Addicted for Now (19 page)

Ryke’s features harden. “You realize that if you went with
your volleyball team to Panama City, you’d be sleeping on top of each other in
some dingy motel room anyway.”

“I just qualified for the Olympics,” she reminds him. “I’m
pretty sure I can afford to rent a condo in Florida.”

Ryke tugs her into his arms and then whispers something soft
(and I imagine sexy) into her ear. She sighs exasperatedly, but her shoulders
relax.

Connor ushers Lo and me away from them and over to the totem
fountain. His voice lowers. “Rose is trying her best, but seriously, we can go
anywhere else. The Alps. Canada. Bermuda. We don’t have to stay here if it’s
going to make you both uncomfortable.”

Running away from this situation sounds enticing. I’ve never
even been to summer camp. And as a girl who likes her privacy and avoids social
interaction, I do not take pleasure in the idea of sleeping in
one
room with
five
other people for an entire week. Add in my sex addiction
status and everything becomes a big pile of
this
is going to blow.

Lo reaches out and takes my trembling hand in his. His gaze
tells me to be strong. “It’s up to you.”

I don’t want to run. I don’t want to put other people out
because of my stupid addiction. It’s time to work through this instead of
scampering away like a squirrel caught in traffic. “We should stay.”

“Are you sure?” Lo puts his hand on my neck and a breath
hitches in my lungs. Maybe we can have sex in the bathroom or…on the beach at
night. We can find somewhere to do it surely. It won’t be that bad. I just nod
over and over as I try to convince myself.

“Lily,” Connor cuts in, “where did you leave the luggage?”

“With the bellhop…” I turn to look at the place I stood.
Which would be
right here
by Mr.
Totem Fountain.
 

“What bellhop?”

“Um…the one I paid to watch it.” My heart sinks and my palms
go clammy.

“You mean the guy you paid to steal it.”

Oh no.

{ 18 }

LILY CALLOWAY

After two hours and a police report later, we come
to the conclusion that our bags are officially lost—or rather,
stolen
.

Lo, Ryke, Melissa and I
have to spend one of our vacation days at the U.S. Embassy to replace our passports
before we can return home. It’s not by luck that the only two people
responsible enough to keep their passports on them were Rose and Connor.

Losing our bags is just another headache, and I’ve
apologized so much that my throat has gone sore. Rose is mostly upset that she
no longer has all of her clothes and her products and everything that makes her
feel comfortable away from home. To make matters worse, our room doesn’t even
have a pull-out couch with a bed underneath.

It’s a normal sofa.

And to rectify the situation, Connor called room service to
bring up a cot. Ryke offered to sleep on it with Melissa on the couch. But she
wore the “I hate this” expression that she had in the lobby. She did not want
to be volunteered for the sofa and cot. She planned to cuddle with her
somewhat-boyfriend, and that’s unachievable if they’re on separate pieces of
furniture.

I can totally understand her frustration right now. Even
though I was lucky enough to snag a bed, Connor and Rose’s queen sits not even
five feet from ours. It’s not as if I can have a quickie without them noticing.
And Melissa would catch us too. The couch faces the beds, and Ryke somehow
wedged the cot between both.
 

It’s as if Ryke Meadows is sleeping at the foot of our
mattress. Such an unsettling thought.

The silver lining has to be Rose and Connor. During disaster
situations, they’re the two people you want in your squadron—able to think under
fire. They both went to the gift shop and bought essentials like toothpaste and
toothbrushes. For pajamas, Rose picked out extra-large neon shirts that say I
LOVE CANCUN.

When she showed me those, I immediately remembered how this
week was supposed to be a big step in her relationship with Connor. She asked
him to sleep in the same bed as her, and when we had the three-bedroom suite,
her plan didn’t seem as scary. But now that the sleeping arrangements have
altered drastically, and everyone will be in clear sight of their bed, she’s
more nervous. Tackling this level of their relationship in front of other
people is not something she had imagined.

Even in my twenties, I still find sleeping in a bed with a
boy a kind of intimate affair. Maybe because it usually coincides with sex for
me, but I think Rose can agree that the act is not so friendly.

Darkness blankets the room, but I can still distinguish the
outline of bodies. Rose and Connor lie underneath their maroon comforter,
facing one another but not touching. They were whispering softly before, but
their voices have quieted, leaving the room in an uncomfortable stillness.

I flip over and turn to Lo, his arm wrapped around my waist.

His eyes are already open, and his foot slides against the
bareness of my ankle. The silence envelops us and makes me hyperaware of every
small noise, my breathing too loud in the quiet. I’m sure Ryke believes all my
little movements coincide with me attempting to screw Lo.

But I just…can’t sleep.

Anxiety crawls under my skin like a bed bug. I start playing
scenarios in my head of being denied sex over and over. Where I can’t do
anything for an entire week. Where I can’t escape to a bedroom to disappear
from other people for five minutes. I’m surrounded. Suffocating.

“Lo,” I whisper, trying to be as silent as I can. But my
voice sounds like a megaphone in the quiet.

He tugs me closer, and his hands lower to my hips and then
lower. He cups my butt with one palm and rubs my back in a circular motion with
the other.

He tries to be quiet, even as he kisses my lips gently,
encouraging me to relax with each one. But his tender kisses do the opposite,
building need so deep inside of me. And a horrible part of my brain clouds the
reasonable side. I fling my leg over his waist, and then his lips immediately
depart from mine. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to touch them again.
 

After a couple minutes of Lo stroking my hair and watching
my breath begin to calm, my eyes grow heavy and I think I’m finally about to
drift to sleep.

And then my phone glows and vibrates on the pillow that I’ve
abandoned to be closer to Lo. I roll away from him, and he props an elbow on
the mattress, worried about me.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and cradle my phone in two panicky
hands. I swipe the lock on my cell, and I’m met with a brand new text.

Have fun sucking cock
in Cancun.
– Unknown

I blink a couple times, the brightness from the screen
hurting my eyes. Bile rises to my throat as I reread the words. I’m less
affected by the “sucking cock” part as I am by the “Cancun” bit.

He knows where I am…

Quickly, I shut it off and swing my legs off the bed. My
heart pounds in my chest, and I really just need to think for a second. I try
to navigate the room in the dark, but I end up tripping on the end of the cot
and fall to my knees.

“Fuck,” Ryke groans. “That was my foot.”

“Sor-ry.” My voice shakes and I pick myself back up,
stumbling to the bathroom. I feel a hand on the small of my back as soon as I
retreat inside.

Lo closes the door behind us, and I flip on the lights. He
squints from the blinding fluorescence, and I splash some water on my face. The
bright neon blue Cancun sweatshirt stops at my thighs and feels so hot on my
body right now.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laces his voice. I haven’t told him
about the texts. I meant to, but every time I’m about to mention it something
else comes up.
 

Tears prick my eyes, and I manage to hand him my phone
anyway. I turn back around to the mirror and the sink, not wanting to watch his
face as he reads them. This already feels so out of my control. Every breath
falls heavy against my chest. I just want to be unsaddled from this anxiety. Is
that at all possible?

Yes it is,
the bad
part of me says.

I’m not wearing any pants or shorts, and my hand just seems
to naturally direct itself to my panties. I slip my fingers below the hem while
I have an elbow planted on the counter, hunched over with my forehead buried in
my arm. Everything feels so, so, so wrong and out of my control and I just want
to feel good again.

“Lil,” Lo says behind me. He drops my phone, the cell
clattering to the floor. He instinctively grips my arm and presses his chest
hard against my back. “Shh, you’re okay, love.”

I want to listen to his voice, but I’m more focused on how
that
feels, my ass rubbed against him. He
removes my fingers from my underwear, and I let him bring both of my hands
underneath the warm water. He washes them quietly.

I sniff a little, emotions bubbling, things I really hoped I
wouldn’t feel at all on this trip. Guilt, shame—failure. He brushes the tears
from my cheeks, and I finally hear his voice.

“We’re going to find this guy. You don’t need to worry about
it, Lil.”

“He knows we’re in Cancun…” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Lo spins me around after he dries off my hands. He cups my
cheeks and tilts my head a little to meet his eyes. “No one is going to hurt
you. I promise.”

I love—more than anything—that he doesn’t bring up the fact
that I just touched myself. That I fucked up in a tiny immeasurable way. He
brushes it off, moves on, and makes me feel like I should too.

{ 19 }

LOREN HALE

“Just drink more water.”

That happens to be Ryke’s brilliant advice whenever I tell
him that I feel like a car ran over me. This morning is no different. I stand
on the patio, the crystal blue beaches in the horizon, but right below lies the
congested pool. Sloshed college students splash in the clear waters to the beat
of some techno rap remix. Amps sit beneath a white stretched canopy, shaded
from the dangerously hot sun. Sometimes a DJ arrives to fuel the crowd’s
drunkenness, but right now, the station stays vacant. The leathered skin DJ
downs tequila shots at the tiki bar with two girls in G-string bikinis.

It’s definitely Spring Break.

I chug more water, but it doesn’t cure the pounding headache
or the exhaustion that aches my muscles. By the time Lily and I went back to
bed, it was near three in the morning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the
text and calling my father. I replayed an entire conversation about what I would
ask him. How I would frame my words…just to check up on the progress of
everything.

“Are you okay?” Ryke asks.

If I say yes, he’ll know I’m lying. So I don’t know why he
asks me. “I’ve had hangovers that have felt better than this.” I stretch my arms
and legs, loosening up my joints.

Ryke sits on the patio chair and smears cream cheese on the
bagel that he ordered from room service. “But this type of pain isn’t
accompanied by horrible drunken memories. Consider yourself fucking lucky.”

“Yes, I’m feeling overwhelmingly lucky right now,” I retort
bitterly.

“We’ll find that guy,” Ryke tells me. I showed him the texts
this morning before Lily woke up. “And then I’m going to put my fist in his
fucking face.”

“HEY! THIRD FLOOR!!”

I lean an arm on the balcony railing and spot two American
girls in string bikinis, their breasts hardly contained. Like the locals,
they’ve tried to adopt the scarce bottom look, asses fully exposed. Both girls
hold brightly colored plastic cups, their hair braided across their shoulders.

Ryke stands and puts his forearms on the railing, taking in
the sight. He bites into his bagel nonchalantly, watching as the girl in the
green bikini waves us down.
 

“Come swim with us!!” she shouts with a smile.

“Remind me why I came here with a girl,” Ryke says with a
longing look. He checks out her ass, and the girl only grins wider.

“Because you didn’t want to be the fifth wheel.” I smile at
his distress.

A loud scream echoes from the room, and we both quickly peel
away from the balcony and rush inside. Without much room, I bump straight into
Connor’s back. He almost trips over the cot that blocks the hall, but he grabs
onto the dresser before falling.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to maneuver around the
fold-out bed.

Ryke is so annoyed that he kicks the entire thing. It slams
into the wall and somehow efficiently makes room for us to walk.

“Daisy is here,” Connor says.

“What?” Ryke goes rigid. Probably thinking the same as me—that
was a
happy
scream?
 

I frown and search the room with a hesitant gaze. But I only
spot Melissa on the couch, eating a bagel and typing on her cell phone. Her
lips are downturned, not having as much fun as she probably imagined.

“They’re in the bathroom,” Connor explains. “Rose wants to
put makeup on and use Daisy’s flatiron. She’s actually excited, but the luxury
of name-brand hair products will probably wear off when she realizes that her
sixteen-year-old sister just arrived to Cancun during
college
Spring Break.”

“So no one knew she was coming?” I ask.

Connor shakes his head. “She wanted to surprise her sisters.”

“She can’t stay,” Ryke says roughly. “I nearly died trying
to chaperone her sweet sixteen in Acapulco.”

I heard the story from Lily, who also chaperoned Daisy’s birthday.
Apparently the fearless Calloway jumped off a cliff into the ocean and Ryke
felt the need to jump in after her.

“I won’t let her jump off anything,” I tell him. “I happen
to be a damn good chaperone.”

He glares. “You couldn’t chaperone a fucking sloth. And that
requires remedial skills like sitting and watching.”

I shoot him a hard look. I honestly don’t care if Daisy
stays or not. One more person in an already crowded room won’t change anything.
“Daisy blends in. You won’t even notice she’s here.”

His brows harden and his jaw sets, equally as firm. “When’s
the last time you’ve fucking seen her?”

I want to say
last
week
, but I’m certain that’s wrong. I strain my mind. I guess I haven’t
seen her since I’ve been back from rehab. In fact, I don’t think I ran into her
at the Christmas Charity Gala last year. Granted, I didn’t stay long. The last
time I saw her must have been during the yacht trip to the Bahamas—when Lily
and I became a real couple. Jesus.

That was a long time ago.

“Daisy doesn’t blend,” Connor says.

“When have you seen her?” I snap accusingly. I don’t like
that these two guys have spent more time with my girlfriend’s sister than me.
I’ve been around the Calloways longer. I’ve known Daisy since she was a kid.
I’m supposed to be the interim “big brother” figure. Though, I’ve done a pretty
shitty job of it so far.

“I go to the Calloway Sunday luncheons with Rose,” Connor
tells me. Oh. Shit.

If I marry Lily, I am easily going to be the worst
son-in-law.

And then I pale at the idea of Connor and Rose.

Connor Cobalt cannot marry Lily’s sister. He’ll set
unattainable standards that I will never be able to meet.

Loud, happy squeals resound from the bathroom. I relax at
the mere thought that Lily is smiling. Last night she was near tears, and
anything that can change her mood is something I wholeheartedly approve of.
“I’m going to check on them,” I say.

Ryke takes a seat on the edge of the bed, scowling at the
carpet. He seems deep in thought. About what—I have no clue. Could be Daisy.
Could be Melissa. Could be me.

As I pass, I point at him, “You know what would make you
feel better?” I open my mouth to finish, but he cuts me off.

“I’m fine.” And then he crosses his arms.

“Sure.” I give him a once over. He’s probably pissed that
he’s stuck with Melissa. The girl wears impatience like it’s her job. “A beer.”

“A what?”

“A beer would make you feel better.”

He glares. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“You better go to the bathroom before I punch you, which
will
actually make me feel better.”

I mock gasp. “But I thought you were fine.”

He actually stands off the bed. I don’t badger him anymore. But
Christ, his annoyance made
me
feel
better. Sans beer and all. With a wide smile, I walk over to the bathroom. The
giggles grow in octave, and I rap my knuckles against the door.

“Who is it?” Rose calls from inside.

“Lo.” I glance over my shoulder. Ryke and Connor watch me in
curiosity by the balcony doors, not attempting to infiltrate the exclusive club
that the Calloway girls have. For the first time, I’m a little nervous that the
girls won’t invite me in. I’ve always been allowed to be with them. I’m Lily’s
other half.

But things have changed, I realize. Rose has a boyfriend. I
have a brother. Two more guys have been added to our dynamic, and I could
easily be grouped off with them.

So when the door swings open and Lily grabs my shirt,
pulling me inside, I can’t help but grin. I feel kind of fucking special. I
kiss her almost immediately and while my tongue slides into her mouth, she
pushes the door closed with her foot.

Rose clears her throat, and I break away, wrapping my arms
around Lily’s waist. She leans back into me with a deep breath, and I finally take
in the room. Hair products and makeup have exploded across the counter. Rose
sits on the bathtub ledge with a flatiron in one hand and a tube of lip gloss
in the other.

“Did Saks Fifth Avenue vomit in our bathroom?” I ask.

They all laugh, and Rose is even too happy to retort with
her usual ice. She looks like someone saved her from a deserted island. When
Lily untangles from my arms and kneels down over a huge suitcase, I see Daisy
for the first time.

She sits on the other side of the suitcase where clothes
upon clothes pile high, the stack threatening to topple over. Shopping bags are
smashed into available corners of the luggage.

“Hey Lo,” Daisy greets with a warm smile.

And as I truly look at her, my face slowly falls. All I can
manage to say is this, “You’re…blonde…” A million other thoughts cross my mind.
Most of them circulate around one thing: Me, warning Daisy to stay far away
from
every
guy on the fucking planet.
And I have a flash of having to beat the shit out of someone on this trip—just
to protect a girl who easily looks as old as her two sisters. She can fit in
with our group of college-aged kids. And she shouldn’t. She’s
sixteen
, despite being a high fashion
model.

Great. Now I know exactly why Ryke was scowling. He knew she
was going to be trouble. Not because of her personality. But because…she’s
beautiful and too young to be here.

Daisy runs her fingers through her insanely long hair. “The
modeling agency wanted it blonde.” She drops the strands, and they splay past
her breasts.
Fuck.
I hate that I’m
even looking there. I fix my gaze on Lily instead.

She tosses bathing suits from the shopping bag. She looks
like she’s digging to China through clothes. It’s kind of adorable.

“So what are you doing here, Dais?” I ask, my eyes staying
on Lily. It helps keep my mind off dragging Daisy to the nearest airport. I
just want to make sure she’s safe. Three years ago, I’m not sure I would have
even cared. Being sober definitely shifts my priorities.
 

“Well,” she says, leaning against the sink counter. “I
always miss out on Spring Break with Lily and Rose. Seeing as how this is
Rose’s last official college Spring Break, I thought I’d just kind of tag
along. But don’t worry, you won’t even know I’m here. Promise.”

I must be glaring because she smiles again for sincerity. I
believe her. That’s not what I’m worried about.

“What about high school?” I ask.

“The teachers gave me extensions on all of the assignments
like they do when I have a photo shoot out of the country.” Before I can
protest, she adds, “And Rose texted me last night about the stolen luggage, so
I had time to stop at the mall and pick up some clothes for everyone.” She
grabs a Macy’s shopping bag and hands it to me. “I picked out some swimsuits
for Connor, Ryke, and you. I didn’t think you guys would want to suffer through
shopping on your first day at the beach.”

“Yessss!” Lily cheers from the floor.

Everyone turns to see her raising a one-piece bathing suit
like it’s baby Simba.

“I thought you would like that,” Daisy says. “It’s
Billabong.”

“You need sun,” Rose says flatly. She claps her iron at
Lily. “Drop. The. Suit.”

Lily clutches the black one-piece to her chest, half the
suit multicolored with layers of diamond patterns, like a psychedelic Native
American print. “I have Daisy on my side,” Lily reminds her. “She’ll tackle
you.”

Daisy nods confidently. “I will.”

Rose is in such a good mood that she concedes. “Fine.” Her
eyes flicker to the one-piece that Lily covets. “It is cute in a beach bum,
‘I’m going surfing because I can’t read’ type of way.”

I dig through the Macy’s bag that Daisy gave me, and I
pause.

There are five swimsuits, all different bright neon colors
but the same style. A mankini.

“Uh…Daisy.” I raise my brows. I hold up the banana hammock
on the end of one finger.

Daisy tries not to smile too wide, but she’s enjoying this.
“The store clerk said those were the most popular.”

“For children maybe. I’m not sure my dick can fit in this.”
And I instantly wince at my choice of word. “I mean, my stuff.”

Lily is distracted enough that she drops her bathing suit,
her eyes gleaming between my crotch and the suit. Her imagination is just too
fucking vast. I cannot keep up.

Daisy looks at me like I’m the weird one. “It’s okay to
curse in front of me. I won’t tattle on you.” Yeah, she definitely makes me
feel stupid for trying
not
to warp
her young, fragile mind. But she’s a model. I can’t even begin to understand
what goes on after a photo shoot, during one, or before. I’m pretty sure they
talk about dicks and breasts and a whole lot of other shit that would be
inappropriate around easily influenced kids.

She’s not twelve, Lo
,
I remind myself. She’s sixteen. There is a difference. She’s in high school.
Hell, she’s probably had sex.

I stop myself. There are some things I just don’t want to
know.

I twirl the suit around and focus on Lily. I fling it at her
and she catches the mankini in her hands.

“Yeah,” she says, far away with her naughty thoughts that I definitely
wish I could hear. “I don’t think he’ll fit.” She flushes like she didn’t mean
to say that aloud. I just want to kiss her.

“Unnecessary information,” Rose says.

“Actually that was necessary,” I say. “If I can’t fit, then
I need another bathing suit.”

Daisy bends down and starts digging through the suitcase
beside Lily. While she rummages around, I remember that she shouldn’t be here
in the first place.
 

“So she’s staying?” I look between Rose and Lily, waiting
for one of them to be the mature older sister and set guidelines, rules,
whatever and send Daisy back home.

But the most responsible girl—maybe in the entire universe—gives
me the worst kind of reprimanding glare and says, “She can stay.”