[Addicted 01.0] Addicted to You

by Krista Ritchie

  “How did you learn about me anyway?” he asks, intrigued. “Referral?”

  “You were listed as a tutor on the economics departmental website. I just kind of went for the coolest name. It was between you and Henry Everclear.” No girls, or else they would have been my first choice.

  “So you went for Connor Cobalt,” he smiles in amusement. “Connor isn’t my real first name. It’s Richard.”

  “Oh.” My arms heat. “I guess that’s not as cool.” I could smack my head at my reply, wishing for something pithy or witty. Instead, I get dumb.

  “What’s your full name?”

  I glance warily at the clock on his phone, resting on the table beside my book.

  He follows my gaze. “I won’t charge extra.”

  I flush further. I’ve definitely heard that before. “I don’t want to keep you from your plans.”

  “Oh no,” he says with a laugh, setting down his Starbucks coffee. “I don’t have any plans. I’m actually kind of glad you’re a little slow. I’ve been tutoring freshman A-type personalities for the past few months and they whiz through my problems in under twenty minutes. I need tutoring hours for my resume. The MBA program at Wharton is pretty competitive and any extracurricular helps.”

  I should take offense to that, but I can’t argue with the truth here. I am struggling. “Well, I may be a lost cause.”

  “I’m the best tutor at Penn. I bet you a thousand dollars I’ll have you at least capable of passing your next exam.”

  I gape, disbelieving. “That’s in two days.”

  He doesn’t even blink. “I guess we’re going to be cramming for the next forty-eight hours.” He checks his watch and simultaneously picks his coffee back up, taking a sip. “You never told me your full name by the way. It can’t be worse than Connor Cobalt.” He flashes a pearly white smile—the same blinding ones that surrounded me in prep school.

  “Lily Calloway.”

  His head jerks back in surprise. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Rose Calloway?”

  “Sister.”

  He grins again. I wish I could tell him to stop. After years of pretending and lying, nothing screams “fake” more than overzealous smiles. “She’s on the Academic Bowl for Princeton, right? We compete against them all the time. She’s wicked smart. I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to tutor you.”

  I laugh dryly. “I think you’d have to be built of armor to learn anything from Rose. She’s a tough teacher.”

  His eyebrows rise as he finishes off his coffee. “Is that so?” He’s too curious for his own good.

  I decide to save him and turn back to my books. “So are you really prepared to lose a thousand dollars?” He may be keen on racking up hours for his resume, but I actually need to learn this stuff.

  “My pride is on the line. It costs more than a thousand dollars.” He checks his Rolex watch again. “Do you have a Red Bull at your place?”

  Wait? Is he inviting himself over to tutor me?

  He sees my confusion as he starts stacking textbooks together. “Library closes in ten minutes. I wasn’t kidding about cramming for the next forty-eight hours. It’s either your place or mine. But I have to warn you, my cat hates girls, and I haven’t cut her nails in a few weeks. So unless you want to be jealously assaulted by Sadie, I suggest your apartment.”

  I prefer the Drake anyway. With Lo around, I have less chance to do something moronic. Like listening to my lower brain.

  “My place is fine.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder as we leave. “But I live with my boyfriend, so we’ll have to be quiet.”

  He whistles. “A junior and shacking up already. That explains a lot.”

  He holds open a glass door for me, but I freeze before stepping onto the campus quad. “How so?” Do I wear everything right on my chest? Or is Connor Cobalt so arrogant he believes he has me all figured out in a short study session?

  “A lot of girls here are from family money—”

  “Wait,” I stop him before he continues. “How do you know I have money?” I glance at my wardrobe. Nothing on me screams distastefully wealthy. I wear a pair of Nike sneakers, track pants and a Penn sweatshirt. If Rose saw my style, she’d have a hernia.

  “Calloway,” he says my name with a laugh. “Your daddy is a soda mogul.”

  “Yeah, but most people—”

  “I’m not most people, and I make an effort to know names, especially ones that matter.”

  Uh, I have no idea how to respond to that conceitedness.

  He leads me outside into the chilly night. “Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra lifting—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”

  What a horrible generalization. Not all women would throw away their careers at the chance of being taken care of by a man. I could punch him or vomit. Either one seems like an appropriate reaction. I bet he also believes women should only pop out babies. God, Rose would scratch out his eyes if she heard him.

  But I’m not as bold as Rose, and it’s too late to find another tutor. So I bury my thoughts and follow this asshole outside.

  “Lo!” I shout, walking through the door with Connor trailing behind. “Lo!” When he doesn’t answer the third time, I presume he’s left the apartment entirely. I shoot him a text and hope he’s not too sloshed to feel the vibration.

  We set camp at the bar counter. I pour through three different books, making slight progress but not enough to count as a success. On the problems Connor dishes out, I get twenty-five percent correct. That number has yet to fluctuate.

  Two cases of Red Bull and a pepperoni pizza later, it’s eleven o’clock and Lo still hasn’t returned home. My phone sits lamely on the counter, and I glance at it, expecting to see a missed call. I told Lo about my tutoring session, and we went wild this afternoon. Maybe he thought he satiated me enough, so he planned to ditch me tonight and do his own thing.

  I bite my lip. Worry starts to set in a few minutes later, and concentrating on the problems becomes near impossible.

  “Maybe he just lost track of time,” Connor says, watching me check my phone repeatedly. “I think someone is throwing a highlighter party on campus tonight. Lots of the underclassmen I tutor were talking about it.”

  “Upperclassmen don’t go?”

  “Not usually. We’re more focused.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Another wide generalization. Lo would hate this guy. I must still look anxious because Connor closes our books.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “We can call off the bet. You don’t need to lose your money because I can’t concentrate.”

  “I’ve never failed on my tutoring promises. The bet still stands. You’ll pass your exam, Lily. I’m certain of it.” That makes one of us. “Now, you’re obviously really concerned about your boyfriend. Until we find him, you’re not going to learn anything, so where do you think he could be?”

  Huh? He’s offering to help me track down my boyfriend? I blink away the strangeness of Connor Cobalt and try to concentrate on Lo. Where would he be? That’s a good question. He partied himself out his first two years of college and has recently stuck to bars. Usually he arrives home at a reasonable time so he can drink heavy liquor here and pass out.

  If I’m not driving him, then he has to be somewhere on campus. “You said that the highlighter party was on campus?” I ask.

  “It’s outside on one of the quads.”

  “We’ll start there.”

  Strobe lights flicker across a grassy field. Bodies pump together to the hypnotic beat of house music. We approach at a distance. Most people wear white clothes with streaks of paint and marker that glow in the black lights. They run around and grind, almost animalistic in the cold night.

  How will I be able to fi
nd Lo in this mess?

  Before we integrate with the bumping and sweaty crowds, a petite redhead clenches my elbow. “Hey, you’ll need this.” She passes me a white tee. I frown as she hands Connor a much bigger size from the cardboard box by her feet. He doesn’t seem fazed as he unbuttons his dress shirt and pulls the other over his head, handing her his button-down.

  “I’m not getting that back, am I?” he asks her with a flirtatious smile, or maybe it’s just a nice one. It’s hard to tell with a socialite like him.

  Her eyes flicker roguishly, and she grabs his wrist. With a black magic marker, she scrawls her number on his palm. “I’ll keep it safe for you.” She puts her arms through the holes and wears the button-down like a light jacket.

  Holy crap. I have to commend her. That was sexy.

  Connor just smiles—calm and collected like it’s completely normal to search for his tutoree’s lost boyfriend and be hit on by a pretty redhead at a party.

  Keeping my shirt on, I yank the white tee over my clothes and pull my hair out of the collar, layering up. Then we enter the madness.

  Some guy with a neon green wig runs at me screaming like a banshee. He brandishes a giant pink highlighter and streaks it right across my boobs. That’s lovely.

  Connor finds my hand and tugs me in a different direction. “What does he look like?!” he yells over the blasting music that vibrates my feet.

  I dodge a purple highlighter that heads for my bare arm and pop up Lo’s picture on my phone.

  “I know this guy!” He points to the screen. “He’s in my International Affairs class!”

  I suppose that’s not that big of a coincidence. Business majors have to take all the same upper-electives. “That’s good! Should we split up?!” A girl squeals beside me and draws a yellow line right across my ass. Seriously? I’m not even wearing white pants. The marker stains an ugly brown color on my jeans.

  He scouts the party and nods. “I’ll be on the side with the canvas and paint!” There’s paint around here?! Yeah, he can take that area. “You check out the keg.”

  Good, he sends me to the one place Lo will probably be if he attended this crazed party, even if he considers keg beer to be the equivalent of cat piss. Huddled around the keg, people with markers are sparse, which leaves college students who came for free beer.

  A lanky guy covered in neon blue paint does a keg stand, his shirt flopping over his head and revealing patches of curly hair on his chest. He chugs the bitter drink, and it takes only a couple minutes to deduce that Lo isn’t here.

  I should have known. Cheap alcohol and ear-splitting music have not been part of his ritual since he was nineteen. While Lo may not have fully matured yet, his indulgences have.

  I try calling him again, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  “Lily?”

  I frown and spin on my heels to face the male voice. I don’t recognize him until I spot his highlighted fraternity shirt: Kappa Phi Delta. The frat house Lo picked me up at.

  His blond hair blows in the wind, but the cold misses me as my whole body heats in an uncomfortable embrace. I guess I’m the real jerk in this scenario since I ditched him so quickly after the one-night stand.

  He notices my confusion and points to his chest. “Kevin.” He nods to the keg. “Can I get you a drink?” Translation: Do you want to do it again?

  Before I decline, Connor bounds over, face flushed from fighting through tangled bodies. His white tee is splashed in a variety of neon paints and streaked with highlighters. Someone missed the shirt, and his elbow glows bright pink. “I didn’t find him,” he tells me.

  “Connor Cobalt!” Kevin exclaims.

  Oh my God. They do not know each other. Where am I?

  Connor turns and his grin widens as he sees Kevin. “Hey, man!” They exchange the bro-hug: a handshake, squeeze, lean in and slap on the back. I never understand those.

  “I’m surprised to see your ass here,” Kevin says with a smile. “I thought keggers were far too inferior for Connor Cobalt.” Glad to know other people find his full name fascinating.

  “Actually, I’m on the clock.”

  “You call this tutoring?” Kevin’s eyes drop to the number written across Connor’s hand. “Damn, man, maybe I should adopt your methods. All I get out of my hours are headaches.” He glances at me, noticing my lingering presence. “Oh, this is Lily.” Obviously Kevin idiotically spaced out when Connor acknowledged me earlier.

  Connor frowns deeply and tilts his head towards me. I want to smile. Yeah, you don’t have me all figured out.

  “Yeah, I know,” Connor says. “I’m tutoring her. Econ.”

  Kevin presses two fingers to his lips, trying to suppress his amusement. “You mean, you’re ‘tutoring’ her, right?” The douchebag even uses air quotes and nudges Connor’s shoulder suggestively.

  My nose flares and heats again. I’m standing right here!

  Surprisingly, Connor’s face contorts in disgust. He brushes Kevin’s shoulder off like he may have infected him. “No, I mean I’m actually tutoring her, Kevin. We’re here to find her boyfriend. She can’t get ahold of him.” He turns a fraction, closing off his body to his…friend? I can’t tell anymore. Connor is an enigma. He says offensive things and then becomes affronted when someone else dishes it out—though less subtly.

  Kevin doesn’t take the hint. “Yeah, my brothers told me about him. He came to collect her the morning after at the house.”

  I watch as Connor opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.

  “I was single,” I defend myself, even if my rash-like mortification spreads. Mixed with neon highlighter, I must look like a freak. “And just so you know, you were an awful lay.” I turn to go and then on second thought—I whip around and slap the Solo cup from his hands. The frothy beer soaks in the grass and Kevin rolls his eyes as if this isn’t the first time a girl has assaulted his keg beer.

  I inhale a strained breath and march away, pushing past people, not even caring when someone smears green on my cheek. Whatever. Nothing can make this night worse.

  Connor catches up to my side as we find a break in the bodies, but I keep my speedy pace towards the parking lot.

  He says, “I was about to tell him he’s a moron, but I think your method was far more effective.”

  I laugh and wipe off stray tears that somehow escaped between now and then. When did I even start crying? The whole night has twisted my insides, and on top of everything, I didn’t find Lo.

  What if he’s passed out at a bar? What if he’s stumbling on the streets or getting his stomach pumped in a hospital?

  My voice grows small. “I don’t know where he could possibly be.”

  “He’s probably fine, Lily.”

  I shake my head, distraught tears building. “You don’t know him.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

  Connor grimaces in sympathy. “How about we go back to your place and I’ll wait with you until he returns?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, sniffing. “I’ve already wasted enough of your time. This goes beyond tutoring me.”

  “Yeah, it does,” he says with a nod. “But this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in six months, which was the last time Sadie scratched my date. And”—his eyes shift to the ground—“I guess, I know why you’d be worried about a guy like Lo. He smells like booze almost every time he does show up to class.”

  I frown. He doesn’t show up often? I know he’s not the model student, but the way Connor talked, it made it seem like Lo skips more than he attends. As for his smell, Lo takes more precaution with our families—extra mints, showers, cologne. During school days, he cares less.

  No one has ever confronted me with Lo’s problem before. I stumble for words before landing on something that feels semi-right. “He usually answers his phone.” It feels good not denying the truth to someone, even if that someone is as random as Connor.

  We walk towards my BMW. “You must really wi
sh I picked Henry Everclear.”

  “Actually, no.” We both slide in the car, and I man the steering wheel. “I like the challenge. I’m in the top five percent of my class. Top one percent of my major. All I need is that extra something and Wharton won’t be able to resist me.”

  I put the car in gear and head out. “Let me guess. Reforming the girl who is failing economics is your extra something?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it so blunt, but yes.”

  I try not to laugh. Connor has no idea how frank he can be. I switch lanes. “About Kevin…” I feel like I need to defend myself further. I’m not sure why.

  “You don’t have to explain,” Connor tells me. “People have fun. I get it.” He taps the door handle to the beat of the soft rock song. “Goddamn, you live far away.”

  I stop at a red light. “It only feels like that in traffic.” After a few more jerky stops, we arrive at the apartment complex. I walk briskly to the elevator with Connor on my heels. I try to hide my nerves by crossing my arms.

  We fly up multiple levels, the numbers blinking above. I glance at Connor. “You have…” I motion to my ear. Bright orange paint crusts the top part of his.

  He doesn’t go to rub it off, only smiles. “I’m covered in paint. Don’t worry about my ear.”

  “Have you been to a highlighter party before?” What else could explain his clear composure throughout the crazy ordeal? He barely batted an eyelash when girls started grabbing his ass. He has two sets of pink handprints on his butt to prove it.

  “Nope. I’ve heard about them though. It was interesting.”

  The bell dings, and I try to figure out what would stir Connor’s stoic exterior. Maybe not being accepted to Wharton. Yeah, I can imagine that not going over too well.

  I fumble with my keys and unlock the door. “Lo!” I yell into the living room. Connor closes the door behind me, and I storm through the apartment, hoping to find Lo in the kitchen fixing a drink.

  It’s empty.

  I try his bedroom, not even bothering for a courtesy knock. I swing the door open, and my stomach drops. “Thank God.”