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.
But now, ho
w do I explain this.
“What?” Ryke growls in defense at me. “I’m trying to get us out of this fucking situation.” He locks eyes with Daisy again and steps forward to try to reach her. I put my hand on his chest to stop him, and then I quickly turn to Daisy.
“Give me the rest of your money.”
“I don’t—”
“Now.” I can’t even hear my own voice or how mean it sounds. All I hear is my half-brother offering to feel up my girlfriend’s little sister. I don’t even fucking care if it was a joke or sarcasm or fucking anything. I think I’m going to kill him later.
Daisy’s smile instantly vanishes and she reaches into her bikini top again. I look at the sand, the sky, anywhere but her breasts until she places the money in my hand. I grab the rest of her cash from Ryke and start counting out two-hundred-and-sixty pesos.
“I was just trying to have fun,” she says softly, her voice layered with guilt. “I’m sorry.”
She’s apologized, and I know I should drop it. But I’m fuming. “There are other ways to have fun.” I hand Ernesto the money. Both guys nod in thanks and they walk off towards the resort near the string of straw huts and white cabanas. I look back to Daisy, and my nerves haven’t settled yet. “You’re the fucking daughter of a multi-billion dollar mogul. Bartering with a man that makes a thousand times less than you is the equivalent of stealing.”
Her eyes go big and round and a little glassy, and it hurts to know that I’m causing her distress. The pain in my chest only intensifies because I can’t stop speaking. I don’t know how. “Next time rent a fucking jet ski.”
“I just wanted to do something normal.”
“You’re not normal. None of us are.”
“Lo,” Ryke says, his tone warning. But his voice sends razorblades down my back.
“Don’t you even fucking speak to me,” I snap. I hate him right now. I hate me, most of all. I hate that I just bitched out Daisy, who didn’t really do anything wrong. At least, nothing that warranted my harsh words. The remorse tastes like acid, and I usually drown it with whiskey.
Addicted for Now (Addicted Series 2) Page 22
