Addicted for Now (18 page)

I repeat everything again, being vague about Lily’s
involvement and even going into more detail about the unknown number and how
Connor’s PI traced it to a disposable phone.

My father listens rather well, and by the time I finish I
can see him reeling over the piece of the puzzle that I’ve purposefully avoided.

“Unless Lily is the ring leader of a drug cartel, I highly
doubt it’s anything to land Fizzle in a financial crisis. Really, tabloids have
better things to do than gossip about heirs and heiresses. Look at you going to
rehab, you didn’t even make it in
The
Enquirer
.”

 
 
My addiction and hers are not proportionate.
Not by a longshot. I’m another notch on the rich-kid sob story who gets
addicted to alcohol or drugs. Lily, a girl, is addicted to sex. Even if it does
happen, people don’t talk about it, but they will this time.

“Let’s say people find her newsworthy, and not in a good
way. What then? Do you think you could find this guy?”

“I could try,” he says, eyes alight with interest. “What is
it?”

And I just let it out. “She’s a sex addict.”

I watch him frown and then quickly the disbelief turns into
humor. He laughs so hard that his fist subconsciously pounds the table, a
pepper shaker overturning and clinking on the iron. I guess it’s hard to
believe that the girl he knows, shy and a little awkward, would have that kind
of addiction.

“You got me. I’ll give you that,” he says, leaning back in
his chair with a grin.

My expression never falters. I can’t laugh with him or joke
about Lily’s problem. Not when I know how dangerous it has been. Before we were
together, I caught her surfing Craigslist for a hookup. There are levels to sex
addiction that scare the shit out of me.

My father watches my unwavering features, and his smile
fades. “You’re serious?”

“She’s addicted to sex. She has been since…I don’t know,
since she lost it.” I cringe,
never
wanting to talk to my father about this.

He rubs his mouth, connecting everything together. “Oh…” His
eyes grow. “Oh…
fuck
.” He glances at
my contract like he’s one second from snatching the paper and setting it on
fire.

I pocket the contract, and his eyes lift to mine. “We have a
deal,” I remind him.

“Sex addiction—are you even sure?” he asks. “That’s a
serious accusation, something that would need
proof
.”

“She’s seeing a sex therapist,” I tell him, “and not that
it’s any of your business, but she used to hire male prostitutes, so yeah—she
had a fucking problem.”

“Had? Past tense?”

“We’re working on it.”

He lets out a low laugh that chills my bones. “You’ve been
letting your girlfriend fuck other men?” He shakes his head, and I can
practically hear his thoughts:
that can’t
be my pussy of a son.
He stands to pour himself another drink. I usually
don’t notice how often he refills, but this has to be the third or fourth time—an
amount that would have most people sloshed. But he’s a functioning alcoholic.
Twenty-four-seven drunk. No one can really tell. It’s there in his hard eyes,
ready to lash out spitefully at any moment. He’s just riding that wave, the
edge to his life sandpapered down.
 

And I know if I had a sip, I’d be the same exact way. Maybe
it wouldn’t be so bad. I’m not aggressive, but sometimes I’m belligerent. I can
make sure that won’t happen. I’ll be calm.

I have the sudden urge to flip my glass and ask for alcohol.
I’ll get sick
, I remind myself. It’s
literally the only argument I can think of right now.

I try to focus on my father’s eyes and not the glass in his
hand. “I didn’t let her fuck anyone when we were together. We only started
dating seven months ago.” I explain quickly about our fake relationship,
cursing myself that everything has become so complicated that I have to reveal
this too.

My father hasn’t taken a seat yet. “You acted like you were
together just so I wouldn’t send you to a military academy?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You were ready to ship me off, weren’t you?”
I had fucked up and vandalized some guy’s house for messing with Lily. He
mailed her a dead rabbit after his girlfriend discovered that he fucked another
girl, and he blamed it on Lily, even though he was the cheating bastard.

I retaliated by dousing his door in pig’s blood. It was one
of my more creative efforts. And I was black-out drunk. I honestly remember
very little of the whole ordeal. But I can recall everything afterwards—how my
father grabbed me by the neck and yelled in my face.
What did you get out of this, Loren? Did it make you feel better? Do
you like being such a sick fuck?

My father was prepared to kick me out after I dragged his
name through the mud. I was the degenerate, the resident bad boy who would go
to another school district just to mess with someone. I was suspended. I was a
stupid kid who wanted to make Lily feel better—who wanted to change every
horrible fucking thing. But I just didn’t know how.

My father wanted to be proud of me, but I gave him nothing
to be proud of.

“Maybe I would have shipped you off,” he says, swishing his
ice in his whiskey. “I was mad as hell back then. Your relationship with her
was the only redeeming thing. So
maybe
.”

I nod. Yeah it’s why he let me stay. Maybe he would have
missed me too. But he’ll never admit that.

“So if you two weren’t really together, what the hell were
those noises coming from your room?”

I frown and then recognition hits me. I bury my face in my
hands, mortified. “You heard her?”

“You weren’t the only one living here,” he snaps, “and you
two were loud.” No.
She
was loud.
“It’s not as if I was trying to listen. Believe me.”

This is so fucked up. I rub the bridge of my nose, wanting
so badly to wake up.
Wake the fuck up
.

He finally settles in his chair. “Don’t tell me you let her
fuck someone else in your bed.”

I drop my hand and scowl. “Let’s get something straight—you’re
not allowed to talk about her
fucking
anyone. Not me, not someone else, not anyone. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes. “You just told me she’s a sex addict—”

“I don’t give a shit,” I say coldly. “She’s still my
girlfriend. She’s still Lily. And I’m not anywhere near comfortable talking
about this with you.”

“Maybe she’s just a slut,” my father says, clearly ignoring
me. “Ever think of that?

I could punch him. I think I could. But I don’t. I use my
words, just like he taught me. “I’m going to say this once, and then you will
never
ever
fucking call her that
again. Nor will we have this discussion.” I’m standing up now. “She has a
problem. She cries herself to sleep because she can’t stop thinking about it. I
hold her in my goddamn arms, trying to get her to quit. Sex is her drug.” I
point to my chest, my arms trembling. “I get it. I fucking get it, and you
should too if you think for a goddamn minute how much you rely on
that.
”
I motion to his drink and he stiffens. “And if anyone is the slut,
it’s
you
.” He paraded enough women in
and out of the house that I could have easily obtained some complex. My chest
rises and falls heavily as I finish speaking.

His voice softens considerably. “That still doesn’t explain
what I heard in your bedroom. If you two weren’t together—”

I grimace. He’s still on that? “I used to let her masturbate
in my bed.”

His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak. I cut him
off. “No way,” I snap. “You don’t get to ask any questions about that. Our
relationship—even fucked up—is between us. It has nothing to do with this
situation.” That’s a lie, but I’m not discussing that shit with my father, no
matter if our own relationship is complicated too.
 

He keeps his lips tight now and then sips from his glass.

“If the tabloids found out—” I start, but it’s his turn to
interrupt me.

“Lily would be in the tabloids, being called names that you
don’t like.”

“What about Fizzle?”

“It would suffer, and because you’re linked with her, so
would Hale Co.” He rises from his chair. “Let’s find the bastard.”

PART TWO

“We all have secrets; the ones we keep, and the ones that are
kept from us.”

 
– Peter Parker, The Amazing
Spider-Man

{ 17 }

LILY CALLOWAY

I hate flying.

Not like Superman flying. But plane flying—trapped in a
metal tube in the air.

Add in my fear of heights and the prospect of being in a small,
confined space for a long period of time, and I begin to freak out a
little.
 
I need the option to dash into a
room and burrow underneath the covers, to hide from everyone and escape to my
sanctuary.

Privacy, that’s my bread and butter (besides porn).

And now that I’m on the road to recovery, I can’t even join
the mile-high club. I should already be in the prestigious sex-on-flight clan.
Being denied for the umpteenth time aggravates me and cranks up my already
intolerable sexual frustration.

Lo doesn’t fare much better. He used to love flying because
of the mini-bottles of vodka. Now he just looks like someone stole his favorite
toy.

The only upside is that we’re flying somewhere fun for
Spring Break. Initially, I didn’t want to go anywhere. Traveling to a party
locale during the wildest week of the year seemed like a disaster zone for a
recovering alcoholic, but Lo basically forced me to concede. He said he wants
to test himself, and there’s no better place than Cancun—with Ryke tagging
along. Because we all know his half-brother would stand in front of a bus
before letting Lo drink.

I would too. But I haven’t been put in that kind of
situation yet.

My father’s private jet resembles a presidential living room
more than a commercial plane. I lounge on a long plush couch with blue pillows.
A television is mounted on the wall and plays a newer thriller film with
Nicholas Cage.

Lo is sprawled out long-ways, his head in my lap as I give
him a mediocre head massage. He reads a comic on his tablet, flipping the pages
with his finger every so often.

Over on leather recliners, Rose slides her rook across a
chess board. Connor leans forward with his fist to his lips in contemplation
before he makes a move with his measly black pawn. The little alcove is nice
for four people. And there’s another set of chairs and a table top to our
right.

My eyes drift from the movie to the bathroom, hidden behind
the same wall that the television occupies. “She’s been in there a long time,”
I tell Lo in a soft voice. I am jealous of everyone in that bathroom. I just
want to drag Lo by the arm and let him do whatever he wants to me in there.
Preferably something that makes my back arch.

Lo expands a panel of his comic, his attention absorbed by
persecuted mutants. I stop rubbing his temples, and then he follows my gaze.
“Maybe she has to actually use the bathroom.”

“True.” An insensible part of me thought that tall, athletic
volleyball players are immune to natural bodily functions.

I pause and glance over my shoulder, expecting to find Ryke
to the right set of chairs. But that alcove is empty, only a couple bottles of
water and splayed magazines. My eyes widen in realization. I gasp. “Ryke is
missing.” I point to the bathroom door. “They’re screwing.”

Lo sits up, rising off my lap. I realize I am done giving
him a terrible head massage. I’m surprised he hasn’t fired me before.

“They are dating,” Lo reminds me, powering off his tablet
and tossing it on the cushion.

Ryke brought his “somewhat” girlfriend on vacation with us.
In truth, Ryke doesn’t have real girlfriends. He just “dates” which is a loose
term for seeing someone and having sex for a short period of time. At least,
that’s how he explained it to me when Melissa stood at the airport with her
rolling suitcase in tow.

Really, if I think about it, that’s what Lo used to do
before we became an official couple.

I squint at the bathroom door, wondering when my X-ray
vision will kick in.

It doesn’t.

“Why do I have the sudden urge to put my ear to that door?”
My eyes grow big. Did I just say that out loud?

“You’re staying on the couch.” Lo tugs me onto his lap and
kisses me lightly on the neck. I smile into our next kiss, his mouth meeting
mine, but he draws back before I can deepen it. Damn.

My eyes flash back to the bathroom. “Can we? Later?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, love.” He places a small
kiss on the edge of my lips.

The bathroom door swings open, and I watch as Melissa struts
out first, combing her fingers through her shoulder-length, honey blonde hair.
I spring from Lo’s arms and rush to the bathroom as though I have to pee.

I don’t.

I just really want to catch Ryke red-handed. I think both Lo
and I can agree that it’s overly fun trying to make his brother uncomfortable.
I have yet to be successful. But one day, I’ll figure out what makes Ryke
Meadows squirm.

When I look through the door frame, I find Ryke at the sink,
washing his hands. He doesn’t even recoil in surprise.

“You are so busted,” I say. “I just saw Melissa leaving
here.” I waggle my eyebrows for further effect, but he stays unblinking.
Catching someone in an incriminating deed is not as fun when they don’t act
like they’ve been caught. My mission: to make Ryke flinch for once.

“So?” He dries his hands on a cotton towel.

Being a cop can’t be nearly this annoying.

He says, “I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of time in a plane’s
bathroom with someone else.” I have tried. None have been successful. But
that’s not the point…right?

“We have a no-sex policy on this flight.”

“For you.” He gives me a stern look, and then his eyes float
over my shoulder.

“You’re making her paranoid,” Lo says from the couch. “Wait
until we land.”

My cheeks redden. Maybe confronting Ryke wasn’t the smartest
idea. But at least Melissa has stuck earbuds in and flips through a magazine,
settling in her chair among the empty alcove.

I shake my head at the guys. “No, it’s fine. Ryke, you can
fuck Melissa all you want. Do it in the bathroom. On the couch, well not
on
the couch, I’m sitting there. The
point is…” I take a breath. “Don’t let me stop you.” Because really, it’s my
only distraction right now. Or maybe I just really want to hear it or
something.
No, I don’t.
Okay, I miss
porn way too much.

Ryke stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder if he
senses my longing for porn too. Then Lo says, “Unless you want to start being
in her fantasies.”

Ryke grimaces. “It won’t happen again.”

He slides out of the bathroom, and I return to the couch,
and slap Lo lightly on the arm. There’s no way that Ryke would ever fill my
fantasies, desperate or not.

Only when my gaze drifts, do I realize that the couch is
lower than the chairs that Ryke, Melissa, Connor, and Rose sit on. I can
clearly see their legs underneath the table. And while Connor’s knees knock with
Rose’s, her ankles are modestly crossed.

Melissa and Ryke are a different story. It’s like the angels
on my left side and the devils on the right. I should watch Connor and Rose’s
chess tournament. Connor has won two games and Rose has won three. By Rose’s
pursed lips, I can tell she’s losing the current round.

But I can’t deny the call of the bad.

Melissa may think she’s stealthy, but her hand runs up
Ryke’s leg and towards the inside of his thigh. I even catch her unzipping his
jeans. They sit side by side, and I have a worse view of Ryke, but his hands
aren’t on the table either, if you know what I mean.

A sudden burst of jealousy infiltrates me. Because she can
have sex on the plane. Twice. Or three times. She can even grope her somewhat-boyfriend,
and he can run the bases with her.

“Try not to think about it,” Lo says. “And that probably
starts with not looking at it.”

I turn to meet him, and he gives me a sympathetic smile. But
he looks just as tweaked as me. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“I’d feel better if I knew you were okay.”

“When we land do you think we can…?”

He doesn’t answer me. He just pulls me to his chest and
strokes the back of my head, his fingers lost in my hair. He finds the remote
and turns the volume up on the television. I take his silence as an answer
anyway.

I’ll have to wait.

***

The gold ornate lobby has dark green floors and
large Mayan statutes along the tiled walls. Decked out with four pools, more
than a dozen restaurants, and even more clubs, the resort is much fancier than
I feel.

Melissa waits with me by a totem fountain while the others
join the line to the front desks, hoping to check us into our rooms in a
reasonable hour. Ryke’s somewhat-girlfriend runs her fingers through her blonde
hair again. She wears no makeup, which reminds me a little of my youngest
sister. Daisy can pull off that fresh-faced look but still be pretty enough to
pose for a magazine. Melissa looks prepared for the cover of
Sports Illustrated
—perfectly
toned arms and clear complexion. Beauty
and brawn.

I’m still trying to nail down the beauty bit, and with my
chicken legs, I don’t think I’d stand a chance to achieve the brawn part.

“Do you have a brush?” she asks. “My hair always tangles in
the humidity.” She flashes an outgoing smile, and I suddenly feel badly for
never instigating a single conversation before now.

Lo and I mostly kept to ourselves on the plane. I did cheer
on Rose at one point—that was before she lost her chess tournament and knocked
over Connor’s king in frustration. Connor tried not to gloat, but even the
appearance of a smile irked Rose. She called a Scrabble rematch, which she won.
So in Harry Potter’s epic final words, “All was well.”

 
But even in a tight,
cramped space, Lo and I blocked out the rest of the world and whispered to
ourselves. We have to work on that. So from this moment on, I make it my goal
to be a better friend…or person…whatever you call someone who needs to work on
her social skills.

And that starts with a brush—that I don’t have. I cringe.
“Sorry, I didn’t pack one.” Has she seen my hair? “I’m sure Rose does.”

Melissa shrugs. “I can wait.” She snaps a blue band off her
wrist and ties her hair into a small bun at the base of her neck.

“So…how did you meet Ryke?”

“At the gym. One of the machines wasn’t working, and he
helped me.”

“Sounds like Ryke,” I say with a nod. He’s a fixer. “Did he
punch the machine into submission too?”

She frowns, and I immediately regret my words. Oh my God.
I’m an idiot. “I mean, because he’s kind of aggressive…” I cringe again. What
is wrong with me? “Not in like a woman-hitting way. I don’t think he’d ever do
that. He just, you know, punches first and asks questions later.”
Lily, shut up!

She looks mildly freaked out—which isn’t too bad. She could
be horrified to the point of darting away. “We haven’t been going out that
long, but I’ve never seen him hit anyone.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” I lie, trying to find an out from this
situation. She frowns again, because I’m obviously not making any sense. But
it’s better that she now finds me insane and not Ryke.

I have seen Ryke throw a punch. First to protect me when
some guy didn’t understand the word
no
,
and then to protect Daisy at an out of control New Year’s Eve party. In fact, the
only time I’ve ever seen him be aggressive is when women are treated badly. But
I don’t tell Melissa this. I’ve already dug myself a big enough hole.

“What’s going on over there?” Melissa nods to the front
desk. A long line spindles across the lobby, the place jam-packed from the
Spring Break festivities. Three hotel staff in green collared shirts left their
posts to talk to our group, and Rose’s hands are moving wildly in the air.

Something is definitely wrong.

I pay one of the bellhops to watch our luggage, and Melissa and
I make our way to the front desk, weaving in and out of angry stares that think
we’re cutting the line.

“Sorry,” I apologize a couple times.

I don’t dare near Rose, who is having some sort of verbal
battle with the hotel staff, Connor right by her side with a narrowed gaze.
Instead, I slide next to Lo and Ryke who stand off to the side. “What’s going
on?” I ask Lo.

He runs his hands through his hair like he’s fixing it, but
I think he’s more anxious than anything. “There’s a problem with the room,” he says
casually. “It should be resolved soon, or so they say.”

“What kind of problem?” Melissa asks.

“They double booked,” Ryke says, leaning an elbow on the counter.

“Is there another room?” I ask.

“That’s what Connor and Rose are trying to figure out.”

Just as he says this, Rose pulls out her phone and walks off
towards the exit. I frown. Where the hell is she going?

Connor slips past hoards of sweating tourists who just want
their room keys, and he stops in front of us. He looks about ten times less
stressed than my sister. “So bad news. The three-bedroom suite that we had
booked is unavailable due to scheduling issues. Rose is going to call other
resorts, but the probability of getting a last-minute suite during college
Spring Break is slim to none. This resort, however, does have a room available.
Two queens and a pull-out, so it sleeps six.”

His eyes flicker to Lo and me as he delivers the last line.

The bottom of my stomach drops down and down and down.

I can’t have sex.

I hate, hate, hate that I’m most worried about
that
. I hate that Connor and probably my
sister are concerned about my sexual cravings. I don’t want to make this a big
deal.

 
“That’s fine,” I say
quickly, adding an assured nod. Even though I fiddle with my fingers and focus
on
not
biting my nails.

Melissa’s lip twitches. I bet that she’s peeved by the
change of plans. She says, “Well this sucks.” Yep, I knew it.