Addicted for Now (21 page)

“Is she good in bed?” Daisy asks him.

My eyes widen to saucers.

“Why, you want to fuck her?” he asks.

“Sure why not,” Daisy says. I can barely tell she’s sarcastic,
and Lo grinds his teeth a little. Ryke, however, finds it way too amusing.

“Then have at her, Daisy. She’s all yours.”

“You would just ditch your girlfriend like that,” Daisy says
with the cluck of her tongue.

“She’s not my girlfriend. I’m just passing through.”

“Wow,” Daisy says flatly. “I hope for her sake she knows
that.”

“She does, but I may have promised her a week of
mind-blowing sex in exchange for ditching her volleyball team.” No wonder she’s
so grabby.

“You better find a way to make good on your end of the
deal,” Daisy says, her gaze past our chairs. I turn my head and spot Melissa
coming over with two drinks.

“Why is that?” Ryke asks.

“If that’s how pissed off she looks now, imagine what she’ll
look like on the seventh day of abstinence.” For some reason, I only see my
distressed, manic face staring back at me. “I’m glad I’m not you,” Daisy tells
him with a laugh.
 

He gives her a bitter smile and then puts a hand on her
head, submerging her underneath the water. She splashes underneath, trying to
surface.

Lo shakes his head at him.

“What?” he says.

“You’re walking a thin fucking line.”

“I always am, little brother.” And then he releases Daisy so
she can come up for air. When her head breaches the surface, she spits a
mouthful of water right at Ryke’s face.

He splashes her back, and underneath the water, Daisy must
hook her ankle to his because he almost slips backward. Instead, he grabs ahold
of her so he stays above the water.

“Hey,” Melissa says. Little umbrellas are plucked into both
of the piña coladas. She scrutinizes Ryke and Daisy, the way Ryke is basically
hugging her in the water, but it’s really accidental. Or so I keep telling
myself. It makes me feel better about the situation.

Ryke drifts from Daisy, and she swims to the ledge where we
sit. They both look completely innocent again, as though no flirting just
occurred. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I’m just the pervert, thinking with my
downstairs far too much.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Daisy holds out her hand for the drink.

“It’s a virgin daiquiri,” Melissa says, passing her the
white slushy-like mixture.
 

“Oh.” Daisy holds the clear plastic cup. “Why is that?”

“They didn’t understand me when I told them my order. We’re
in a foreign country.” I can’t tell if this is a ploy to keep Daisy sober, but
I don’t see what she would have to gain from that.

Daisy hikes her body out of the water and stands from the
ledge, sopping wet. She’s dripping water onto the foot of my lounge chair, and
she glances at Ryke. “How do you say in Spanish,
no virgin drinks?
”

Melissa frowns. “How would he know?”

“He’s fluent,” Daisy says. She discovered that during her
sweet sixteen in Acapulco. Ryke has a proficiency in Spanish due to his prep
school upbringing.

He climbs out of the pool and grabs the cup from her. “I’ll
order you a fucking drink. Wait here.” He leaves, and whatever Melissa was
expecting to happen, this was not it. She pout-glares, which is a scary
combination.

While I love that I’m not the only one who’s going to be
sexually frustrated this week, Melissa is like a storm waiting to break. And with
Lo being surrounded by never-ending drinks and the threat of the blackmailer
still lingering, this trip teeters on the brink of chaos.

My only hope is that Rose and Connor, the two level-headed
people of our group, can keep us afloat. My gaze hits the pool again. They’re
still bickering.

God, help us.

{ 22 }

LILY CALLOWAY

Sleep hates addicts. At least that’s my theory on
the matter. While everyone else is well rested and off to explore Mexico, Lo
and I have to drag ourselves out of bed.

My frozen muscles barely even stir when a burst of water
douses me in the lukewarm shower. I raise my half-asleep arms to scrub the
shampoo in my hair, and I find myself leaning a hip against the coldness of the
tiled wall for extra support.

Being late sleepers means having the room all to ourselves.
We haven’t had sex (and aren’t planning to) but the privacy is nice for a
little while.

As I rinse the shampoo, the bathroom door creaks open. Even
though I know Lo is the only one still at the hotel, I cling to the tiled wall,
wondering if the fog will magically hide my naked body.

I spot Lo through the shower glass door, not enough mist to
conceal me. And if I can see him, surely he can see
me.
I even catch a glimpse of his sharp cheekbones and devilish smile,
his eyes flitting up to mine for a brief moment. Then he turns to the sink.

My mind switches into imagination mode. Thinking about all
the ways he can do me.

“Morning, love,” he says, watching me through the mirror. He
combs two hands through his disheveled brown hair.

That’s so not helping.

“You could have knocked,” I tell him as he pulls off his
T-shirt. His muscles ripple down his chest, and he even has those defined
ridges that lead towards his cock. “Or, you know, announced your entrance like
they do on
Downton
Abbey
.”

He steps out of his drawstring pants, now completely naked.
He walks towards the glass shower door and stops. And then he knocks on it.

I have petrified by the tiled wall.

“It’s Loren Hale,” he says, a smile spreading across his lips.
“May I come in?”

“We can’t…” I hesitate.
No.
I do not want to finish that sentence.

“We can’t shower together?” he says in disbelief. “Says
who?”
No one. Definitely not me.

“You may enter, but I have to warn you the water is being
stubborn. There are moments where it’d rather be cold despite my demands.”

He opens the glass door.
Don’t
look, Lily.
My eyes plummet against command, and once I’m staring, I can’t
stop. Sensitive-filled places pulse as I imagine him inside of me. His fingers
press against my chin, lifting my gaze.

“If I have to, I’ll take a shower with my bathing suit on,”
he tells me.

I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay. I won’t look.” But
even as I say the words, I impulsively glance down.
Shit.
The magnetic force pulls and my eyes betray me for a split
second. I look back up, and I throw my hands in the air. “That’s the last time!
I swear!”

His lips rise in amusement before he sidesteps to grab the
washcloth and soap off the ledge. I now have a perfect view of his butt.

“Same goes for my ass,” he says with a small laugh, his back
still turned to me. The lightness and humor in his voice relaxes my shoulders.

“I like your ass,” I tell him as he rotates to face me, a
washcloth in hand.

“I know you do,” he murmurs. He laces his fingers with mine
and draws me to his body. My thigh brushes his cock, and a breath catches in my
throat. “You’re okay, Lil,” he whispers. That’s not what it feels like.

He runs the cloth along my arms and in between my fingers,
soaping my skin. I am hypnotized by the slow, lingering movements. And then the
cloth dips to my belly and rises to my breasts, circling each one with
meticulous care. I stagger forward a little and grip onto his arm.

“Easy,” he breathes. “Think of this as a test.”

“Showering with you?” My eyes widen.

“Showering with me,” he confirms with a nod, “without sex at
the end. I’ll wash you and then you can wash me, okay?”

I don’t know what comes over me. I just…don’t think this is
real. So I reach out and pinch his arm.

He flinches. “What the hell?” And he retracts his hands.
No, come back!

“I-I was making sure this wasn’t a dream,” I explain. “I’m
sorry!” I lean down and plant two soft kisses on the reddened skin.

His chest rises and falls with full-bellied laughs. “You’re
supposed to pinch yourself, dummy,” he tells me.

Oh, right. I squeeze the skin above my elbow. Ouch, that
does
hurt.

He draws me back to his chest, and his hands slowly skim my
arms, lighting every part of me. His eyes flicker to mine. “Am I real enough
for you?”

Dear God, yes.

He talks easily as he returns to soaping my body, as though
he didn’t just blanket me with Loren Hale seduction. “Today we can do touristy
stuff alone together. Whatever you want.”

It’s our first vacation where Lo is sober and I’m in
recovery. Our last trip by ourselves, we spent the weekend in Prague. We never
even made it to a museum or Prague Castle. Lo wouldn’t let me wander the
streets alone, so our time was spent in the hotel bar where I could pick up a
guy and he could drink without us dying in the process. Now the memory just
seems sad. We missed out on all the good aspects of traveling.

“We should see the Mayan ruins,” I say, excitement bubbling
in my stomach. “Oh and turtles! I want to see turtles.”

“Sounds like a date.”

A date
. A date in
a foreign country with my boyfriend. A date in foreign country with my
sober
boyfriend. It sounds amazing.

And then the washcloth descends and all my thoughts whoosh
right from brain. I hold onto
Lo’s
arms as he rubs
the cloth on the spot between my legs. It aches for a deeper touch, for my body
to burst with that familiar euphoria. But I remember something: This. Is. A.
Test.

I plan to pass it. No matter how hard it is. I focus on his
eyes and not his hands. “Hey boyfriend,” I say easily, testing out the word. I
rarely say it aloud to his face. Maybe it will distract me.

“Hey girlfriend,” he replies. “You okay?” His brows rise, a
little teasingly. I think he understands my physical state better than I do at
times.

The washcloth ascends, leaving my tender flesh, and I nod in
reply, words escaping my head. The water beads our skin and caresses us in its
warmth, provoking me to take him every which way. But I won’t. My sex life is
in his hands. I won’t jump him. I won’t hike a leg around his waist. I’m
restraining myself. Willingly.

I feel a little good with the fact.

And then the shower chooses to have a manic episode, the
water spurting in ice-cold sheets.

Holy shit!

I shriek and spider
Lo’s
body to
avoid the chilly spray.
So much for
not
jumping him.

His feet slide against the wet tiles, and he almost falls.
But he catches his balance and rights himself, his arms wrapping around my hips
to keep me from toppling.

I just realize that my arms are flung around his shoulders
and my leg is most definitely midway up his waist. The position is not so
innocent. But any arousal is smothered by Lo. He is laughing his ass off, his
voice echoing in the boxed shower.

He cannot stop. Seriously.

“It’s not funny. This shower is a demon,” I tell him.

He tries to hide his smile, but fails. “If you’re scared of
a little cold water, how are you going to pet snapping turtles?”

“I’m not petting
snapping
turtles,” I say, lowering my leg to the floor. “I only want to pet the cute
ones.”

He passes me a bottle of shampoo from the ledge. “Oh, so the
ugly ones don’t get any love from you? They’re left out all alone, cold,
un-petted?”

I frown deeply. He’s right. I should pet all of them. Even
the scary ones. “Okay, I’ll pet the snapping turtles, but only if someone holds
their muzzle.” Before I run my fingers through his hair, I soap his abs with
the cloth and follow the taut ridges across his body, being methodical but not
too focused on where this could lead—which is
nowhere
. I tune into our conversation instead.

“I don’t think turtles have muzzles,” he says with another
laugh.

“Snouts?” I ask, a little confused now. What
do
you call the nose of a turtle?

“That’s a pig.” We debate the existence of a turtle’s nose
and the difference between Mayan and Aztec ruins while we finishing washing,
and then we both step out of the shower and dry off. After a long moment, I
realize that I’m okay. That I’m more excited about spending the day with him
than I am about having sex.

I don’t know if I’ll feel this way tomorrow.

But today…it feels nice.

{ 23 }

LOREN HALE

My Nike soles sink into the sand, digging hard
into the uneven surface as I run. The sun beats against my bare chest, and I
hope that I sprayed enough lotion to avoid a nasty burn.

Even in the boiling heat, Ryke sprints beside me, keeping up
with my lengthy stride. I try to run every morning. It helps with my cravings,
especially in Cancun. I can’t take one step out of our hotel room without
seeing a sloshed college student or a bottle of beer. Seventeen bars are on
this resort alone. I knew coming here would test me to the limit, but I never
anticipated how I would feel.

Yesterday with Lily was literally the only day that alcohol
never crossed my mind. Not once. We snorkeled with the turtles and climbed to
the top of a Mayan ruin. She never asked me for sex, and I never craved a drop
of whiskey. But that was one good day out of many shitty ones. I want to
improve our statistics, to lessen all the bad days until they’re nothing but a
dream.

I push harder, the humid air squeezing my lungs. Sweat beads
my skin, and the pain that ripples through my muscles feels better than my
nagging thoughts. So I keep driving farther. I keep bending my knees and
pumping forward. And Ryke never breaks from my side.

I know that if I didn’t care so much about Lily—or have Ryke
here to glare at me—I would have already broken my sobriety. And then Connor
makes me want to be a better person—however lame that sounds.
 

But today we all split up.

Lily is shopping with Rose and Connor, which gives her a
break from obsessing over having sex. Surrounding ourselves with other people
is still new for us, and kind of exhausting, but we’re making it work.

I glance over my shoulder, and we slow down to a jog almost
immediately. Melissa and Daisy are barely a speck in the distance. They were
the only two that wanted to join us on a run. Unsurprising, since Lily looks
like the Big Bad Wolf huffing and puffing after a minute sprint, and I’ve never
seen Rose wear sneakers in her life. Connor would have come along, but he
didn’t want to leave Rose and Lily shopping alone in Mexico.

Our feet slow to a complete stop. “Connor’s investigator
still hasn’t come up with anything new?” Ryke asks, wiping his forehead with
the back of his hand, shirtless like me.
 

“Connor says he’s looking into it as quickly as he can.” And
if his contacts don’t pan out, hopefully my father has better luck. But I
wouldn’t tell Ryke that I’m talking to Jonathan Hale. Nothing good can come
from that.

“Let’s say, worst case scenario, it gets leaked that Lily is
a sex addict,” Ryke says, uncapping his water bottle as we wait for the girls
to catch up to us. “What happens then?”

My stomach churns at the thought. “I don’t even want to
entertain the idea.” All I picture is Lily sobbing and unable to be consoled.
Watching her in that kind of gutted agony would kill me, but if we do go down
that road, I can’t resort to booze. For once, I have to be there for her. She’s
my best fucking friend. And she deserves the type of guy who can make her feel
better, not worse.

If I can’t do that, then we really shouldn’t be together.

Ryke studies me. “You still taking Antabuse?”

I give him a bitter smile. “One pill a day keeps the demons
at bay.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Yes, Dad.” I stretch my muscles, pulling my arm over my
chest, trying to relieve this built-up pressure. If the pill bottle wasn’t in
my pocket—if I had left it in my suitcase with the other stolen luggage—I would
have more temptations to drink. I was lucky for once.

I also hate talking about that medication. Talking makes me
think and thinking makes me want to fucking drink.

“I wish you would have told me about Mason Nix sooner,” Ryke
admits, changing the subject once again, this time to one of our top suspects.
Ryke is good at that—talking and revolving around different topics. I find myself
zoning into something, being immersed by his roundabout discussions like a
whirlpool.

“Why is that?”

“We share the fucking gym at Penn. I see him almost every
day. If I knew what he did, I wouldn’t have…tolerated him.”

“So what does you not tolerating him look like?” I ask with
furrowed brows. I picture him ramming his fist into Mason Nix’s conceited face.
Granted, I already did that.

“We may have had words,” Ryke says.

I still imagine a fist fight.

“You know,” I mutter, staring at my water bottle, “for the longest
time after our freshman year, I kept thinking that I was in the wrong. I can’t
even tell you how many tires I slit. And Lily told me that she didn’t expect
what happened that night, but she didn’t mind it either.” I shake my head,
thinking back to our first year at Penn. We both went to a frat party, the
entire soccer team in attendance. Most of it is still a giant blur. But I do
remember hearing guys near the kitchen discussing some girl on the second
floor. Someone named Mason convinced a freshman to screw each guy on the soccer
team.

One after the other.

I didn’t have to be told it was her. I just knew.

I grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam, pulled out my serrated
hunting knife, and paced manically in the parking lot. I lost it on any car
with a fucking soccer sticker, badge, identification, whatever. They would have
to find another ride home.

That morning, she was dazed and hung over, but somehow I
pulled the truth from her. Mason Nix asked if she wanted to have the night of
her life, and she agreed as long as no one watched. As long as each guy came in
and went out like a factory line.

It was one of her fantasies, she told me. And it came true,
but I saw how much shame gnawed on her after that. She shrunk into herself and
waited for me to stare at her like she was gross and dirty. But I just wanted
to hold her and tell her that she was worth so much more than whatever she was
searching for.

But I was a selfish prick back then. I wasn’t willing to
change our dynamic just yet. I thought if she overcame her addiction, then
she’d make me overcome mine.

And now that’s all I want for us.

“I remember how you explained it,” Ryke says. “But fuck
that, Lo. I didn’t know Lily before you two became a couple, but it doesn’t
matter if she wanted it or not. No self-respecting man would offer something
like that to a girl, especially one that’s drunk. You had every right to be
upset and go after the asshole.”

“Yeah…maybe.” But now Mason Nix could be the one terrorizing
Lily.

Melissa bounds over in a steady jog, not winded in the
least. She’s closer and closer to us, but Daisy doesn’t run beside her. My
stomach knots, and I scan the beach quickly. I couldn’t have already lost
Lily’s sister. It’s barely been an hour.

“Ryke…” I slap his arm and gesture to Melissa who’s alone.

Ryke searches the beach with a hard gaze, on alert. But we
don’t show panic. We both look like we’re about ready to enter a UFC match,
muscles flexing, spine straightening. Must be a Hale thing.

He taps my shoulder and points to a spot by the shore where
the waves lap into the sand. I can barely make out the head of a tall blonde,
chatting up two local guys who carry strings of jewelry looped on their arms.

Shit.

Before I can even move a foot, Ryke has taken off. I follow
close behind, hoping he doesn’t antagonize the locals. That image that I had of
protecting Daisy—yeah, I thought the fight would be between drunk, stupid guys.
But these two probably wouldn’t mind whipping out a knife if things turn
heated. I don’t want to be thrown in jail in a foreign country without a
fucking passport.

Luckily, Ryke slows once we reach them, his eyes dead-set on
Daisy, not the guys.

I join them as Daisy holds up two chain necklaces with
silver Mayan coins on the ends. “These are supposedly handmade. I can’t tell
though.” She shrugs. “I think I’m going to take Pablo’s word for it.”

My gaze drifts to the two Mexican guys, standing passively
back with their backpacks and strings of jewelry, skin dark and weathered from
walking up and down the beach. They look harmless, and I have a suspicion that
Daisy approached them first. She’s a little wilder than I remember. Crazy,
even. I’ve missed so much since rehab—or maybe she’s always been like this and
I was just too drunk to really notice.

“You can’t run off and talk to strangers,” I tell her. It
sounds stupid and parental—nothing I would normally say. When did I become a
person who lectures someone else on responsibility? Fuck—I’m turning into Rose.

“We’re not strangers,” Daisy says quickly. “That’s Pablo
and…” She squints in thought. “Ernesto…I think.”

The bigger set guy nods at this and holds out a plastic bag
to Daisy, filled with more pendants and stones. “Onyx. Rubies. Sapphires.”

I narrow my gaze. “Do you have a gold brick in their too?”

Ryke catches Daisy’s wrist and tugs her to his side. She
shrugs off Ryke’s hold, and her eyes flicker behind her. “Melissa is glaring at
you.”

Ryke doesn’t even check over his shoulder. “Don’t worry
about her.” Melissa is about twenty feet away, arms crossed over her chest,
waiting for Ryke to rejoin her. But he’s abandoned his girlfriend to help me with
this situation. I won’t admit it out loud, but I’m pretty thankful.

“I’m just trying not to get you in trouble,” Daisy tells
him.
 

“I can take care of myself.” His eyes bore into hers.

I cut in, “Daisy, let’s go.”

“Wait,” she says, raising her hand to show off the two
necklaces. “Which one do you think Lily would like?” And now I feel like an
ass. She just wanted to buy her sister jewelry.

Lily doesn’t wear necklaces often, and the fact that I know
this over Daisy makes me feel kind of good. But an uneasiness spins my
stomach—because it means that our isolation has strained her relationship with
her sisters. And I have to remind myself that this trip is about rebuilding
everything we’ve ignored.

I think Lil would like anything that came from Daisy. I
inspect both necklaces, one with a black rope and the other with a chain.

Daisy brushes her finger along the rope necklace. “This
pendant has a guy sticking out his tongue. I thought she’d get a kick out of
it.”

“Definitely,” I say.

Daisy spins back to Ernesto and hands him the chain
necklace. “Just this one.” She holds up the rope necklace to buy. “How much?”

“Two-hundred-and-sixty,” he says with a thick accent.
 

She gapes. “What?”

“Pesos. Pesos. Pesos,” he says quickly, afraid of losing a
sale. “Twenty dollars. Two-sixty pesos.”

“Ohhh.” Daisy’s eyes light up. She laughs like she didn’t
know any better, but she spent all morning helping Lily understand the
peso-dollar conversion before she went shopping. Daisy said that she became an
expert at currency calculations in Europe during shoots and Fashion Week.

“Daisy,” I warn. And here I thought Ryke was going to cause
trouble.

Ryke cocks his head at me, brows raised like
I told you.
Yeah, he told me she jumped
off a cliff, I didn’t think that equated to conning a local on the beach.

Daisy waves me off. “One minute, sweetie.”

Ryke stiffens and I just frown. What the hell is going on?

“I only have…” She pulls out a wad of cash from her bikini
top like it’s nothing, like Ernesto’s eyes haven’t just zoned in on her
breasts. She counts the bills one by one, really fucking slowly. “…Two-hundred
pesos.” Her big green eyes rise innocently to Ernesto, but he’s still looking
at her tits.

I step forward, irritated beyond belief. “Hey.” I snap my
fingers at him. “Two-hundred pesos?”

Ernesto finally looks to me and begins to shake his head.

“Oh no,” Daisy says quickly. She wraps her arm around my
waist and presses her head against my chest. I immobilize. “We’re on our
honeymoon, you see, and I promised my sister I’d bring her back something.
She’d just love this. I know it. Could you make an exception just this once,
please?”

My eyes widen at Ryke, but he’s just glaring, and when I
mean glaring, I mean he has the whole Frankenstein’s monster routine down. Hard
set jaw, clenched fists, taut shoulders, and tight lips. He looks about ready
for a fight. But I’m not sure who he wants to pummel.

 
“No. Two-sixty,”
Ernesto repeats.

Daisy’s shoulders slacken and she turns to me, her hands on
my chest. “Do you have any pesos on you, sweetie?”

“No, so maybe we should cut our losses,
dear
.”

“Give me your money,” Ryke says, holding out his hand to
her.

Her face lights up and she thankfully steps away and returns
to Ryke, out of earshot of the locals. I follow close behind. “Are you going to
haggle in Spanish?” she asks him, sliding the bills into his palm.

“Sure,” he says. “First give me the rest of your cash.”

“It’s all in your hand.”

“It’s in your boobs.”

I scowl, not wanting him to say anything about her boobs.
Ever
. She’s Daisy Calloway.

Daisy looks down at her breasts with a frown, and I turn my grimace
to the sky. I’m blaming this situation on you, God. For allowing little sisters
to have breasts.

“I don’t see anything in there.”

“I would check myself, but I’m here with a girl,” Ryke says
dryly.

Okay. No. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s speaking my
fucking mind. “There are actually a million other fucking reasons you
shouldn’t,” I say coldly, my blood turning to ice.

Daisy just ignores me and says, “Melissa left three minutes
ago when you refused to go to her side. What’s your excuse now?”

She challenges him.

And he’s the type of guy willing to take it.

I stand between them before Ryke can answer her. I raise my
eyebrows at Ryke in disbelief. I seriously thought I was dreaming what happened
at the pool. It wasn’t fucking anything, I told myself. He was being nice,
prodding her to eat a taco, even though he should have passed it to her rather
than let her bite it from his hand. He shouldn’t have rubbed sauce off her
chin. He shouldn’t have joked with her about fucking Melissa. There are so many
things he should
not
do. But I let
myself believe that he’s just an idiot. He doesn’t understand boundaries. That
is Ryke’s biggest problem.