Obsession (Addiction Duet Book 2)

by Vivian Wood

  Harper’s phone lit up with a text. Hey, whore, P wrote. Come out tonight! Industry party and I have a +1. Oodles of potential bosses for you to win over.

  An industry party. P had dragged her to some before. They were ridiculous affairs where half the partygoers donned leather assless chaps and not much else. Still, the leather, kink and adult industries had money, that was certain. She just didn’t want to get propositioned nonstop to be a “new leading lady” like last time.

  You have your read receipts on, bitch, P texted. I know you’re there.

  Sorry, I have to decline, she said. Not feeling good.

  It was partially true. Her stomach had been feeling iffy, but she’d written it off as stress and the sudden surge of sugar from the chocolate square. It had to have at least 150 calories, it was so rich. The last thing she needed was a night of boozing with P.

  Boo. Hit me up if you change your mind, grandma, P said.

  She couldn’t get the thought of that chocolate square out of her head. Not counting it—though of course she did—if she could make it to tomorrow morning, that would be two days of not eating. Add in the occasional squeeze of lemon to her water, that might make up twenty calories, tops.

  Harper opened her food log, a simple spreadsheet. She’d tried apps and sites before, but didn’t trust them to have the correct calorie and carb count. A lot of them didn’t even have her special diet foods like zero-calorie organic condiments, so she’d waste time manually entering the information. Why do their job for them?

  A spreadsheet was definitely better, and it didn’t come with those pop-up warnings that she was “not consuming adequate nutrition for her age, gender and height.” Fucking morons.

  Harper scanned the calorie log. So far this week, she was under 900 calories per day. How much, exactly, was that square? She could sneak out to the pantry to peek at the wrapper, but that ran the risk of seeing Sean.

  Instead, she Googled it and found the nutrition section on the official Cadbury site. With 240 calories per bar, how many squares total was it? Maybe six, that sounded right, but she’d better calculate for four just in case. That was sixty calories. Not nearly as bad as she’d thought, but not good either. It wasn’t worth the calorie currency, and it was loaded with sugar and carbs.

  Besides that goddamned chocolate, all the other foods that week had been in alignment with her standards. Half a turkey burger, one-quarter of a banana immediately before a cardio session, and those 70-calorie Boca burgers with 13 grams of protein each. All fuel for her workouts and helped to keep some muscle mass. She didn’t need breasts that sagged. A little muscle, just a smidge, helped.

  It wouldn’t take much to work off those 60 calories. Harper jumped up and pulled on her Lululemons and a tight, moisture-wicking tank top. The downstairs gym wasn’t particularly grand, but it had everything she needed.

  Harper quietly snuck out of her room and jammed her feet into her Nikes at the door. Sean emerged from his room like he’d been waiting for her. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Uh, the gym,” she said.

  “Your gym, the LA Fitness?” he asked.

  She considered lying to him. Or actually going there, but then remembered her gas was nearly on empty. “No, just downstairs,” she said.

  “Wait, I’ll go with you,” he said.

  She frowned as he closed the door to change. Since when are you so modest?

  When he reappeared, he was in blue jersey shorts and a faded university t-shirt. With a cap tucked onto his head, he looked like a college boy. One with impressive muscles.

  They took the stairs at her request. Harper had read that walking downhill and down flights of stairs were some of the best things you could do for bone mineral density. However, she felt his eyes on her ass the entire time and put an extra switch in her step.

  She immediately climbed onto the elliptical, thankful it was in the corner. Harper switched off the wall-mounted television, and the black screen became a mirror that let her spy on the gym space behind her.

  As she watched him warm up on the treadmill for ten minutes before switching to the free weights, her heart rate peaked. Not even the interval hill settings on the elliptical could fire her up so easily.

  In the reflective screen, she watched him recline the bench to a forty-five degree angle and start his chest presses. A sheen of sweat gathered at his neck and made the raven tattoo look alive. For a moment, she forgot about how disgusting she was, how weak she was for that chocolate, and tried to just focus on not soaking through her yoga pants at the sight of him.

  Sean sat up, whipped off his shirt, and switched to seated shoulder raises. Goddamn. Harper looked at the timer. Twenty-five minutes. Just five minutes more, and that would be enough—then she could race upstairs and take care of herself. If she could just get herself off with that image of Sean in her head, maybe it would straighten everything out.

  When the elliptical hit the thirty-minute mark, she turned it off. Sean appeared beside her like a shark circling its prey. “Want to get lunch?” he asked. He didn’t look at her face. Instead, he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was taking in her body. She blushed as his gaze skimmed across her crotch, and willed herself not to look and check if the violet pants had turned a deep purple at her center.

  “No,” she said brusquely and hopped off the machine. No way was he going to force more food down her throat.

  “Are you sure? You were going pretty hard on that machine.”

  She turned crimson at the words.

  “You need to feed your muscles after you work them,” he said.

  “Okay! Fine,” she said. Great. I just worked off that chocolate, and for what?

  They went up the stairs in silence, Harper skipping every other step for a little extra workout.

  “Meet you out here in twenty,” he called to her as she shut her bedroom door.

  Any horniness she’d harbored was long gone by the time she peeled off her workout clothes.

  Living together made hiding anorexia and bulimia a lot trickier. She was going to have to up her game if she was going to keep this secret buried.

  7

  Sean

  He picked at the raw, vegan roll while he watched the passersby. Sean knew he was lucky to have the little shop in the condo complex nestled on the first floor. He’d watched his ankle monitor carefully when he raced from the tenant entrance to the shop. It never even blipped. Although it was a tiny taste of freedom, it felt like a lot. Here, he could bring his laptop and work, get overpriced groceries, and even order from the tiny café. It usually sold out of everything save these inedible wraps, but he’d take what he could get.

  Sean couldn’t get over “lunch” yesterday with Harper. They’d discovered this café together, and he thought he’d seen disappointment in her face when she realized he could access the shop with his ankle bracelet.

  Harper had quickly picked up a packet of seaweed, some sashimi and a bottle of no-sugar protein milk. “That’s all?” he’d asked. “It’s kind of … a weird lunch.”

  “What’s so weird about it?” she’d snapped. “It’s Asian. A lot of people have sushi and seaweed.”

  He’d shrugged. “Just not what most people crave after a workout.”

  They’d taken the food back upstairs yesterday and eaten in near silence at the kitchen island. He’d watched her wrinkle her nose as she tipped the container of seaweed to one side.

  “What?” he’d asked as he’d dug into his own meal of packaged peanut butter sandwiches.

  “Look at all that oil,” she’d said. “And it’s full of sesame seeds.”

  “That’s what gives it any semblance of flavor at all.”

  “I don’t like it,” she’d said. Harper had pulled out some chopsticks from the plastic baggie and picked at the food like it was a science experiment.

  Now, Sean forced down the vegan wrap between generous dips in soy sauce. At least the smoothies they whipped up were on point. Thick
with extra scoops of whey powder for extra protein. This would be his one and only reprieve from the coldest co-living situation ever.

  “Sean?”

  He looked up and peered over his open laptop. It took him a minute to remember their names. “Eli, Manny, what are you guys doing here?” he asked.

  “Post-workout smoothies,” Eli said. “Man, we haven’t seen you since … well—”

  “Since the accident,” Sean said. “I know.” He was used to those looks and those long pauses. Nobody seemed to know how to handle talking about the night his friend had gone into a coma.

  “We heard Ashton’s better now,” Manny piped up. His round, brown face glistened with sweat. “I mean, kind of.”

  “What’s that mean?” Sean asked.

  Eli and Manny approached Sean’s table with low voices. They’d been tertiary party friends, but never went as hardcore as Sean and Ashton. Still, Sean had glimpses of some nights with the four of them at rooftop parties and sharing bottle service.

  “I mean … he’s already addicted again, man,” Manny said. “I don’t know, I shouldn’t talk. It’s just what people are saying.”

  “People? What people? Addicted to what?”

  “People like the guy we get our party favors from,” Eli said. “I mean, he wasn’t overt about it or anything. Just said something like, ‘Ashton said it was for all of you’ when we showed up to get a little molly.”

  “Yeah, then kind of gave us shit about girly party drugs. That’s what he called it.”

  “So, what’s Ashton on?” Sean asked. Why do you care?

  “I dunno, man. I heard it was like coke and some kind of scripts. You know, the usual LA shit. You haven’t heard any of this?” Eli asked.

  “No. Honestly, I’ve been kind of …” he trailed off, unsure how much to tell them. Or how much they knew. It’s not exactly smart to go around advertising that you punched a cop or were in jail.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Manny asked. He pointed to Sean’s ankle.

  Fuck. “Uh, an ankle monitor,” he said.

  “For real? What for? The whole Ashton thing? Man, that’s bullshit—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Not really. I uh, kind of got into an altercation a couple of weeks ago. With a cop.”

  “No shit!” Eli looked impressed. His eyes lit up. “What’d you do?”

  “Punched him,” Sean said with a shrug. “I’d been drinking, they showed up at my place, you know how it goes.”

  “Fucking A, man,” Eli said. He shook his head in wonder. “You’re my hero, you know that?”

  “Yeah. It’s not really awesome to be wearing this for the next however long,” Sean said.

  “So, wait. How are you here then?”

  “I live here.”

  “What?” Manny looked impressed. “In this building? Man, I saw this when I was looking for some new digs. It was crazy expensive even then. You’ve got some serious tricks up your sleeve, Sean.”

  “Something like that,” he said. “Hey, I gotta get going,” he said. He hoped, desperately, that they wouldn’t ask him where. It wasn’t like he had that many options.

  “Okay, cool,” Eli said. “You still got the same number? I’ll hit you up. Or just text me whenever your anklet gets off.”

  “Sounds good,” Sean said. “Later.”

  He grabbed his laptop, shoved it in his bag and made a beeline for the tenant entrance.

  As he took the elevator to the penthouse, he couldn’t help but reflect on everything that had happened. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been in that car with Ashton, but it felt like a different person. A different life.

  Those days of hardcore partying, of waking up with piles of naked women in his bed whose names he couldn’t remember, what the hell had he been doing? And Eli and Manny, what kind of assholes were impressed with an ankle monitor?

  He hung the bag on the bronze hooks as he stepped inside. Harper’s door was closed as usual, but he saw a dim light from below the door.

  Sean sighed as he filled a glass of water. Even now, in this apartment chosen by his brother with the monitor hugging his leg, he was so much closer to where he wanted to be than ever before. He had Joon-ki with his endless patience. Even though he’d started off as his sponsor, the relationship had quickly turned to genuine friendship. Joon-ki’s the kind of person you need in your life, he told himself as he downed the water. Eli and Manny weren’t the ones waiting for you at the jailhouse, were they?

  And Harper. God, he was lucky to have her. Not that you have her anymore, he reminded himself. But she was here. She’d given up her entire life to help him out. Even after everything she’d seen. Even after everything he’d put her through.

  Harper fulfilled every fantasy he’d ever had, and even those he hadn’t fully accepted until she came into his life. Sean had always imagined that if he found the right sub, the right sexual fit, he could compartmentalize. He could keep his sub at arm’s length, on call for his whims, and that would be it. Harper broke through those molds. She was the ultimate Madonna-whore, and he was infatuated with every facet of her.

  And then there was the job. Connor hadn’t spoken to him much about it since he’d bailed him out beyond a single whisper during move-in. “The job’s still yours if you want it.” Sean had looked at him with utter surprise. Who would keep a drunk on board, even if it was their brother?

  But Connor had just grinned, slapped Sean’s back and shook his head. “We’ll talk later,” he’d said.

  In fact, it was somewhat perfect timing. Connor was taking a hiatus from opening the business for paternity leave. As Sam got closer to her due date, reality set in harder. The last he’d heard, they both planned to take at least three months off post-baby, before making the move to California and opening up shop.

  A lot can happen in three months, Sean thought. Harper was proof of that. Three months ago, he’d been toiling away in the tattoo shop. Then one day, she’d just appeared, asking for that lower back snake tattoo with her idiotic friends.

  You never know when your life’s about to change. For better or worse. He hadn’t seen Harper coming, but he hadn’t seen that night with Ashton coming, either.

  “Jesus, Ashton,” he whispered to himself. How could he just go back to the same old lifestyle? Did he really think it was all on Sean, what had happened that night? “I wasn’t even driving,” Sean said. He’d said it so many times, but it was like nobody listened. He wasn’t the druggie, he hadn’t been snorting blow all night, he hadn’t had god knows how many pills. Why had it all come down on him?

  He felt bad for Ashton. For the first time, he felt compassion and empathy without a trace of guilt. No matter what anyone said, once Ashton was out of that coma all decisions were on him. It was proof for Sean he hadn’t been at fault that night.

  And now there was Harper. He looked to the closed door and the warm light that trickled onto the concrete floors. He had to make up with her, one way or another. Or at least try. Sean had never felt this way about anyone before.

  Besides, they lived together. As odd and unorthodox as the situation was, that had to be a sign. And it gave him an advantage, that closeness. How hard could it be?

  8

  Harper

  Harper wavered at the coffee table. In a peace offering gesture, she’d steeped tea for both of them. However, as she leaned over the steaming pot, it poured into her head and made the room spin.

  “Are you okay?” Sean asked. He reached forward from the couch to steady her.

  “I don’t—”

  That was the last thing she remembered before darkness fell over her. She had just enough sense and stamina to aim toward the soft sheepskin rug instead of the hard floors. Sean’s voice sounded far away as he called out for her.

  She felt pinching restraints against her forearms, which woke her up. “Sean?” she asked. “It’s too tight … ”

  “Your husband couldn’t come,” a strange female voice said. “Don’t worry, y
ou’ll be okay.”

  “Where … where am I?”

  “Right now you’re in an ambulance. We’re taking you to St. Vincent.” The woman was all business in her white uniform. Harper lifted her head to look at her arms, but was immediately, gently, pushed back down. “You’re okay, sweetie,” the woman said. “We just strapped you in for cautionary measures.”

  “What happened?” Harper asked.

  “Your husband said that you fainted.”

  “He’s not my husband.”

  “Okay, well your boyfriend or roommate or whoever called 9-1-1. He said you fainted and he couldn’t wake you up. Has this ever happened before?”

  Harper considered how much to tell them. Of course I’ve fainted before, I’m a model. Get hungry enough, and your body will just shut down temporarily. But she’d never been out for that long. She’d only fainted a few times, but every time she was almost immediately alert again. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

  “Okay. Have you had any head injuries lately? A concussion?”

  “No,” she said, happy to be blunt and honest.

  “Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?”

  “I don’t … I don’t know.”

  “Alright. Don’t worry, we’re almost there. We have your purse here, is your insurance information in there?”

  “It should be,” she said. Harper couldn’t bring herself to admit to this stranger that she’d let it lapse. Screw it, you’ve already racked up an ambulance bill. How much would that be, a thousand dollars?

  The familiar street names and lights looked alien from this reclined angle. “Why aren’t the sirens on?” she asked.

  “That’s only for emergencies.”

  At least you’re not an emergency. Maybe that would lower the bill a little. When the ambulance pulled up to the ER entrance, the driver raced around back to help. “I can walk,” Harper said, suddenly embarrassed at the attention. Even as patients limped into the ER, they stared openly at the scene she’d created.