Addicted for Now (Addicted Series 2)

by Ritchie, Krista

  “I know,” I snap. He grabs a towel and starts massaging my scalp again. I close my eyes to bask in how it feels. Ugh, I can’t even hate him while he does this.

  He takes off the towel, and I finally stand up straight, my hair messy and wet around my face. But at least it’s clean. Lo is still pressed up against me, and his hands even rest along my hips. Our eyes meet through the mirror, and I see the strength in them. “We can’t,” he says. “I’d love to fuck you right now, but we have to leave soon for the meeting.”

  I nod. It’s not a healthy time, at least not for me.

  I spin around to face him fully, and he backs away from me. Enough that my eyes drop to his pants. “How are you not hard right now?” I ask accusingly.

  “I was just washing your hair,” he says like I’m being silly, like that simple task wasn’t sexual at all. I frown. Wasn’t it? Or was the entire thing all in my perverted mind?

  He tilts my chin with his finger, and I look back up into his eyes. “I spent three years as your fake boyfriend,” he says. “I’ve had practice resisting you.”

  Ohhhhh. I like that answer better. I think he knows it too. Lo leans down and kisses me deeply, filling my lungs with his breath. I grab onto the back of his neck and reciprocate fully. We stay like that for at least a minute, but he retracts before we can go any further.

  My eyes are glued to his pink, wet lips. My brain is only computing one thing: Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

  “How did you make an A? Or think you made an A?” he asks, popping my happy thoughts.

  “Huh?” Can I play dumb? It should be easier for me, considering I’m relatively average on the smart scale. Lo doesn’t buy it. He gives me a look and I crumble under his penetrating stare. “You can’t tell Rose.”

  “So you are cheating.” He realizes that Rose wouldn’t care how I aced the exam unless I ventured to the dark side of academia.

  “Not technically…”

  His brows jump. “So what…you half-cheated? What does that even mean? You cheated on the first page but not the last?”

  I hold up my hands. “Whoa, can I explain?”

  “Please.”

  “Sebastian gave me old exams, and I just memorized all the answers. I didn’t bring the tests to class or copy the answers on my hand. I’m just beating the system. There’s no harm in that.”

  Lo takes a moment to process this, and just when I think he’s going to yell at me, he asks, “What did you make on the other exams before you did this?”

  “44 and 29.” Two horrible grades that I didn’t think humanly possible. Actually, that’s a lie, I’ve made a 7 on a test before—and I think the Penn professor was just being nice about that too. I reread my exam and it sounded like a planetary alien took the test and wrote in a different language. Honestly, the professor asked me if I was dyslexic. I couldn’t really tell him the truth. I’m so exhausted from all the crazy sex I’m having that I can barely process words let alone sentences. You’re lucky I even showed up to this class, Mister.

  Lo is still thinking, so I add, “I’ve been getting C’s in my other classes. Statistics is the hardest for me.”

  “You’re right. It’s not really cheating,” he says. I can’t help my smile, my face filling with glee. “But…” I don’t like buts…scratch that, I remember that I do like butts with double T’s. Like my butt. His cock.

  Lo waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear me?”

  “I lost you on but.”

  “Jesus, you really want anal sex,” he says with a grin. I open my mouth to ask him for it, and he quickly says, “No, love. Not right now.” Boo.

  Lo continues without missing a beat, “So Sebastian gave you old exams. What did you give him?”

  “Nothing,” I say with a shrug. “He said he was doing it because I’m Rose’s sister and…” I taper off, knowing this is where Lo will get pissed.

  “And…” Lo prods.

  “And he told me that he doesn’t like Connor and Rose together, and I think he may try to break up their relationship. Anyway…” I clear my throat. “I can’t warn her about Sebastian, or else—”

  “He’ll keep the exams,” Lo finishes and then nods.

  Red hot shame fills me, and this doesn’t even have anything to do with sex.

  Lo says nothing more. He takes a long time to process everything internally.

  My nerves gather at his silence. “I need those exams, Lo. You know I need them. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Lo mutters. He rubs the back of his neck.

  I shift uneasily. “Connor is the first real friend that we’ve ever had, and I’m standing over on Team Sebastian…unwillingly.”

  “We’re going to have to think about it.” He stares hard at the floor, plotting. “For right now, let’s just keep this between us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Lo meets my gaze, recognizing the flash of guilt in my eyes. He pulls me closer to his chest and runs a hand down the back of my head in comfort. “Your priority is to pass this class. Try not to think about anything else.”

  “Connor—”

  “He’ll be fine for now. He’s the most confident, self-assured guy in the world. He can handle Sebastian without either of us.”

  I think he’s right, but we both also know it’s not the moral path—the one that good friends take. Being sober isn’t our only challenge. Becoming human, functioning people in this big vast world means making friendships and sustaining the very few that we already have.

  There is no college course to “be a better friend” or “be a less shitty human being.” Or else I would be signed up for both.

  We’re selfish, in every sense of the word.

  I just don’t want to fracture our friendships because of it.

  { 14 }

  LILY CALLOWAY

  The hardest part about being in a committed relationship with Lo isn’t losing the sex with strangers. It’s losing that moment where I become someone else. Where the shy, insecure Lily turns into a confident vixen. Where I’m completely and utterly in control and as my conquest looks at me with a heavy-lidded gaze, he knows it too. I was someone else during those moments. Someone better maybe.

  The longer I’m monogamous, the more I forget what being that confident, brazen Lily feels like. It’s like parting with a best friend for so long that their face becomes a blurry haze. I don’t miss her enough to cheat on Lo. I just wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

  But I know who I never wanted to meet.

  Sadie.

  Connor’s evil, orange tabby cat glares at me from across his apartment living room. All those grumpy kitties on Tumblr are not just photoshopped. Sadie is proof that felines can contort their face with such hot-tempered malice.

  Lo and I sit on Connor’s dark green leather sofa, his apartment decorated like a bachelor pad. Instead of red Solo cups lined on the bar, he has an array of expensive liquors locked away in a glass cabinet. Lo glanced at them once or twice, and Connor ushered us to a seat where our back is turned to the alcohol. That pissed Lo off a little. He doesn’t want to be babied.

  Afternoon light streams through windows that fill the entire back wall and the adjacent one. From floor to ceiling, Connor has a perfect view of Philly’s old brick architecture. Like most expensive bachelor pads, Connor has art décor that makes very little sense to me.

  There’s just a porcelain ball stationed where a chair should be. I can’t tell if it’s an empty flower pot or a vase. There’s no hole for lilies—okay that came out wrong. But really, it seems silly to have a ball thing just taking up space. I guess that’s why they call it nonfunctional art.

  The floors are concrete, but in the living area, he has a nice cream rug that Sadie apparently loves. Because she has yet to step off it. She struts in front of the couch, back and forth, her white tail wagging mischievously.

  I have my eye on you, I say with a narrowed gaze.

  Despite feeling violated by Sadie, I am relat
ively hopeful today. I want everything resolved with this blackmailer, evil-texter, or whatever the hell he is. I want to move on and focus on getting healthy.

  The bell rings, and Connor opens the door. “You’re late,” he says flatly, in a Connor Cobalt, I dislike you tone that very rarely presents itself.

  Ryke’s jaw hardens. “I’m the captain of the track team,” he says. “I can’t leave practice first.”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to do anything first,” Connor retorts.

  Lo and I exchange hesitation. Something tells me that Connor is not Ryke Meadows’ number one fan. And normally, I’d be suspicious that maybe Connor knows Ryke is behind all of this—that Lo’s brother is the one we should be wary of. But their little heated looks began around the time Ryke dissed Connor in public. It wasn’t one sole event. It was many things. Like Ryke calling Connor an ass kisser in front of his track buddies. Ryke can say those things in private, in front of us, and Connor just shrugs, but hurting his reputation in public crossed a line.

  Ryke looks about ready to push through the doorway.

  But Connor leads him in before Lo’s brother becomes physical. Connor sits on a buttoned leatherette chair across from us, but Ryke plops right next to Lo on the couch. And I’m reminded that my sister isn’t here to be on my team. Her schedule is too hectic to make the drive to Philly, so unfortunately, I’ll have to carry on without her.

  I didn’t realize how much I relied on her support until I felt that uncomfortable dread when she told me she couldn’t come.

  Sadie circles the coffee table, but her harsh gaze never deters from me. “Connor,” I say, “I think your cat hates me.”

  Connor picks her up in his arms. “She doesn’t hate you.”

  Oh good. That’s one less enemy.

  “She just hates women.”

  Or maybe not.

  Ryke lets out an incensed snort. “I thought Rose was making that fucking shit up.”

  “When you string together curse words, I go deaf a little in my right ear,” Connor tells him. “What was that?”

  Lo is trying really hard not to laugh, and I bite my lip to suppress a smile. It’s too easy to pick on Ryke, especially since the guy takes very little to heart.

  Ryke flips him off, mutters more swear words under his breath, and slouches in his chair. “Let’s get on with this.”

  Connor strokes Sadie, and even though she purrs, she still wears a mask of evilness—directed right at me.

  “I have bad news,” Connor says, confirming that he is indeed the cat-stroking-villain in this scenario. “My PI tracked down the phone number. It was a disposable, so we have no way of knowing the identity of the person on the other line.”

  Lo groans into his hands, hunching forward with his elbows on his legs.

  I go the opposite route, leaning back into the couch like a tidal wave just struck my chest. What do we do now? “So should I prepare to be in the tabloids soon?” My voice comes out way too soft. Even the thought sends my heart into a dive pattern. I can’t think about it without tears brimming. The shame that I’ll bring to my family…

  Lo straightens up and laces his fingers with mine. “There has to be something else we can do.”

  “Sure,” Connor says. “But I need both of you to open up about things you haven’t been willing to share. I need your top suspects that you believe could be threatening you. I can give those to my investigator, and he’ll check them out.”

  “That can’t be too hard,” Ryke says.

  Lo glares at the rug. Yeah, it took me hours just to go through our yearbook and circle faces—only to decide that over half of the student body hated Lo. And that was just prep school. We haven’t even factored college into the equation.

  “Seriously?” Ryke’s brows rise. “How many fucking people did you piss off, Lo?”

  “I wasn’t well liked,” he retorts. “We all can’t be the captain of sports teams.”

  Ryke rolls his eyes.

  “You can’t be that surprised,” I chime in. “You met us when Lo was being cornered by four guys wanting to beat his ass.”

  “People get upset over the stupidest things,” Lo says, defending himself.

  Connor tilts his head. “Didn’t you steal a bottle of alcohol that cost forty grand?”

  “I didn’t steal,” Lo says. “I drank from the bottle and set it back. And it was my birthday.”

  “How does your birthday strengthen your argument?” Connor asks. “Unless they knew it was your birthday. Did they?” He knows they didn’t.

  Lo glares. “Shut the fuck up.” His words come out lightly and they actually make Connor smile.

  “What about those guys at the Halloween party?” I ask Ryke. “Do you think they could still be mad at Lo?”

  “Yeah, what’s the name of the guy who was really pissed?” Lo asks.

  “Matt,” Ryke says. We all stay silent, recalling the moment where Matt ordered his cousins to chase Connor’s limousine down the street as we sped away. He’s also on the track team with Ryke. “I don’t know if he’s still angry or not.”

  “How could you not know?” Lo snaps. “You’re the captain. You see them almost every day. Fuck, you just ran little loops with them.”

  Connor tries really hard not to grin, but if he wanted to hide his smile fully, I’m pretty sure he could. He’s definitely gloating in Ryke’s misery. I kind of like it.

  “You run little loops with me,” Ryke retorts, dodging the accusation.

  “Only at your request. If it was up to me, I’d be running down the street, alone.” But there are bars along the sidewalk, and Ryke worries that he’ll be tempted to run inside.

  Lo’s narrowed gaze pierces Ryke, and both speak through their hard features. Lo is egging Ryke to say the worst things to him—to bring up his addiction. But Ryke is not willing to go there.

  “Look,” Ryke says, “the guys on the team aren’t going to tell me if they despise my half-brother who just spent three months in rehab.”

  Oh. He has a point.

  “Should I put him on the list?” Connor asks, scrolling through his electronic tablet. Sadie tries to sit on it, not liking his attention divided, but he moves the tablet to the armrest and she curls back onto his lap.

  Lo pries his gaze from Ryke. “Yeah, sure.” I think he wants someone to blame him again for that mistake—to yell and make him feel that pain, as though he deserves the assault. His father would do just that. But Lo needs to realize that’s not the right way to deal with things. He shouldn’t be punished every day for something that happened months ago. No one died. No one got hurt.

  “Let’s start with the people who have the biggest grudge against both of you and go from there,” Connor advises.

  Lo is staring at the floor again, his mind wandering in a thousand different places. I’m the one who poured over the yearbook, so I know better than him at this point.

  “Aaron Wells,” I start out. Both Ryke and Lo stiffen. They did something to Aaron, clearly, but I try not to think about it. “And maybe Mason Nix…” After the parking lot fiasco, I think there’s a lot more resentment there than we realized.

  “I have to give my PI motives to put with the names. So you’re going to have to give me some details.”

  Lo sighs heavily. And then he turns to me, his hand rising on my thigh. It’s a little distracting, and I can tell the movement is a subconscious reflex. He doesn’t realize how fixated I am on the way his fingers press into my jeans, only a moment’s breath from the spot between my legs.

  “You want to tell the stories?” Lo asks me. “I can if you’re not up to it.” But by his sharp jaw, I can tell he wants to share about as much as I do.

  “How about equal opportunity,” I say. “I call Wells.”

  Lo has lost a little color in his cheeks. He nods again, and now I regret my choice.

  “Never mind, I can talk about Mason—”

  “No you take Wells.”

  I pause. “Okay,” I
say in a small voice. I feel bad. Like I could ooze into the couch and not come back out.

  “Aaron Wells,” Connor says, his eyes lighting up in recognition of the name. “He attended the Fizzle event in January?”

  “Yep,” I say. Without Lo to accompany me, my mother called Aaron Wells to be my escort (not the prostitute kind). She didn’t know that he hated Lo or that he was hell-bent on making my time at the party miserable.

  Lo turns to stone by my side, no longer huggable. He’s upset that he wasn’t there for me, but I would never want him to leave rehab on my account.

  I begin the story as best I can.

  Aaron Wells. Tall, brown-haired (almost blond), blue-eyed god of the Dalton Academy lacrosse team. He bled blue and shit gold. Even in ninth grade, he was held in high-esteem, a natural athlete that would grace our school with its first Lacrosse State Championship. Guys wanted to be him and girls wanted to fuck him. But Lo was the one guy who didn’t care about being swathed in Aaron’s circle of popularity.

  In ninth grade, Lo and I denied our problems to ourselves and each other. Even after we had sex together for the first time, we just pretended it never happened. We were fourteen—naïve and lost and trying to make ourselves feel better.

  I remember the day after really well. I stuffed my books into my locker, and Lo’s nearness caused my chest to tighten. That part was normal. He would wait for me with a strong arm against the dark blue locker, loosening the collar of his tie on his white button-down. He hated that prep school uniform, even if he looked sexy in it. He would linger by my side, wanting to walk me to class. He reeked of bourbon, and he wore sunglasses indoors to help with his tender eyes. Back then, before college, he felt more of the effects from a night of binging.

  “Did you do that poetry assignment for Lit?” Lo asked.

  “What?” My eyes widened. I must have forgotten. Not uncommon. Though, the teachers usually took pity on me. After being graced with Rose’s supreme brain, they thought I was the stupid Calloway girl.

  “It’s fine, I have you covered,” Lo said. I narrowed my eyes at him, skeptical. No way. “Roses are red. Violets are blue…” Just great. I’m going to fail. “…and if a jock asks, don’t let him fuck you.” He finished off the poem as his eyes wandered ahead. A group of lacrosse players passed us, Aaron leading the pack.