“Well, you lost the bet, so you owe me.”
“Can’t I just pay you?”
“No, that’s too easy.”
I sigh, wondering if I’ll be able to squirm out of the deal as it approaches later in my life. Probably not, but by the time it happens, maybe I’ll be okay with my decision. So I nod. “Okay. I’ll be her assistant sometime in the future.”
“Near future.” He types something in his phone and then stands. “I have to take this.” He presses the cell to his ear and heads into the living room. Leaving me alone with Ryke.
I hop on the counters by the cabinets and face him.
Ryke glances over his shoulder at the hallway where Lo disappeared. “Does he like his father? I can’t tell.”
I shrug. “It depends on the day.”
He turns back to me. “What’s he like?”
“Jonathan Hale?”
Ryke nods.
“Lo doesn’t talk about him with you?” I’ve managed to dodge their boy outings by having breakfast with Rose the past week. I enjoy it more than I’ll let on.
“Not much,” Ryke says. “Sometimes, he curses his father out, and then other times, he talks about the guy like he’s a god.”
Sounds about right. “It’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“Look.” I lower my voice. “I know you’re not really writing an article, so you don’t need to ask these things.”
Ryke rolls his eyes. “I fucking know that, Lily. I’m asking because I’m genuinely curious. No offense, but I care about your boyfriend more than I care about you.”
I squint. “Are you sure you don’t have a crush on him?”
He groans. “Seriously, Lily?”
“What? It’s an honest question. You’re obsessed with Lo.”
“I’m not obsessed. Don’t use that word. I’m just curious. I want to know him. Why do I have to be in love with him to want such a thing?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s weird.” I can’t make sense of the strangeness. I feel like it’s there, but it’s not connecting. “Are you sure there isn’t something more?”
“No. There’s not. Just go back to my first question. How’s Jonathan Hale complicated?”
I focus on that and open my mouth, trying to form words to an enigmatic man. He doesn’t physically hit Lo, but he’s not earning any Father of the Year awards either. In one minute, Jonathan can wrap an arm around him and call him a great son. And then next, he can spit out hateful words. Lo’s mood fluctuates with his father’s temper, and whenever he interacts with him, you can see a switch. I assume that’s where Ryke’s concern originates.
After I fail at describing Jonathan aloud, Ryke changes questions. “Do you talk to him a lot?”
I shake my head. “He makes an effort to ignore me unless he wants to blame someone for Lo’s poor grades. Otherwise, I steer clear of the Hale household.”
“Has he remarried?”
“No. He brings a lot of girls over at night.” After Lo’s mom left when he was a baby, Jonathan hired a nanny and started dating again. The number of women stumbling out of the house in the morning, wearing the same dress the night before, grew exponentially as the years ticked by.
When I was sixteen, I remember shoveling scrambled eggs into my mouth while Lo tried to unlock his father’s liquor cabinet. Jonathan overslept after a night of his own debauchery. A woman in a slim black dress carried her red pumps and shuffled through the kitchen. She refused to look at us, instead keeping her sight on the door like it was a finish line in a 5K race. And I had a sudden urge to bolt up from my chair and pull her aside. To ask her if she liked the thrill of one-night stands as much as me. To talk and gossip about being two girls completely in control of their bodies. At the time, I felt closeted, like a slut with a secret. But I stayed in my seat, letting her leave and fantasizing about what she might have told me.
I don’t know if Lo realizes that I learned about one-night stands from his father’s numerous flings. I hope not. And I’d never tell him.
I return my focus back on Ryke who watches me too closely, as though reading my expression for his answers.
Lo enters the kitchen with a clenched jaw and a pocketed phone. Oh no.
“Everything okay?” Ryke asks.
“Fine,” Lo says unconvincingly. He grabs his jacket off the chair and a bottle of bourbon from the counter. “Let’s go.”
Ryke and I exchange worry, and we both follow Lo in close pursuit.
The necklace I gave Lo thumps against his chest as he dances with me. I touch the arrowhead and he clasps his hands in mine. He plants a light kiss on my cheek before distancing himself. I reach out, but he’s already gone, delegating himself king of the bar stool.
He orders a slew of drinks while sweat gathers at the base of my neck, and I solo-dance on the floor, shedding off insecurities with the hypnotic music. I keep glancing back at the bar. Each time, Lo holds a new drink. I’ve evaded the phone call topic because Connor and Ryke always hang around him, and I’d rather not broach the subject in front of them.
After three shots of tequila for Connor and Ryke, they head to the bathroom, and I grab my chance to speak to Lo alone.
“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder and slide into the nearby stool. Distracted, he stares at his glass of amber liquid—his mind far away from here. “What did your father want?”
Lo shakes his head and cups the glass tighter. “Nothing.”
I frown and try to push away the hurt from his unwillingness to share. The rejection stings, but it may just be the wrong time. He catches my despondence and looks back towards the bathrooms to make sure Ryke and Connor aren’t returning soon. Then he twists his body towards me. Our knees knock together, and I have a sudden urge to lean in closer, to intertwine our legs and feel his lean muscles against my body. This is serious, I remind myself, pushing away those selfish thoughts.
“It was about my mom,” Lo confesses. All dirty images evaporate, being replaced by sheer concern. “Somehow, he found out I contacted her.” Lo pauses and rubs his lips in deep thought. “He told me that she wanted nothing to do with me.” My chest constricts. “He told me that she doesn’t deserve to think about me or to even hear my voice.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He said she was a fucking cunt.”
I cringe.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Lil, I think…I think I agree with him.” Wrinkles crease his forehead in utter confusion as he struggles to make sense of his warring emotions.
“Your mother left you,” I say. “It’s okay to be angry at her. It doesn’t make you him.”
His lips press together as he processes my words, and I wish I had more to offer. He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the temple, a small thank you, before he turns around on his stool and flags down the bartender for another drink.
She pours bourbon in a Riedel glass and slides it into his hand.
“How long before you want to go to the bathroom?” I ask.
“I don’t know. My bladder is pretty big. I could wait at least another couple hours,” Lo says. He smiles into his glass, and I give him a sharp look.
He hooks his foot under the rung of my stool and slides it forward. Oh wow. My hip knocks into his, and he snakes an arm around my waist, melding me to his side. This is kind of nice. I feel his hand run up underneath my shirt and rub the soft skin on my back.
I start dreaming about having sex right here. Lo taking me across the bar in a sultry heat. Fucking on a bar.
It’d be like our addictions making love.
His lips tickle my ear. Back to reality. “What are you thinking?”
I think he knows because he smiles and nibbles my ear.
“Get a room,” Connor exclaims, sidling up beside me while Ryke sits down beside Lo.
“Or better yet,” Ryke says, “a car.”
“How about Connor’s limo?” Lo asks with a smile. “Do you think your driver would mind?”
“I would min
d,” Connor tells him. “You’re charming, Lo, but not enough to make me want to sit in your—”
“Stop.” I cringe and cover my ears. Gross. Guy-talk. No.
All three of them laugh, and I wave down the bartender. “What do you want?” Lo asks me.
“Just a beer.”
He nods and lets me order for myself. I slide my fake ID to the bartender, and she hands me a Blue Moon.
“You don’t want to go in those bathrooms,” Connor tells Lo. “They’re disgusting. I think I might call the CDC when we leave. You need a hazmat suit just to walk in there.”
Lo grins at me and raises an eyebrow. No! Connor is just being over dramatic.
“You rarely venture into smoky clubs,” I tell Connor. “I’m sure you’re just not used to a place that doesn’t have a bathroom attendant and complimentary mints after you pee.”
“I’ve lowered myself to these standards before, but there are some places no human being should go.”
Lo smiles into another big gulp from his drink. I let the issue drop but plan to sneak into the restrooms later to make my own conclusions.
After a couple more drinks, Lo starts asking Ryke questions and I struggle to hear over the cacophony of sounds: drunken college students, newly blasting music, and Connor practically yelling into his phone as he talks to my sister.
“Yeah! I’d wear a peacoat!”
What? Is Rose asking him for fashion advice? The world really has gone mad.
He grimaces. “I can’t hear you! Hold on!” He presses his palm to the speaker. “Lily, can you save my seat?” Before I can agree he’s hopping off the stool and charging towards the door. Connor Cobalt doesn’t push his way through bodies; he saunters into the masses and waits with an impatient scowl before people part and make man-made paths for him. I smile in amusement and turn back to place my coat on the stool.
But a blonde rushes to take it before I can claim the spot. Oops.
“I don’t have any siblings.” I overhear Ryke say. “It’s been pretty much my mom and me since I was a kid.”
Lo shifts, uncomfortable by the topic of mothers, especially after his phone call with his father. So he redirects the conversation. “How did you get into running?”
I’m surprised Lo chooses to ask questions and not be evasive like usual.
“When I was little, my mom put me in a lot of races. She told me it was either tennis or track, and I picked track.” He laughs to himself. “I have a thing for running towards finish lines.” I can believe that.
“That’s funny,” Lo says bitterly, “My father always tells me that I run away from everything.”
“Do you?”
Lo’s cheeks sharpen, his lips forming a pout.
“Forget it,” Ryke says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“How much of what I’m telling you are you going to exploit?” Lo asks.
Ryke frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“The article,” Lo reminds him. “I’m expecting to be in the tabloids by the end of the semester.”
“I wouldn’t sell you out.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” Lo turns back to the bar and orders another drink. To me, he asks, “Want another beer?”
I shake my head. What I really want doesn’t reside at a bar, but Lo has jumped into the rabbit hole of self-involved drinking. I can’t pry the shot of whiskey from his fingers, and he’s had enough liquor to forget about my problems.
“We need to toast,” he tells us and holds up his drink in salute. “To Sara Hale. For being a fucking bitch.” He throws back his shot and I steal a glance at Ryke.
His eyes narrow to hard stone. “Maybe you should switch to water.”
“If I’m bothering you, you can always run towards the door.” He takes his next shot in hand.
Ryke tensely leans back and shoots me a wide-eyed look like do something.
No, I mouth. There’s nothing I can do. I see the end of the night. Lo wants to pass out. He wants to reach that point so he can drown his feelings. No matter what I say, he’ll continue to do it. Even if I plead and scream and beg Lo to stop, he won’t.
I wouldn’t.
He needs to wake up by himself, and nagging Lo will only push him from me. That’s not what I want. Or what I need.
Ryke shakes his head at me in disapproval and watches as Lo curses his mom again in a more callous toast.
“Can you not?” Ryke spits.
“What’s it to you?” Lo watches the bartender help someone at the other end, waiting for her to return to this side.
“I generally don’t like toasting to bitches and whores.”
“No one’s making you,” Lo retorts.
Ryke looks distressed as he runs a hand through his brown hair. “I know you hate your mom—”
“Do you?” Lo spins towards him.
“Let’s go dance,” I tell Lo, tugging on his arm. He jerks away from me and glares at Ryke on the other side.
“You don’t know me,” Lo sneers. “I’m sick of you acting like you understand what I’m going through. Did you live in my house?”
“No.”
“Did you watch the cops take away my bed because my mom claimed it belonged to her?”
Ryke rubs his jaw. “Lo—”
“Did my father grab your neck”—Lo places a hand on the back of Ryke’s, bringing him close—“and tell you, ‘son…’” He pauses, only inches separate their faces, and something intangible circulates in the air, a tension so thick I can hardly breathe. “…‘son, grow the fuck up.’”
Ryke refuses to back down. He meets Lo’s challenge, not deterring from his sharp gaze. He even goes one step further and sets a gentle hand on the back of Lo’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Ryke breathes with so much hurt that it takes me by surprise. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lo. I’m here for you now. Whatever you’re going through, I may not have experienced it, but I’m right here.”
And just like that, Lo takes his hand off Ryke, the strangled moment passing. What kind of response did Lo expect? A fight? Another verbal showdown? Something other than compassion—that’s for sure.
Lo flags down the bartender and acts like nothing happened. Like Ryke never offered to help in some giant immeasurable way.
“Let’s go dance,” I try again.
He avoids my gaze. “I’m busy. Dance with Connor.”
The bartender slides over another small glass. Should I leave him alone? Ryke drinks from a water bottle and watches him carefully. He’ll stay here with Lo. I’ll just…go. Maybe he’ll remember me and follow after a while.
When Connor returns, I convince him to dance with me—the chaste, friendly kind with more than twenty inches between our bodies. Occasionally I glance back at Lo, but he drinks silently, staring off at the towering racks of bottles behind the bar. The only difference is the burger in his hand, which gives me some relief. At least the food will soak up some of that liquor.
I try to relax and concentrate on the pumping music, drifting away from Lo and his worries. The bump bump bump of the bass carries me.
In the pit with other bodies bouncing up and down, I lock onto wandering eyes, and for a brief moment I connect with another guy. The clandestine looks set my blood ablaze and it takes all of my energy not to follow them subconsciously.
After our sixth song, Connor looks back to the bar and someone takes an invitation to dance against my backside. His hands linger on my hips. I don’t see his face, and in my head I imagine it being Lo or maybe Prince Charming. Someone other than Mr. Reality.
I close my eyes and float on the idea. The hand moves across my belly and then up underneath my shirt. Past the soft flesh of my abs and onto my padded bra. My breathing shallows and I sink back into the body.
I feel a hand tightly grip my wrist and yank me forward. I stumble into a chest as he wraps an arm around my shoulders in a brotherly way. “Go grope someone else,” Connor tells the guy calmly, but his hand tightens on my elbow. It
was real? Not a fantasy?
My body heats and I refuse to look at my handsy dance partner. He mutters something under his breath and walks off. I steal a glance at the bar, but Lo is now in a heated conversation with Ryke, waving his burger around so wildly that lettuce falls out of the bun.
Connor puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me face him fully. “Lily,” he says, a rare drop of concern on the edge of his tongue, “What the hell is going on?”
I want to shrink in place. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not when Lo is already spiraling. My throat becomes swollen and just as I’m about to mutter the stupidest lie in the world, Ryke saves me.
He bounds over with a water bottle in hand and a scowl creasing his eyes. “Lily,” he snaps. “I need your help.” He points to the bar. “Lo is going to be piss drunk in five minutes. You need to tell him to switch to water. Every time I say a word about it he throws back a shot of whiskey just to spite me.”
“He’s eating a burger.” Is defending Lo engrained in my DNA?
Ryke stares at me, dumbfounded. “Don’t do this right now. He needs his fucking girlfriend. This is not going to be like Halloween, okay? I’m not carrying him up to your apartment unconscious.” He rubs the back of his neck with a shaking hand.
I take a shallow breath. “I’ll go try.” I push past people and slide into the empty bar stool beside Lo.
He barely acknowledges me, but he says, “Just when I was starting to like that fucking prick.”
“What did he do?”
“He doesn’t take a hint. I don’t want to talk about my parents. I don’t want to talk about his mother when I don’t have one. I don’t want him to badger me about drinking.” He takes another shot. “What the hell is this article on anyway? Two rich kids with silver spoons in their mouths? Or two spoiled brats who became destructive fuck-ups?” Lo’s words spill out clear and coherent. He rarely slurs, but there’s an edge to his voice that comes with drinking a lot, and I hear it tenfold.
“I don’t think he’s asking about that stuff for the article,” I say softly, “maybe he just wants to get to know you.”
[Addicted 01.0] Addicted to You Page 27
