Addicted for Now (30 page)

The room is empty except for one blonde girl who has her
feet on the couch cushions. She bounces a little and slaps the graffiti image
of a window on the wall.

I’m just really, really glad no one is in this room. And
that all of her clothes are on.

Ryke nears my sister. “Daisy,” he says slowly.

She glances over her shoulder and smiles weakly. “Hi, Ryke.”
She points to the painted window. “Did you know this window doesn’t work?” She
tries to grab at the picture. “It won’t open.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

She plops on the couch and touches her head like she’s
spinning. “Well…” She swallows hard. “I learned that the blue stuff was
absinthe…so…I think I might be high.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah…” She blinks a couple times, trying to force open her
heavy eyes. “And that door…that door was not the exit.” A spike of fear
breaches her voice. She knows she’s not completely coherent and she was all
alone.

My fearless, daring sister is afraid.

Because this was not her choosing.

I’m about to go to her, but I stop. Ryke has already reached
the couch, and when her gaze trains on him fully, her face begins to break in
slow, liberating relief.

“Hey,” he says, gauging her state.

“Hey.” Her eyes fill with tears.

“Dais, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He brings her to her feet,
and her legs quake.

She nods repeatedly, trying to believe it herself.

Lo lets out a breath. “It’s weird,” he says softly. “I
thought Rose was going to be the one like this.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Terrified,” he clarifies, “of not being in control.”

Daisy is naturally wild, but I don’t think she was expecting
to be this drunk. I don’t think she wanted it, and that was a different kind of
unknown than jumping off a cliff or house or plane.

Ryke cups her face. “Hey, you’re safe, Dais.”

She nods again, biting her bottom lip to stop it from
trembling.

And then Ryke shifts uneasily. “You didn’t run into anyone
before you got here, did you?” Oh my God, he doesn’t think…no one touched her,
did they? I am going to throw up with worry.

She shakes her head, a couple tears falling. “I don’t know.”
She rubs her face before anymore tears slide down.

Ryke is more concerned than I’ve seen him in a while, and
that includes when Lo was puking on the side of the road.

Daisy stares at her hand as though it leads to a magical
portal. “I think…I think I’m high,” she repeats what has already been said.

“Fuck,” Ryke curses under his breath. He gently leads her to
where we stand. She looks up, and her face brightens a little when she sees me.
“Lily. Lo.”

I hug her instantly, and she clutches onto me, her hand
disappearing in my hair. “Whoa!” She shrieks and jerks backs into Ryke’s chest.

“What?” My eyes widen.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Daisy asks, panicked. “Ryke,
something’s wrong with her face.”

“You’re high,” he reminds her.

“Oh…yeah.”

“The sooner we get out of here the better,” Lo says.

Daisy breathes heavily. “I can’t feel my feet.”

“Great,” Lo says, a nervous hand combing through his hair.

“Anything else you can’t feel?” Ryke asks.

She runs her tongue slowly over her upper lip before saying,
“My face.”

Ryke rests a hand on Daisy’s spine. “Daisy, look at me.”

She can’t find the source of his voice. “Ryke?” He’s
standing right in front of her.

He pinches her chin and turns her face so she meets his
eyes. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

He lifts her in his arms—one on her back, the other underneath
her knees.

And she clutches his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers.
“I can’t find the exit…”

“I have you,” he assures her.

We navigate our way out of the club, and I constantly glance
back at Daisy to make sure she’s okay and not ill. She buries her face in
Ryke’s chest, and when we pass the threshold of the club, safe on the sidewalk
and out of the hazy atmosphere, we can talk more freely.

“Daisy,” Lo says. We head to the parking deck, and Lo has
his arm tight around my shoulders.

Her head rises to look at Lo. Her eyes are bloodshot, and
Ryke’s shirt is wet with her tears. She’s upset, and I wonder how much she’s
going to remember in the morning.

Probably nothing at all.

Maybe that’s good.

Lo hesitates to ask her something.

“What?” she murmurs.

He gives in. “What did you think you were drinking if you
didn’t know it was absinthe?”

“Curaçao.”

Ryke readjusts his hold on her, and she rests her cheek on
his arm. “How the hell do you know what that is?” he asks.

“A Brazilian model.” Her eyelids flutter a bit, hopefully
just out of sleep.

Ryke lets out a low breath. “He sounds like a winner.”

“
She
was pretty awesome,”
Daisy says sadly. And then more silent tears start streaming, her gaze faraway
as though she’s lost in a very bad trip.

Lo’s face twists in guilt and hurt. I squeeze his hand,
worried that he’s going to be possessed to drink now. Alcohol is not the answer
to fix his pain of not finding Daisy sooner, but I’m sure he’s fighting the
temptation.

Ryke looks between his brother and my sister, and then his
eyes falls to me, and I think he sees a girl who can possibly help his brother
rather than send him down that dark road.

I won’t let Lo drink.

I am here for him, just as he is for me. So I turn to Lo and
poke his arm. “Did you see Captain America?” I ask.

And his face lights up. He stares down at me as we walk, and
the guilt begins to wash away. “Yeah, who the fuck thinks he can fly?”

I smile. I love him. More than sex.

More than anything.

{ 31 }

LILY CALLOWAY

Seven days of abstinence, being surrounded by
drunken college students and booze, and we’ve survived. The private jet flies
us back to Philly. My panic and worry has subsided into a puddle. After
enduring Spring Break in Cancun, the biggest obstacles seem like little
hurdles.
 

Not everyone had a pleasant experience.

Melissa has officially broken up with Ryke. I secretly think
she’ll make a hate-shrine of him once we return home. Partly, I’m sure it’s
because he welched on his deal to give her mind-blowing sex. But last night at
the club was what really cemented her anti-Ryke status. She gave him the
classic ultimatum. Me or her. And he chose to protect my sister.

So she isolates herself to a corner chair, flipping through
a magazine and wearing earbuds, tuning out the rest of us. I suspect she’ll
call a taxi when we land, putting considerable distance between herself and
Ryke.

The source of her agitation sits by the window. Ryke plays poker
with Daisy. She woke up this morning remembering nothing from the club, and no
one had the heart to tell her what happened—that Ryke had to carry her home, that
she was crying. I think the truth would have shattered her spirit more than any
of us could bear.

And after last night, Lo and I have no say in separating
Ryke and Daisy without turning into hypocritical monsters. All we can do is
trust them at this point—the same way they’ve tried to trust us with our
addictions.

Rose is passed out on the bed in the back cabin, working off
her killer hangover. Connor slips in the room every so often to check on her,
but right now, he types away on his laptop on a plush seat and table. He’s
working on his thesis to graduate with honors.

His diligence reminds me that I have to start memorizing old
exam questions for my next Stats test. A task I have been avoiding. While
memorizing isn’t as hard as studying (or writing a thesis), it still takes a
great toll on my poor brain. Last exam, I thought it might explode from being
gorged with numbers.
 

I flip aimlessly through the channels on the television,
sprawled on the couch with Lo. My head rests on his chest and a slow
contentedness washes over me. I never thought I’d be able to feel so…still. He
tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and I feel his warm breath on my
forehead. “We made it,” he murmurs.

I smile as he plants a kiss on my temple. Tonight, we’ll be
home. Alone again. Free to have sex.

I don’t want Lo to think I’ve been obsessing over it, so I
don’t say a word about sex. Even though the thought has crossed my mind. I
fantasized a little in the shower this morning, but I tried really hard to just
wash and step out. No self-love. And that accomplishment feels sort of good,
but I know sex would have made me feel even better.

“You know what tonight means?”

He’s bringing it up?

“Lil.”

“Huh?” I turn my head, my eyes wide with anticipation. If he
instigates this conversation then I’ll gladly take part in it.

“Tonight,” he says again. His eyes stay on mine, never
leaving. I don’t break our gaze, filled with seven days of need and want and
tension. I refuse to stare at his lips or his abs or any other part of him. I
want Loren Hale. The man, the lover, the guy who fills me with happiness and
bliss. Not just the body.

His hand reaches out and cups my cheek, his thumb skimming
slowly over my lips. I wonder if he’s testing me.

I want to pass.

His thumb pulls gently on my bottom lip, and I let out a
short, ragged breath. His hand slides down to the back of my neck before he
whispers, “I’m going to fuck you.” Oh. God.

Now? No, that can’t be right.
 

He must sense my confusion because his lips quirk. “Tonight,
love.”

“Right.” I nod, flushing from the foolish presumption. I
don’t think it would go over well with everyone if he took me right here on the
couch. Even the image—of Lo on top of me, of his hardness pressing so deep
inside of me—steals the air right from my lungs.

He holds me tighter in his arms and lowers his head to
murmur dirty things in my ear. My arousal grows, and he must believe I have the
strength to last the whole plane ride and the drive to the house. So he’s
tempting me little by little. My peak tonight will be so freakin’ intense when
we finally do have sex—the walls will not be able to silence my screams.

I squirm a little, the tension a good kind of tension, the
kind where I know I can wait to release it. Months ago, I don’t think I could
have. But I’m learning restraint.

I flip through the channels while Lo holds me on his lap. I
try to find a movie that won’t put me to sleep or a television show that won’t
draw my attention back to Lo’s cock or my nefarious thoughts.

Lo rubs my shoulder, and his gaze drifts to his
half-brother. “Are you losing?” Lo asks, a smile at the idea. I perk up a
little with equal amusement.

Ryke stares at his cards with pinched brows. On the table is
a pile of hundred dollar bills, what looks like his Rolex and her hemp
bracelet.

“No,” he snaps.

Lo laughs under his breath. “Hey,
bro
, did you fail remedial math? That watch is worth five times
more than that bracelet.”

“Can the peanut gallery please shut the fuck up?” Ryke says.
“I’m trying to concentrate here.” He accidentally flashes his cards at Daisy.

She covers her eyes quickly. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Fuck,” he curses, shooting us another glare like we made
the fumble. He goes back to concentrating really hard. Brain power must hurt Ryke
as much as it does me.

Daisy puts her cards to her lips, trying not to smile too
hard. She glances at us. “There’s a diamond in my bracelet, by the way.”

“Well then, I take it back,” Lo says. “Ryke is only half the
idiot I thought he was.”

Ryke flips him off.

Daisy says, “You should fold.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not. I saw your cards, remember?”

“You said you didn’t see a fucking thing.”

“I lied.” Oh she is good. I can’t tell if she’s bluffing.
 

“Fuck it.” Ryke slides off a gold ring from his middle
finger and throws it in the pile. “That’s worth two grand.”

Daisy pales a little. She has to match that or fold and then
he’ll take what’s in the pot.

“Let me see…hold on a sec.” She searches in her nearby bag.

And Ryke looks a little worried. He thought she was going to
fold.

But her face falls. “I don’t have anything worth two
thousand,
but
…” She snatches her
journal and scribbles something on a piece of paper. She tosses that into the
pile.

“Lo,” Connor calls from the back of the plane, still staring
at his laptop. “Can you come here?”

“In a second,” Lo says, entertained, like me, on the poker
game.

“Now would be best.” Connor’s voice pitches from its usual
steady tone.

Lo sighs and slides out beneath me. “Catch me up when I come
back?”

I nod, and he kisses me tenderly on the lips. As he
retracts, he has that twinkle in his eye like
more later.

Yes.

 
When he leaves, I
prop myself on my knees to try and see the paper in the poker pile. “Read it
out loud,” I tell Ryke.

“She’s tossing in her two Ducati Superbikes.” His eyebrow
quirks. “I already have a motorcycle, Dais.”

“These are faster than your Honda.” Clearly they have talked
“motorcycle” before if she knows what sits outside his apartment.

“Wait,” I interject. Ryke said
her
two superbikes. That means she already has them. “When did you
get a motorcycle? And why would you buy two?”

“A client at a shoot bought them for set decoration, and he
gave them to me.”

“He just gave them to you?”

Ryke fingers the piece of paper. “That’s what I said.”

“It was a
thank you
for doing a good job
is all. It doesn’t happen often, but it did then. And
now I have two motorcycles begging to be ridden. I’ve only taken the red one
out on the road, so I put some miles on it.”

“You don’t have a motorcycle license yet,” he tells her
flatly.

“Yeah, I know. But in order to get a license, I have to
practice.”

He lets the paper go, and I see a sort of longing for those
bikes in his gaze. They must be really nice. “You do realize that these are a
lot more than my ring?”

“You don’t have to match me. I’m not trying to up the bid,
but it’s really all I have that you could want.”

I glance at the rear of the plane. Lo’s back faces me, but
he’s hunched over, his hand to his eyes. Something…something’s really wrong.
What happened? Is it his father? I go to stand, but Connor meets my gaze and
shakes his head, as though I should sit back down.

I do. He has some sort of power in his assuredness. It’s
like Jedi mind control.

But I want to go comfort Lo. My chest hurts just watching
the back of him. I bite my nails, catch myself and drop my hand.

“What the hell, let’s do it,” Ryke says.

I turn back to the poker game. Maybe it’ll keep my mind off
something horrible. But I’m so antsy that I start scratching my arm. I catch
myself doing that too.

“So the motorcycles are fair then?”

“Sure. Just don’t cry when I take them from you.”

She grins. “Okay. Let’s see your hand.”

He turns over two cards and compares them to the ones
flipped on the table.

My attention is split between the game and Lo, and I don’t
want to focus on him anymore. I’m about to go against Connor’s wishes and dart to
the back of the plane. In order to stop myself, I switch the television channels
to find a show that can preoccupy my mind.
 

“So you have two eights,” Daisy says, a smile to the words.

“You beat me, didn’t you?”

“Two jacks,” she says.

“You were dealt two fucking jacks?”

“You shuffled.”

He groans.

“You can have the ring back if you want.”

Boy Meets World?
No.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch?
No.
Soccer? Definitely not.

“No, you won it. It’s yours.”

“I’m going to feel weird if it’s a family heirloom or
something.” She tries to shove the ring into his hand. He holds them up in the
air.

“It’s from a jewelry store, and I was going to retire the
thing anyway.”

“Why?”

“It’s ugly.”

“So, you gave me an ugly piece of jewelry.”
 

“It’s worth two thousand fucking dollars.”

She smiles wryly. “Oh yeah.”

Ryke crumples the paper with the Ducati arrangement on it. He
lost those bikes, and there’s a bit of disappointment in his eyes from not
being able to snatch one. I wonder if they’re rare.

“How about…” Daisy folds the cash and stuffs it in her
wallet. “…I’ll let you keep the black Ducati if you teach me how to ride.”

Law & Order?
No.
X-Men
cartoon? Possibly. I hover
on this channel a little, watching Wolverine in his original yellow and blue
spandex.

Ryke taps the pen to the table. “I’m not going to teach you
how to kill yourself.”

“That’s dramatic.”

He glares. “Knowing you, you’d run the fucking bike off a
damn cliff for the hell of it.”

She spreads her arms. “Then teach me how to stay on the
road.”

He shakes his head. “No, if I show you how to ride, you’re
going to do something stupid on the interstate.”

She touches her chest. “I would never.”

He throws a hundred dollar bill at her face. And it flutters
into her lap before hitting her nose, not the effect he was looking for.

X-Men
is not
helping take my mind off Lo. I glance back at him again. Same hunched position.
Same sadness. What is going on? I sigh and switch channels quickly.

“I’m not killing you,” Ryke repeats.

Her smile fades. “Ryke,” she says, “I’m going to figure out
how to ride a motorcycle with or without you. I was just giving you the
opportunity to have one of the bikes. I know you want it.”

He stares off, deep in thought, and then he shakes his head
repeatedly, cringing. “Fuck.”

“What?”

He covers his face with his hand. “I can’t stop picturing
you flipping the bike over.”

“I haven’t fallen off yet,” she reminds him.

“Have you tried to do a wheelie?”

She stays quiet. “No,” she mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, not believing her one bit. “You’re
going to kill yourself.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And is it not processing in your head or you just don’t
give a fuck?”

She unfurls the crumpled piece of paper slowly. “I
think…that I’ll be okay,” she sidesteps his question with more confidence than
I could even possess. “But if you change your mind about the bike, here’s my
number.” She writes down her cell on the paper.

I wonder if a premium channel is playing a Marvel film.

Before I click into special programming, I land on a newsfeed.

I see the word
sex.

Huh.

It’s like a big flashing light in my eyes. I stay on the
channel in curiosity. Maybe some senator had a sex scandal.

“Lily, wait!” Lo shouts.

My heart stops as my mind tailspins, trying to digest the
program and Lo.
Wait, wait, wait.
Tears
brim. Lo was upset.

And that’s not a senator.

He was upset because of
this.

It’s me on the screen.

I shrink into a ball on the couch, my knees tucking to my
chest. My hands are fixed on my mouth, my eyes too wide to shut.

I think…I think…I don’t know what I think.

The news stations are congregated outside Penn, and the
bottom of the screen reads:
Fizzle
heiress has over fifty sexual partners and counting. Rumored sex addict.