only I would
have been the one holding him upright. Not the other way around.

Last year, I wore this sparkly silver dress and decided to
be pantyless the entire night. I thought it’d be easier for a quickie in the
bathroom with Mr. Random. In retrospect, it was a bad, bad idea. I danced all
night at a fancy club and was too inebriated to realize that I flashed the
crowds with every hop.

Lo ended up dancing beside me, keeping a hand on my shoulder
to ease my Kangaroo springs. He even tugged down the back of my dress for me.
Near midnight, he offered to give me
his
underwear,
which I promptly declined. I love the whole memory—even if it’s a royally
fucked up one. The only thing I try to forget is the end of that night.
Where he booked a room at the Ritz to pass out in, and I slinked
into a bedroom one floor below to screw some guy.

“Do you think he’ll still want to be with me when he gets
back?” I ask softly. Even if I wait for him, I wonder if he’ll still wait for
me.

Ryke clenches the steering wheel tightly. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” I wonder, pulling Daisy’s sweaty hair
out of her face.

Ryke gives me a solid glare. “You masturbate too much.”

My eyes widen, and I instinctively glance down at Daisy who
is in another dimension. She may not have even heard.
Hopefully.

“She probably won’t remember anything,” Ryke tells me.

That doesn’t stop the mortification from swallowing my face.
Of course he couldn’t restrain himself from commenting about what I was doing
in the bathroom.

Before I find the courage to reply back, Daisy groans and
her lids flutter. I see the whites of her eyes until they roll back to show the
green.

“Dais.”
I shake her arm.

She turns her head a little, sluggish and weak. Her eyes
rise to meet Ryke’s. He keeps one hand firmly on the steering wheel, his
fingers clenched around it as he stares down at her. After a long moment of the
two of them just fucking
staring
at
each other, Ryke asks, “You going to puke?”

She blinks heavily and says, “No.”

Ryke clicks off his seatbelt and puts the car in park. He
opens his car door.
 

“What are you doing?” I gape at him.

“She was being sarcastic,” he tells me.

I frown. That did
not
sound
like sarcasm.

He walks around the Infinity to our side, able to leave the
driver’s seat. He yanks my door open, and she slowly spins her body to face the
outside, her feet on the edge of the car. She leans a hand on the door frame
and breathes heavily, her color peaked.

I rub her back while her head begins to droop. She nearly
falls forward into the street. I grab her shoulders to keep her on my lap, and
Ryke kneels in front of her. He lifts her chin up with two fingers.

“Daisy, look at me.” He snaps his fingers near her eyes.

I can’t tell if she’s meeting his gaze or not.

“Some
…fucking
party, huh?” Her
whole body shakes.

“Yeah,” Ryke nods, his eyes flitting over her arms and legs,
noticing her trembles.
“Some fucking party.”

“That…was…rhetorical.” Her body lurches, gagging. Ryke
quickly moves out of the way and she vomits onto the pavement. He grimaces, and
people start chanting outside.

 
“10…9…”

We’re too far away to see the glittering ball drop, but the
crowds scream in unison, filling the world in a jubilant chorus.

This has to be one of the worst and scariest New Year’s
ever. Right behind the time I kissed a frog as a dare.
Though
that wasn’t so much scary as it was gross.

“7…”

And this will be the first time I don’t have a New Year’s
kiss.

“5…”

Even when I was a kid, Lo would put his hands on my cheeks
and kiss me really quickly, and we’d burst into laughter afterwards. He’d end
up chasing me through the fancy parties that our parents brought us to, trying
to steal another.

I’d always let him catch me.

“2…1.”

 
“HAPPY
NEW YEAR!!”

JANUARY

Daisy sits back up as the crowds roar in excitement, people
pulling their loved ones for their first kiss of the new year.

Ryke scrutinizes her for a long second. “You okay?”

“Amazing.” She wipes the side of her mouth with her hand.
“Can…you just take me home?”

He shakes his head. “You’re going to the hospital.”

She closes her eyes for a long time, and when she opens
them, I can see her glare. “No.”

“Yes,” he states. “This isn’t a fucking democracy. My car,
my rules.”

“My body, my decisions,” she snaps back. “…honestly, I’m
just nauseous now.” And as she says it, she shakes like she has the chills.

He puts his hand to her forehead, and she slaps it down.
“Don’t touch me.”

He glowers. “You’re an ice cube. You’ve been drugged, Daisy.
If you go to sleep and fall into a coma, that’s on us.”

“He’s right,” I tell her. Wow those words taste gross in my
mouth. “You’re going to the hospital. Rose would have flown in a helicopter by
now, so you’re lucky we’re just driving you and not making a bigger scene.”

Daisy inhales a slow breath. She pulls her limbs back into
the car and settles against my chest. Ryke slams the door closed and walks
around to the driver’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispers to me. “Tonight...was supposed
to be fun…” She trembles. “I…was supposed to take your mind off Lo…”

I smile and nudge her hip. “You did. And you know what?
Despite what happened at the end, I had a really good time.” That’s not a lie.
I think I learned more about my sister today than I have in the past seven
years.

“Really?” She closes her eyes, sinking back into a better
place. I still check her pulse. Just to be safe.

“Really, really.”

Ryke climbs in and shuts the door. He stares out the front
windshield for a long time. “I just have to ask you one question, Lily.” He
glances at me. “Are all you Calloway girls this crazy?”

I choke on a laugh, about to deny it but I really can’t.
“Poppy’s pretty normal.”

He nods repeatedly, letting this sink in.

The traffic begins to break up, and we’re finally able to
drive. I take a deep breath, happy to be heading in a good direction.

{2}

The hospital was a fiasco. Even a week later, I
cringe at how Daisy lied to the nurse. She asked for her name, and Daisy
spurted out, “Lily Calloway.”

I didn’t correct her because I understood her motives. She
didn’t want the hospital to call our mother and have her involved in the
situation. So I handed the white-scrubbed nurse my I.D., which could pass for
Daisy because my sixteen-year-old picture is nearly obscured. I was even
surprised the DMV didn’t force me to retake it. In the photo, my hair nearly
shields my whole face, and I tilted my head down, trying to end the
photo-taking process as quickly as possible. Afterwards, Lo made fun of me for
the picture, but his wasn’t much better. He smiled sarcastically, looking like a
supreme sixteen-year-old asshole.

Thinking about Lo does not help my mind tonight. I roll in
my bed, clenching the sheets and pressing my face to my pillow. Some nights are
worse than others. This one has been brutal.

My body heats with a layer of sticky sweat. I just want him.
My eyes tighten closed, and I imagine his hands raking the bareness of my back,
spindling up my hips towards my shoulders…

I need someone to take me in their arms, to rub their palms
over all the aching parts, to knead my breast and suck my neck, to make this
tension explode into a high. I crave it so badly that I end up biting my
fingernails to the beds, turning on my side and staring at the wall, wondering
if I should go find something to ease this into a nice, blissful release.

No.

I lick my lips and shudder, my body shaking as I prolong
what it wants. Or maybe, it’s just my brain playing tricks on me. Maybe it’s
all in my mind.

I inhale a deep breath and rise against my oak headboard. I
find the remote on the end table and click on the flat screen television above
my dresser. It swamps the wall, looking futuristic among my white canopied,
king-sized bed and red velveteen chaise. Rose decorated my room, and I have to
admit, she did a pretty good job with the pop art and the black checkered
pillows. I could do without the canopy. One night, I rolled into it like a
tortilla and started moronically swatting at it.

I click through the On Demand channels and peruse the
nightly specials, landing on an X-rated film where a professor seduces a
student. So cliché, but it’ll most definitely make me hot and bothered. I just
hope that it helps me find the release I’m looking for.

I fast-forward the beginning where the girl usually just
gives head. Normally, blow jobs in porn don’t turn me on…unless the guy does
something sweet like hold her hair back and tell her she’s beautiful giving it.
But I’ve seen too many scenes where the guy jackhammers the thing down her
throat. Being choked by cock does nothing for me.

 
I reach the middle of
the film, and the professor spreads the girl across his desk. He wears vintage
framed glasses and a white button-down. His pants are already off and he
quickly charges into her without any other foreplay. She lets out a
frighteningly loud scream and then her moans start. “Mmmmmmmyeah. Like
that....yeaaahhh.” She massages her own large breast while he thrusts hard. I
can tell she’s faking it, and maybe horny guys don’t care—but I do. Her noises
heighten and I realize that her orgasms are making me cringe. Not all porn is
created equal.
 

I exit out and order another film.

Wanting to be surprised, I skim the description and barely
glance at the title. This time I fast-forward again and quickly discern what
type of category the film falls into.

The girl is draped over a bench in a locker room while the
guy spanks her bare ass. It’s either submission or bondage or maybe a bit of
both. I sink into my bed, silently hoping this girl doesn’t scream like a
hyena.

She lets out a small yelp when the guy pushes inside of her.
His thrusts are hard and rough and she clutches to the lockers for support. He
grabs at her body and lets out a series of carnal grunts. After only a couple
minutes she says, “Please make me come, sir. Please.”

Usually this does it for me. But I feel nothing. Not even
turned
off
. I’m just…empty.

I mute the video and debate about purchasing another, but
I’m not even sure a film with my favorite porn stars will help. This seems
silly when all I want is Loren Hale. Visual stimulation doesn’t cure the
craving for my boyfriend.

Tonight’s miserable experience suddenly triggers a recent
memory with Lo—when he was sober for a very short period of time. I pause the
film and wipe my eyes.
 

Lo plopped on my bed in our Philly apartment while I fired
up my porn. I’d asked him if he wanted to watch a video with me, thinking it
might be different now that he was sober. He had looked at me with crinkled
eyebrows and a crooked grin before shrugging and following me into my room.

On the screen, a girl-next-door blonde rested in the jail
cell, and a young, sexy cop entered, scanning her body with a lustful gaze.

“Why is she even there?” Lo asked, wrapping an arm around my
shoulder. I rested my head on his hard chest, my heart beating wildly at the
thought of what might happen next between us. I wanted him to take me just as
the cop would take the girl.

“I think she was mistakenly jailed for soliciting or
something, and this cop is going to question her about it. But really she’s
going to have sex so he’ll let her go.”

Lo’s brow arched. “I see.”

I swallowed hard, wondering if he was analyzing what I
wanted. He rarely watched porn with me. Whenever I put one on, I made it a
private event, but with Lo there, the anticipation was enough to prick my
nerves and tighten my insides.

The blonde girl fidgeted a little as the cop started to
frisk her. His fingers moved down to the hem of her shorts. “Shouldn’t he have
done that before he put her in jail?” Lo asked with a smile.

“It’s porn. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

 
Her back arched as
the cop’s fingers dipped into her panties and out of sight. “Are you hiding
anything that I need to know about?”

She shook her head. “No…sir…” Her breath caught, and then
she let out a long pleasured moan, practically convulsing from his touch. And
my breathing went shallow.

That was until I looked back at Lo. He wore a deep frown, as
though trying to understand me through the porn. I sat up and disentangled from
him. “This is a bad idea,” I said, about to shut it off. I scrounged around for
the remote, but he grabbed my wrist lightly.

“No, wait, I’m watching this here.” He stayed transfixed to
the porn.

The cop unzipped the girl’s shorts and tugged them to her
ankles and then completely off.
 
“You’ve
been a very bad girl. Leaving here will be very, very simple if you cooperate.
Just take this right here…” He motioned to his dick, and she grabbed it, her
eyes big and innocent. “Put it in your mouth and fuck it. Can you do that for
me?”

The girl nodded rapidly. She leaned forward while he dropped
his navy pants—no underwear on. She gathered his cock in her hands and filled
her mouth.

“Fuck, yeah.” He groaned deeply and pulled her hair off her
face. “Take your punishment, baby.”
 
I
actually thought this blow job scene wasn’t a complete turn off. Of course, it
probably helped that Lo was sitting next to me. She licked him up like a
popsicle and then popped her mouth off it with a refreshing “
ahhhh.”

Lo let out a long laugh, breaking the mood instantly. My
whole body heated with embarrassment,
not
the type of “hot” I wanted.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Shhh,” he said, a big goofy smile on his face. I tried to
speak again, but he put his hand to my lips, covering my mouth while he watched
the film, mesmerized and amused.

“You like that?” the cop asked. The girl responded with a
deep, throaty moan, and she rocked her head back and forth again. Then she took
his cock out of her mouth and smacked it against her cheek. “Fuuuuuck,” he
groaned. “Fuck, yeah.”

The cop yanked the girl to her feet and pulled down her top,
kneading her breasts. “These are very nice.”

Lo laughed louder and looked to me, his hand still firmly
planted on my mouth. “This really turns you on?”

Finally, he loosened his grip to let me reply.

“I usually skip the beginning,” I confessed. “Unless…” Nope,
not telling him.

His eyes lit up. “Unless what?”

I blushed as I said, “Unless the guy holds her hair back.”

Lo’s smile engulfed his face. “That’s adorable.” He took the
remote though and sped ahead to the actual sex where the couple talks less and
usually just moans and grunts.

“Watching this is better than having sex with another person?”
Lo asked, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

“No…maybe…sometimes,” I stammered. “It’s convenient.”

He looked back to me, eyebrows raised. “Better than me?”

I shook my head. “No way.”

“So you’ve had sex that was
worse
than watching porn? Who the hell were you fucking?” he asked.

I shrugged, not really having a way to answer that question.
My eyes slowly left his for the movie where the cop had the girl spread-eagle
on the floor. It was hard to look away, especially since I anticipated some
steamy action ahead.

“Hey,” Lo breathed, brushing his fingers against my chin. He
gently tilted my head towards him, and his parted lips looked ready to kiss me.
I waited for him to close the gap between us, but instead of taking me in his
arms and mimicking the film, he spoke. “In a competition between me and
this
...” He jabbed his finger towards
the movie. “I’ll win. Every time.”

He licked his lips, his eyes skimming my breasts and my abdomen
and the place that thrummed for pressure between my legs. He was about to prove
that he was better than porn—even though I already told him so. He reached over
and turned up the volume a little, right when the cop rolled off her to switch
positions. I tried not to look at the screen, but the cop
was
big. Then the girl skillfully climbed right on top of him,
arching her back so her enormous breasts became the focus of his attention.

Lo straightened up and grabbed my legs, yanking me so hard
that my breath rushed out of my lungs. My back thudded flat on the mattress,
successfully distracting me. He hovered over my body and leaned close. His
mouth found my ear, and his tongue slipped inside, my limbs quivering.

As he pulled away, he whispered huskily, “Can a film do
this?” He grabbed my wrists, bringing them above my head as he did so often. He
trapped them with one hand, and using the other, he lifted up my shirt and my
bra. His lips sucked lines from my breast to the hem of my pants, teasing and
drawing out intolerable sensations. I wanted him to push inside. To come with
every thrust. And I knew he would give it to me. When it came to sex, he
offered me everything.

A film could not touch me the way Lo could.

I’d almost give anything to hear him finish with, “I love
you.” As he always did.

Instead, I now stare at my paused television, wishing Lo was
here to fill my needs instead of meaningless porn. I can’t even try to reach my
climax from it. All I do is think of Lo, and how he basically said—in his own
sly way—that I should quit watching porn and find my fix with him.

The film seems corny and cheesy and so fucking stupid in
comparison. So I shut it off.

I stand up and gather all of my videos, and I stuff them in
the little trash bin under my desk. They don’t all fit, so I pick up the
aluminum bin and open my door, about to find a larger trashcan that’ll hold all
my dirty secrets.

This seems right.

But ditching porn won’t lessen any tension spun inside me.

Not yet at least.

As I head down the stairs to the kitchen, I hear distant
voices. It’s near midnight, but I’m not surprised by the conversation. Connor
Cobalt and Rose schedule time together like one would a business meeting. She
let me know that he may be over late in January since nights are the only time
they can see each other this month.

“Why are you reading that?” Rose asks him. I inch forward
and creep towards the living room. I edge close and peek behind the curved
archway. Their backs face me as they share the cream couch, draped with a
purple throw blanket. From here, I smell the fresh cut flowers that fill the vase
on the glass coffee table. Connor brings a new bouquet every time they wilt.
This time, he picked out yellow and pink daises that remind me of my youngest
sister.

Rose’s arm presses against Connor as they sit close, each
with their own laptops. Both are wearing insensible clothes to be hanging
around the house. Connor sports a charcoal gray suit—worth thousands no
doubt—while she wears a Calloway Couture piece: a black mini dress with a
see-through maxi skirt on top. Classy, as always.

Connor doesn’t look up from his screen. “Because it’s
useful.”

“Freud is not useful. He’s infuriating and sexist and
wrong
half the time.” She tries to shut
his laptop, and he clasps her hand, bringing her knuckles up to his lips.

He gives her a light kiss before saying, “Just because you
don’t like his theories doesn’t make him wrong. There’s good stuff in here.”

“Like what? ‘Penis envy?’” she snaps.

I frown. What the hell is
penis envy
? And more than that, are they really talking about my
sexual needs
again
? I caught Rose
with a stack of books the other day, all about sex addiction, and they were not
only highlighted and bookmarked, but there were
post-it
notes stuck inside. And these notes, let me tell you, did
not have Rose’s handwriting. Since Connor Cobalt was
my
tutor first, I can spot his cursive, calligraphy-like
penmanship.