Ricochet (8 page)

“Me too,” Rose says.

I squint at her. “Really?” There has to have been a time…oh
yeah. “What about when you were in sixth grade on a school field trip to D.C.?”
I wasn’t with her, but her classmates rehashed the story with such theatrics
that only a robot would go without feeling. My mom said she cried angry,
embarrassed
tears all the way home.

Rose’s eyes widen in alarm. “Do you want to know what the
therapist said or not?”

“Are you blushing?” Connor asks Rose with a laugh. Connor:
2. Rose: 0. She’s going to kill me.

“Let’s get back to the subject at hand,” I say, trying to
cover for her, but the damage is done.

Connor nudges her hip with his elbow. “What is it? Did you
fall into the Reflecting Pool?”

“No,” she deadpans, glaring at the wall.

“Did you misquote Abraham Lincoln’s speech?”

“That wouldn’t happen, and that’s not the least bit
embarrassing.”

“I would be embarrassed,” he says with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah? Well you’re like a green rooster. If your kind
exists, there’s only one of you.”

He grins. “Say that again.”

“I’d rather embowel your cat.”

I laugh. “Ooh, burn.” Bringing Sadie into the arguments
always livens things up. Rose has threatened to mutilate his pet about twenty
different ways. It’s her main weapon against her boyfriend, but he finds each
one as amusing as the next. Apparently, Rose has yet to enter his apartment on
account of Connor’s tabby cat that hates women. Since the cat is also
full-fledged female, Rose finds the creature as close to a demon as an animal
can be.

Connor tries hard not to break into an even wider smile and
show defeat. He cocks his head to the side. “Some idiot boy gave you a wedgie,
didn’t he? Give me his name; I want to talk to him.”

“It was the sixth grade,” she says with furrowed brows. “You
don’t need to go through my history book and attack all the people who have
wronged me.”

I chime in, “Yeah, because she’s already castrated most of
them.”

Connor lets out a laugh, and I swear, he’s about ready to
drop on one knee and propose. He licks his lips to hide his growing pleasure.
“So I’m right then? Wedgie?”

“What? No.” Rose jerks back, offended. “I don’t even find it
that embarrassing anymore. It actually just chaps my ass, which is why I think
we should
move on
.”

“I don’t want to move on from this, hun. Just let it out.
Breathe and release.” He inhales strongly and blows out of his mouth, teasing
her a little, and her cat-eyes burn holes in him.

“Fine, Richard.” Oh, she even used his real name. Things are
getting serious now. I can’t deny—their tiffs do take my mind off missing Lo
and my habits. Sometimes I think that being around Rose and Connor helps take
the edge off. Other times, I just feel like they stand in the way of me and my
desires. “I was walking through one of the Smithsonian museums, and I stopped
in front of a model of the solar system. While I was reading the labels, a
group of boys in my class gathered behind me and pointed and snickered before
saying, ‘I can see Uranus.’”

Connor doesn’t laugh. “That’s not even clever.”

It gets worse
, is
all I think.

Rose’s lips twitch, trying to smile, but anger flits in her
eyes at the memory. “I ignored them, and then they said, ‘Hey, your anus is
bleeding.’”

Connor frowns.

“I started my period that day.”

I grimace at her pained memory. Those things stay with
someone forever. Even if they seem small and insignificant, childhood stories
like Rose’s are the ones that last a lifetime.

“Give me their names.” Connor motions to her with two
fingers as he takes out his phone and opens the note app.

Rose actually lets out a weak smile. “I yelled at them,” she
tells Connor, “that day—I turned around and told them to shut up, and I ran
into the bathroom and cried and called my mother.” Her face turns serious. “I
never want to have children.”

My stomach drops at the bomb she just exploded in the room.
I
knew this about Rose, but talking
about kids in front of a pretty new boyfriend would be a trigger for them to
scamper away.

Clearly, this is a Rose Calloway test.

Connor inhales deeply, as though digesting the sudden
proclamation. His face stays blank, accepting Rose’s challenge. She’s
practically asking him to run the other way. “After that, I wouldn’t either.
Boys should be more respectful about the female reproductive system. It’s what
brought those fuckers into the world.”

Rose laughs at this, almost cackling. I can’t help but smile
too. “Fuckers?” she repeats.

He shrugs. “It’s better than dipshits.”

“I actually think dipshit is more appropriate.”

My eyes scrunch. “Are you two seriously discussing curse
words?”

“Yes,” they say in unison, turning their attention back to
me. Rose picks up where she left off on the story involving the therapist.
“Anyway, he went through a list and asked me what I preferred, I told him, and
he asked how often. Then, he asked me if I tried to stop, but he said it in a
way that was completely unprofessional.”

Connor elaborates. “He told her that most women come into
his office seeking attention, especially from him since he’s good looking and
fit, and that in order to verify her problem, she would need to—and I
quote—‘suck cock until her mouth bled.’”

My jaw unhinges. “What?” I say in a small voice.

Rose punches him in the side, and he feigns wincing,
incensing her more. “I was trying to be brief about it,” she says. “You didn’t
need to tell her word for word.”

“I hate paraphrasing. To use your vocabulary, it
chaps my ass.
”

Rose holds up a hand to his face, ignoring him and telling
him to shut up in one swift motion. Her eyes meet mine and they soften
considerably. “I learned
later
that
he had never treated a female sex addict before. I’m trying to find a woman who
understands your condition. And I
promise
,
she will not only be respectful but she’ll be intelligent and know more than
Connor and me put together.”

“That’s impossible,” Connor tells her. “We’re the two
smartest people in the entire world. You put us together, and you get a
superhuman.”

Rose rolls her eyes dramatically, but she’s actually
smiling. “You’re an idiot.” She nods to me. “Okay?”

I believe Rose. I trust her more than anyone else in the
whole world, maybe even more than Lo. He would be so offended if he heard me
say that, but in this moment, I think it’s true. He’s not here. But I have her.

There’s something beyond comforting about that. “Thanks,
Rose.” I give her a hug and hope that no matter how horrible I am, no matter
how much I bitch and regress, she’ll forgive me.

2 YEARS AGO

My wedges dangle in my hand. My bare feet touch
the dirty sidewalk. I’m running. Well, more like
chasing.
As I try to catch up with Lo, a freshman dormitory looms
in the background, cop cars swarming the brick building. Underage drinkers
cuffed or given a not-so pleasant citation.

Lo spins around, slowing
and
shuffling backwards at the same time. He’s so good at running away from
things. At eighteen, I still struggle to keep up with him.

“Faster, Lil,” he tells me, but he has a goofy smile on his
face. As if this could be considered a new adventure. Racing from the cops
during our first week of college. Me, chasing after him.

“We’re…going…up a…hill,” I huff, my pace between a walk and
a jog. Something sticky glues to the bottom of my foot, and I cringe with a
downturned frown. I hope that was just gum.

“I’m going to leave you,” he threatens, but I hardly believe
him. Especially with the way he nearly laughs at me. And then he picks up speed
again, sprinting forward, hoping that I’ll gain the strength to finally reach
him.

I never do. But it’s a nice thought.

My knees bend beneath me, and I use the last ounce of my
energy to dart towards him up the steep hill, traffic on the left side of us as
cars return from the clubs and bars. The dorm party we attended wasn’t even
that fun. The beer sucked, as Lo put it. There was no room to move, and the halls
were so crammed with people that a weird smell permeated in the air. Like weed
and sweat mixed together. Gross.

But I don’t regret it. Because Lo was there, and we’ll have
something to laugh about later.

His black shirt begins to mold to his taught back and chest
and arms, outlining the shape of his lean muscles, giving me an idea of what
lies beneath. When he runs, he looks beautiful. As though no one can touch him,
as though he’s leaving behind a burning world and heading towards a peaceful
one. His cheeks will sharpen; his eyes will narrow in determination. Of course
I can’t see any of that.

I just have a nice view of his ass.

That’s not too bad to look at either.

And then I begin to fall. Pain shoots up my ankle so
excruciating that I let out a cry.
 
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I sit on my butt and
inspect the bone. It’s not protruding from my skin, but the muscle feels tight
and strained.

“Lil?” Lo rushes back to me, nearly skidding down the hill
with a face full of worry. He bends to my ankle, and inspects the bone just as
I did. His fingers lightly touch my skin. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Bad.” I grimace.

“As bad as when you broke your arm?” he asks, reminding me
of the bully on the playground when we were little. Harry
Cheese
water.

I shake my head, and he puts his hands underneath my
armpits, hoisting me up like I’m a little doll. I try to put some pressure on
my foot to test it, but the pain intensifies like a thousand sharp needles. My
eyes begin to water, and I wipe them with a furious hand. Pissed that I fell.
Especially with police sirens blaring in the distance.

Lo does not need to be thrown in jail. The last time he was
in there, his father threatened to ship him off to a military academy. The only
thing that changed his father’s mind was my promise to help “fix” Lo, which was
solidified with our fake relationship. Even if I wanted to help him, I can’t.
He glared at me tonight just for suggesting he should switch to beer. I still
wonder if he would have left me alone at the party if I told him to stop altogether.
The best I can do is try to convince him
not
to drink an extra bottle. That’s in my power, and I use it as often as I
can. But the only way he’ll truly get better is if he wants to first.

And clearly, he’s nowhere near that point. I’m not even sure
what it will take.

He drank so much that his eyes glaze over. He’s still
present—he’s still
here—
but I see the
hunger to drink more, to lie down and just sleep with the drift and ease that
liquor offers him.
 

“You probably sprained it,” Lo says, his gaze falling to my
foot again.
 

“I can limp there,” I tell him. We should call Nola to pick
us up. We hate cabs enough to risk being seen by a cop, but we still have my
family’s driver. And Lo’s. But Anderson would be a last resort. For some reason,
neither of us suggests our drivers as an option. It’s late, and I really don’t
want to wake Nola to save us.

“That sounds like a stupid idea,” he says.

I look over my shoulder, the red and blue lights flashing in
the distance. “Just go without me. I’ll catch up.”

And then his cheeks sharpen as they always do. “That sounds
even shittier.”

“I haven’t had any alcohol,” I tell him. “If the cops catch
me, then I’ll be fine. They catch you, and you’ll be in trouble with your dad.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” He lets out a deep sigh, and then
spins around—back facing me. Just when I think he’s going to take off running,
actually listening to my request, he does something quite different. He bends
down, lifts up my legs and hoists me on his back. “Grab tight, love.”

My hands wrap around his neck, and he speeds off.

The wind whips my brown hair, and I listen to his easy
breath as he carries me away from the chaos and towards the city where we live.
I’ve ridden on his back before. When we were kids. When I couldn’t make it up
the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado. When I forgot to wear closed-toed shoes in
the Costa Rican rain forest. When I just needed a lift. He was always there.

Minutes pass and then those turn into hours, and Lo has
slowed to a walk, the Philadelphia streets alive and glittering in the middle
of the night. We head to the Drake—to our new apartment that we share together.

Lo has spun me around, and he holds me in a front-piggyback
while I rest my head on the crook of his neck and shoulder, my eyes fluttering
closed.

My desires have already been satiated for the night. The
only person that crosses my mind is the man carrying me. “If you were an X-Men,
I think you would be Quicksilver,” I say with a small yawn. He has superhuman
speed, able to run as fast as lightening. He’s also the son of Magneto, who
expects too much of him at times, their father-son relationship one of the
rockiest among mutant kind.

He mulls this over and then whispers, “I’d rather be
Hellion.”

I know. I’d rather be Veil most of the time and escape my
most embarrassing moments by whisking into nothingness, but the truth is, I’m
probably not even worthy of being compared to an X-Men. At least Lo is like
someone. At least he can relate.

He glances down at me as I begin to fall asleep. “How’s your
ankle?”

“Wonderful,” I whisper, “because I’m not standing on it.”

“I think we have an ice pack in the fridge.”

My eyes shut fully. “Mmm, sounds nice.”

He kisses the top of my head and then whispers, “I love you,
Lil.”

We say the words all the time, but the power has not been
lost. They mean more to me than he’ll know. Because at the end of the day, this
type of love is different than a first-sight encounter with a man at a bar, a
crush in prep school or a bubbling, new romance. Our
I love yous
encompass years of heartache, of hurt, of laughter and
pain.

And every time we say the words, I feel the rush of our
childhood. I couldn’t imagine ever losing that.

* * *

After a full night of icing the muscle, I’m so
chilly in the morning that I crave warmth. At ten a.m., I fill up a bubble bath
and lie in the soapy suds, letting my injury soak in the soothing waters. Bliss
doesn’t even define this feeling. That is…until Lo opens the bathroom door and
sluggishly walks in. I sink further down into the water and gather some foamy
bubbles to hide my naked body.

“You have your own bathroom,” I remind him as he runs water
under his toothbrush. A blue Spider-Man one that he carried in here.

He turns around, supporting himself against the edge of my counter.
Only drawstring pants on that leave absolutely
nothing
to the imagination. But I keep my eyes firmly planted on
his.

“I wanted to see how your ankle was doing,” he admits before
putting his toothbrush in his mouth. One week into
college,
and I still haven’t fully adjusted to living with him. We were comfortable
before, but sharing space has blurred even more lines that really didn’t need
any more blurring.

“I’m warming it,” I explain and lift my foot up from the
water, leaving out the part about wanting the heat a lot more than my ankle
needing it.

I didn’t expect him to walk over, toothbrush still hanging
out of his mouth, and press his fingers to the swollen area. I try not to let
the pain cross my face too much.

Lo pops the toothbrush from his mouth and points to me. “Bed
rest for you,” he orders before turning and spitting into the sink. He rinses
and squishes with water.

“You feel okay?” I ask, watching him wipe his lips on the
towel.

When he returns his attention to me, his eyes land on the
bath. “I could use a bubble bath,” he says, a smile playing at his lips.
Another moment where I should say no and not submit to his teasing
and playfulness.

But the words just don’t come, and he’s already shedding his
pants down to his black boxer-briefs and hopping right into the waters. The
Jacuzzi is large enough for seven people, so it’s not
that
awkward.

He lets out a loud moan as he sinks into the waters. I can’t
help but smile.

“Just don’t come any closer,” I warn. “I’m naked.” I flush
at the words.

It’s his turn to smile, a mischievous one that I do not
like.

“Lo,” I warn again.

He raises his hands from the water, coming in peace. “I’m
staying right here.” Good. “It’s you that we both should be worried about.” I
frown. He may be right about that. I scoot a little further back, avoiding his
silly smile. I press my body firmly to the porcelain tub.

After a moment, Lo clears his throat and plays with the
bubbles, running them between his fingers. “So…last night, did he use a
condom?”

“Yeah.”
I nod, giving into his
question even though I have no desire to talk about last night.

“You know because college guys are different,” Lo says,
still fixated on the bubbles.

“They’re hornier,” I agree. It’s my very own sexual
playground. Maybe that’s why Lo looks so concerned.

“They drink more,” he adds, “and may forget to use one. You
can’t let that happen, okay?”

For the past week, I’ve been so neurotic about Lo being in
college, surrounded by parties every night where the liquor never runs out (most
of the time). I never thought he’d have fears about me.

Against better judgment, I scoot forward a little and nudge
his foot with mine. At least, I hope it’s his foot. I can’t really tell through
all the bubbles. “I’ll be fine,” I say confidently, “I’m always the one in
control during sex. I call the shots.” It helps that I don’t drink since I
usually need to drive Lo home afterwards. Last night we had Nola drop us off
with the intention of going home at a reasonable hour without the cop lights
flashing in the background. Oops.
 

“Do you even realize how small you are?” Lo asks in
disbelief. “Honestly, Lil.”

I splash some bubbles in his face. “I’m big enough.”

“You’re ridiculously skinny and five foot five.
I’m
big.”

My eyes drift down.
Unintentional.
At least I hope so. He’s already smiling again and my cheeks burn. “Can we move
on?” I ask, partly whining. “I just don’t know what you want me to say.” He
won’t tell me to stop, so there’s no use in revolving around this topic like
some vomit-inducing carousel on a playground.

“No, I don’t want to move on,” he says roughly. “And I want
you to convince me that I shouldn’t be nervous whenever you run off with a guy
who looks like he could snap you in half.”

“If I can convince you, you’ll drop this subject for at
least the rest of the year?” I ask, already thinking of what I could say…or do.

“Deal.”

“Fine,” I reply. “Then you act like the horny college guy—”

“Not difficult.”

I roll my eyes. “And I’ll show you just how in control I am.”

He stares me down. “You do realize you’re naked.”

Oh…shit. I forgot.

“Which makes this even better,” he tells me.
“More realistic, right?”

Right.
But my heart has started to
thud in my chest, also reminding me that this is real, but maybe it’s not. We
are still kind of pretending. Good God. Alice in Wonderland had an easier
fucking time discerning reality than me.

I give him a nod, and before I can process anything else, Lo
reaches into the water and grabs my hurt foot. I don’t know where this is
going. Maybe he’s worried about my ankle again. He gently takes it in his hands
and then kisses the heel sweetly.

I’m so confused. How am I supposed to convince him I’m in
control if he’s just kissing my foot?

His eyes meet mine, and they don’t break away, not as he
leans in and puts his mouth around my toe.
Holy shit.
I can feel his tongue swirling around it, and then he starts sucking. I feel
like someone lit me on fire. The bath does not help smother the flames.

When he licks the arch of my foot, I pull it right out of
his hands.

His eyes rise accusingly. “You didn’t like that?” he asks,
knowing full well I did.

“I don’t let them suck my toes,” I say.

“Let’s see what you do then,” he challenges.

I take the bait and edge closer, glad that the bubbles hide
my body from view. He relaxes against the porcelain tub now, leaning back while
I straddle his waist. He tries to sit up and take charge again, and I slam my
hands against his chest. My mouth finds his neck and I start leaving a trail of
kisses while my hips move back and forth over him. The hardness in his pants
grows beneath me; I’m thankful he still wears his boxer-briefs even if I don’t
have any clothes on. I just need to remember this is to prove a point.
Nothing more
.