Addicted for Now (15 page)

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LILY CALLOWAY

The hardest part about being in a committed
relationship with Lo isn’t losing the sex with strangers. It’s losing that
moment where I become someone else. Where the shy, insecure Lily turns into a
confident vixen. Where I’m completely and utterly in control and as my conquest
looks at me with a heavy-lidded gaze, he knows it too. I was someone else
during those moments. Someone better maybe.

The longer I’m monogamous, the more I forget what being
that
confident, brazen Lily feels like.
It’s like parting with a best friend for so long that their face becomes a
blurry haze. I don’t miss her enough to cheat on Lo. I just wonder if I’ll ever
see her again.

But I know who I never wanted to meet.

Sadie.

Connor’s evil, orange tabby cat glares at me from across his
apartment living room. All those grumpy kitties on Tumblr are not just
photoshopped. Sadie is proof that felines can contort their face with such
hot-tempered malice.

Lo and I sit on Connor’s dark green leather sofa, his
apartment decorated like a bachelor pad. Instead of red Solo cups lined on the
bar, he has an array of expensive liquors locked away in a glass cabinet. Lo
glanced at them once or twice, and Connor ushered us to a seat where our back
is turned to the alcohol. That pissed Lo off a little. He doesn’t want to be
babied.

Afternoon light streams through windows that fill the entire
back wall and the adjacent one. From floor to ceiling, Connor has a perfect
view of Philly’s old brick architecture. Like most expensive bachelor pads,
Connor has art décor that makes very little sense to me.

There’s just a porcelain ball stationed where a chair should
be. I can’t tell if it’s an empty flower pot or a vase. There’s no hole for
lilies—okay that came out wrong. But really, it seems silly to have a ball thing
just taking up space. I guess that’s why they call it nonfunctional art.
 

The floors are concrete, but in the living area, he has a
nice cream rug that Sadie apparently loves. Because she has yet to step off it.
She struts in front of the couch, back and forth, her white tail wagging
mischievously.

I have my eye on you
,
I say with a narrowed gaze.

Despite feeling violated by Sadie, I am relatively hopeful
today. I want everything resolved with this blackmailer, evil-texter, or
whatever the hell he is. I want to move on and focus on getting healthy.

The bell rings, and Connor opens the door. “You’re late,” he
says flatly, in a Connor Cobalt,
I
dislike you
tone that very rarely presents itself.

Ryke’s jaw hardens. “I’m the captain of the track team,” he
says. “I can’t leave practice first.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to do anything first,” Connor
retorts.

Lo and I exchange hesitation. Something tells me that Connor
is not Ryke Meadows’ number one fan. And normally, I’d be suspicious that maybe
Connor knows Ryke is behind all of this—that Lo’s brother is the one we should
be wary of. But their little heated looks began around the time Ryke dissed
Connor in public. It wasn’t one sole event. It was many things. Like Ryke
calling Connor an ass kisser in front of his track buddies. Ryke can say those
things in private, in front of us, and Connor just shrugs, but hurting his reputation
in public crossed a line.

Ryke looks about ready to push through the doorway.

But Connor leads him in before Lo’s brother becomes
physical. Connor sits on a buttoned leatherette chair across from us, but Ryke
plops right next to Lo on the couch. And I’m reminded that my sister isn’t here
to be on my team. Her schedule is too hectic to make the drive to Philly, so
unfortunately, I’ll have to carry on without her.

I didn’t realize how much I relied on her support until I
felt that uncomfortable dread when she told me she couldn’t come.

Sadie circles the coffee table, but her harsh gaze never
deters from me. “Connor,” I say, “I think your cat hates me.”

Connor picks her up in his arms. “She doesn’t hate you.”

Oh good. That’s one less enemy.

“She just hates women.”

Or maybe not.

Ryke lets out an incensed snort. “I thought Rose was making
that fucking shit up.”

“When you string together curse words, I go deaf a little in
my right ear,” Connor tells him. “What was that?”

Lo is trying really hard not to laugh, and I bite my lip to
suppress a smile. It’s too easy to pick on Ryke, especially since the guy takes
very little to heart.

Ryke flips him off, mutters more swear words under his
breath, and slouches in his chair. “Let’s get on with this.”

Connor strokes Sadie, and even though she purrs, she still
wears a mask of evilness—directed right at me.

“I have bad news,” Connor says, confirming that he is indeed
the cat-stroking-villain in this scenario. “My PI tracked down the phone
number. It was a disposable, so we have no way of knowing the identity of the
person on the other line.”

Lo groans into his hands, hunching forward with his elbows
on his legs.

I go the opposite route, leaning back into the couch like a
tidal wave just struck my chest. What do we do now? “So should I prepare to be
in the tabloids soon?” My voice comes out way too soft. Even the thought sends
my heart into a dive pattern. I can’t think about it without tears brimming.
The shame that I’ll bring to my family…

Lo straightens up and laces his fingers with mine. “There
has to be something else we can do.”

“Sure,” Connor says. “But I need both of you to open up
about things you haven’t been willing to share. I need your top suspects that
you believe could be threatening you. I can give those to my investigator, and
he’ll check them out.”

“That can’t be too hard,” Ryke says.

Lo glares at the rug. Yeah, it took me hours just to go
through our yearbook and circle faces—only to decide that over half of the
student body hated Lo. And that was just prep school. We haven’t even factored
college
into the equation.

“Seriously?” Ryke’s brows rise. “How many fucking people did
you piss off, Lo?”

“I wasn’t well liked,” he retorts. “We all can’t be the
captain of sports teams.”

Ryke rolls his eyes.

“You can’t be that surprised,” I chime in. “You met us when
Lo was being cornered by four guys wanting to beat his ass.”

“People get upset over the stupidest things,” Lo says,
defending himself.

Connor tilts his head. “Didn’t you steal a bottle of alcohol
that cost forty grand?”

“I didn’t steal,” Lo says. “I drank from the bottle and set
it back. And it was my birthday.”

“How does your birthday strengthen your argument?” Connor
asks. “Unless they knew it was your birthday. Did they?” He knows they didn’t.

Lo glares. “Shut the fuck up.” His words come out lightly
and they actually make Connor smile.

“What about those guys at the Halloween party?” I ask Ryke.
“Do you think they could still be mad at Lo?”
 

“Yeah, what’s the name of the guy who was really pissed?” Lo
asks.

“Matt,” Ryke says. We all stay silent, recalling the moment
where Matt ordered his cousins to chase Connor’s limousine down the street as
we sped away. He’s also on the track team with Ryke. “I don’t know if he’s
still angry or not.”

“How could you not know?” Lo snaps. “You’re the captain. You
see them almost every day. Fuck, you
just
ran little loops with them.”

Connor tries really hard not to grin, but if he wanted to
hide his smile fully, I’m pretty sure he could. He’s definitely gloating in
Ryke’s misery. I kind of like it.

“You run
little loops
with
me,” Ryke retorts, dodging the accusation.

“Only at your request. If it was up to me, I’d be running
down the street, alone.” But there are bars along the sidewalk, and Ryke
worries that he’ll be tempted to run
inside
.

Lo’s narrowed gaze pierces Ryke, and both speak through
their hard features. Lo is egging Ryke to say the worst things to him—to bring
up his addiction. But Ryke is not willing to go there.

“Look,” Ryke says, “the guys on the team aren’t going to
tell me if they despise my half-brother who just spent three months in rehab.”

Oh. He has a point.

“Should I put him on the list?” Connor asks, scrolling
through his electronic tablet. Sadie tries to sit on it, not liking his
attention divided, but he moves the tablet to the armrest and she curls back onto
his lap.

Lo pries his gaze from Ryke. “Yeah, sure.” I think he wants
someone to blame him again for that mistake—to yell and make him feel that
pain, as though he deserves the assault. His father would do just that. But Lo
needs to realize that’s not the right way to deal with things. He shouldn’t be
punished every day for something that happened months ago. No one died. No one
got hurt.

“Let’s start with the people who have the biggest grudge
against both of you and go from there,” Connor advises.

Lo is staring at the floor again, his mind wandering in a
thousand different places. I’m the one who poured over the yearbook, so I know
better than him at this point.
 

“Aaron Wells,” I start out. Both Ryke and Lo stiffen. They
did something to Aaron, clearly, but I try not to think about it. “And maybe
Mason Nix…” After the parking lot fiasco, I think there’s a lot more resentment
there than we realized.

“I have to give my PI motives to put with the names. So
you’re going to have to give me some details.”

Lo sighs heavily. And then he turns to me, his hand rising
on my thigh. It’s a little distracting, and I can tell the movement is a
subconscious reflex. He doesn’t realize how fixated I am on the way his fingers
press into my jeans, only a moment’s breath from the spot between my legs.

“You want to tell the stories?” Lo asks me. “I can if you’re
not up to it.” But by his sharp jaw, I can tell he wants to share about as much
as I do.

“How about equal opportunity,” I say. “I call Wells.”

Lo has lost a little color in his cheeks. He nods again, and
now I regret my choice.

“Never mind, I can talk about Mason—”

“No you take Wells.”

I pause. “Okay,” I say in a small voice. I feel bad. Like I
could ooze into the couch and not come back out.

“Aaron Wells,” Connor says, his eyes lighting up in
recognition of the name. “He attended the Fizzle event in January?”

“Yep,” I say. Without Lo to accompany me, my mother called
Aaron Wells to be my escort (not the prostitute kind). She didn’t know that he
hated Lo or that he was hell-bent on making my time at the party miserable.

Lo turns to stone by my side, no longer huggable. He’s upset
that he wasn’t there for me, but I would never want him to leave rehab on my
account.

I begin the story as best I can.

Aaron Wells. Tall, brown-haired (almost blond), blue-eyed
god of the Dalton Academy lacrosse team. He bled blue and shit gold. Even in
ninth grade, he was held in high-esteem, a natural athlete that would grace our
school with its first Lacrosse State Championship. Guys wanted to be him and
girls wanted to fuck him. But Lo was the one guy who didn’t care about being
swathed in Aaron’s circle of popularity.
 

In ninth grade, Lo and I denied our problems to ourselves
and each other. Even after we had sex together for the first time, we just
pretended it never happened. We were fourteen—naïve and lost and trying to make
ourselves feel better.

I remember the day after really well. I stuffed my books
into my locker, and Lo’s nearness caused my chest to tighten. That part was
normal. He would wait for me with a strong arm against the dark blue locker, loosening
the collar of his tie on his white button-down. He hated that prep school
uniform, even if he looked sexy in it. He would linger by my side, wanting to
walk me to class. He reeked of bourbon, and he wore sunglasses indoors to help
with his tender eyes. Back then, before college, he felt more of the effects
from a night of binging.

“Did you do that poetry assignment for Lit?” Lo asked.

“What?” My eyes widened. I must have forgotten. Not
uncommon. Though, the teachers usually took pity on me. After being graced with
Rose’s supreme brain, they thought I was the stupid Calloway girl.

“It’s fine, I have you covered,” Lo said. I narrowed my eyes
at him, skeptical. No way. “Roses are red. Violets are blue…”
Just great. I’m going to fail
. “…and if
a jock asks, don’t let him fuck you.” He finished off the poem as his eyes
wandered ahead. A group of lacrosse players passed us, Aaron leading the pack.

“Advice in a poem?” I said with a smile. “You’re outdoing
yourself, Loren Hale.” My amusement was short lived though. Aaron detached from
his pack and approached us. Lo stiffened and I tried to ignore the guy as he
towered over me.

“You must be Loren,” Aaron said. “We haven’t met, but I’ve
heard about you.”

“It’s Lo,” he clarified.

Aaron barely blinked and continued talking as if Lo hadn’t
uttered a word. “I’m hosting a pre-season bash at my place.”

“That’s cute,” Lo said with a wry smile, “not many people
throw parties to celebrate spring.”

“The
lacrosse
season,”
Aaron deadpanned, eyes cold.

“The meteorologists are inventing new seasons now? That’s
impressive.”

I should have seen that coming, considering Lo wasn’t in the
best mood. Not after we had sex and ignored the event. Not after he guzzled
straight whiskey from his flask on the ride here.

Aaron had kept his composure. “You can bring your girlfriend
if you’d like.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lo said.

At the admittance, I turned around from my locker, books in
my arms. Aaron sized me up, not crudely, and when his eyes landed on mine, he
looked at me with such intense pity. Like he felt bad that I had to endure Lo.