Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  “Go back to sleep, darling.”

  “Only if you’re here when I wake up,” he banters.

  “I’m always here.” I watch him gently shut his eyes, and just as I ease away, I hear the crack of eggs and the slam of the refrigerator.

  And Lo mumbles one of the greatest truths of our lives.

  “I have the best brother.”

  < 13 >

  March 2019

  The Avondale Hotel

  New York City

  DAISY MEADOWS

  I sprint down the hotel hall with three paper bags labeled Ryke, Connor, and Loren. Running through empty carpeted hallways with less urgency and more fun. I extend my arms as I speed ahead. You can’t catch Daisy Meadows. Look at how fast she goes!

  I veer to the door and slip my keycard in, panting a little, and with a giddy smile, I enter the Manhattan hotel room where the three guys chill out for a few minutes.

  The photographer suggested leaving the “talent” in a warm hotel room while Rose, Lily, and select staff set-dress the rooftop pool area for a charity photo shoot.

  My modeling days are over, but all of our husbands agreed to a wild idea.

  “I come bearing gifts.” I shake the paper bags and slow my speed.

  I’ve walked in on something.

  Lo sits at the edge of the king-sized bed, Connor towering above. His hand tilts Lo’s head backwards, and he inspects Lo’s bloodshot eye.

  “Did you bring the gift of sight?” Lo asks dryly. “Because my eye is burning.”

  I toss both of their bags on the bed. “I brought the gift of underwear. Maybe you can fashion an eye-patch.”

  “If I could fashion a fucking glare, it’d be on you.”

  Ooh. He’s a whole lot less scary in Connor’s care, submissive and totally banking on the smartest person he knows to make his eye better. I’m guessing some debris is irritating the surface.

  “Hold still, darling.” Connor examines him.

  I notice Ryke doing sit-ups on the floor, and when he sets his shoulders on the carpet, I purposefully look away.

  “Have you seen my husband anywhere?” I walk forward until my legs are on either side of his head. Standing right over his face. “He’s full wolf. Broody. And he has a very large co—” Ryke bites my ankle. I laugh, staring down. His unshaven jaw and thick hair calls to me, but not more than those darkened, dangerous eyes.

  Hello there.

  “You hear that, bro?” Lo says. “The love of your life married Sasquatch.”

  Ryke props himself on his elbows. “How’s that fucking eye feel?”

  “How’s that face feel? Gotta hurt being you.”

  “We’re fucking related,” Ryke snaps.

  Connor tilts Lo’s head towards the lamplight and says, “I assure you, Lo is better looking, and he uses more words.”

  Ryke groans. “Come on.”

  Lo tries not to blink. “At least your insides aren’t ugly like mine.”

  Ryke groans more. “Shut the fuck up.”

  I’m more used to infiltrating their guy group than I used to be. Paris was the start of it all, and I know every start must have an ending. I just can’t imagine one yet. I know I don’t have to.

  Suddenly, Ryke catches me by the waist and brings me in his arms, rolling on his side and mine. My blonde hair tangles and frizzes some, and his large hand slides through the strands. In the background, Lo and Connor discuss the state of his eye, so it’s not entirely quiet.

  Ryke says lowly, “Your husband must be the luckiest fucking man.”

  I smile. “He’s definitely the kindest.”

  “Yeah?” Ryke can’t hold out any longer. He kisses me strongly, and my body surges with tingling heat. His lean muscles wrap around my build, and I run my fingers through his thick hair and down his rough jaw, his gruff masculinity so, so attractive to me.

  I whisper against his lips, “He’s going to be so mad.”

  “Who?”

  “My husband,” I tease. “I’m kissing another man.”

  Ryke raises his brows at me, and then he slides his hand down the back of my jeans, cupping my bare ass. I have good days and bad where my sex drive is concerned, but lately they’ve been really, really good. Like now, my nerves nearly twitch in response, welcoming his advances and his coarse hands.

  Ryke’s lips tickle my ear as he whispers, “How’d he fucking feel about this?”

  “Very, very jealous.” I grab his wrist and push his hand deeper in my pants, and his fingers curve towards a more sensitive area. “I can’t be sure, but I think he likes another part of me more than my ass.”

  “I know which fucking part.”

  I smile at the danger of his hand, creeping lower and lower. My pulse races. “Which fucking part?”

  He tucks me closer to his chest, and he murmurs, “The part that makes you come so fucking hard.”

  I almost shudder in his arms. Go for that part…right…now.

  “It’s out.” Connor’s voice nearly startles me.

  Lo stretches to a stance, and neither Ryke nor I shift out of our tangled positions on the carpet. “What was it?” I ask all of them.

  Connor answers, “A piece of a contact.”

  I frown. “When did you start wearing contacts, Lo?”

  “When I got a job that consists of staring at little words in little panels.” Halway Comics. Lo is on his way to the bathroom, and he suddenly sees me and his brother. He shakes his head. “My eyesight didn’t get fucked up enough for this.”

  “You and your wife are fucking worse,” Ryke retorts.

  “But I love my wife. I only kind of love you.” Lo gives him a half-smile, but then he laughs at his own joke, much more lighthearted than he would’ve been in the past.

  Ryke even smiles, just as Lo turns into the bathroom.

  Connor collects their shopping bags to change, not even batting an eye towards us. He just disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door. I dropped Ryke’s bag nearby, and he also needs to change clothes.

  Rolling on top of him, I pull off his gray shirt, his dark eyes carving up and down my body. I tug his black track pants to his thighs and then playfully bite the waistband of his boxer-briefs to draw them off. I don’t get far.

  His muscles flex. “Fuck.”

  This is an urgent stop kind of fuck, so I stop.

  “You’re fucking trouble.” He picks me off his lap and then stands. He must see the confusion in my eyes because he adds, “I can’t get hard right now, sweetheart.”

  I mock gasp. “Men get erections?”

  He finds a nearby thing to throw at me, which is his shopping bag.

  I catch it on my lap and then toss my hands in the air theatrically. “He loves me; he really, really loves me.” I fall backwards.

  Ryke snatches the shopping bag, effortlessly sheds his track pants entirely, and he chucks those at my face. I smile and pull them off while he finds his “wardrobe” for the photo shoot.

  I have no idea what Rose picked out for each guy. She designed a really small line of men’s underwear for the summer, and all the proceeds go to charity. The marketing team said more women would buy the underwear for their significant other if Ryke, Lo, and Connor modeled them.

  “I wasn’t involved in the choices,” I say. “I was just told to bring them to you.”

  Ryke holds up a pair of white briefs.

  He never wears briefs. He checks the label on the shopping bag, thinking I mixed him up with his brother or Connor.

  I didn’t.

  “What the fuck are you smiling at?” he asks, but if you saw Ryke, you’d see that a shadow of one begins to lift his lips.

  “You.”

  He gets naked and flings his boxer-briefs at my face. My smile stretches, and on the floor, I sit up against the bed. I give him a long once-over: his lean, sculpted body only rock climbers could share. I land on his cock, and my nerves stir awake.

  He has to force his gaze off me. Then he puts on the white
briefs, tucking in his junk, and fixing the elastic band. They barely fit him.

  “Do you want any modeling advice?” I ask to distract his penis.

  “No.” This cemented word originates from hating what modeling did to me. Any memories I do have contain painful sentiments he wouldn’t want to dredge up.

  I think about Sullivan for a second, but I try not to let it consume my focus. Frederick, my therapist, told me not to fixate on her health when I’ve left her in the care of family. I need to put myself first more and focus on my health too. Not just for me but for Sulli.

  This is the very first time I’ve left her alone with my mom. I was only a little nervous when she kept saying, look how gorgeous and look at her eyes. This is the first granddaughter she’s had with green eyes, and I know it’s insane to think she’d model off my baby. I just hear my mom, petting my hair, and saying, your hair, look at this gorgeous hair.

  I trust that she won’t take photos or post them online or even share them with her friends. Ryke told her really bluntly not to, and I seconded his declaration.

  Lo and Connor emerge from the bathroom about the same time my phone buzzes in my pocket. His little brother starts laughing. Connor’s grin could capsize the Titanic. It might be the combination of never seeing Ryke in white briefs and how tiny they are compared to his package. Lo and Connor were given black and navy boxer-briefs that fit them better.

  Lo puts his fist to his mouth, still laughing uncontrollably.

  Ryke shakes his head like his brother is the one with the issue. It’s impossible to shame Ryke out of an outfit. He’ll wear anything with the same amount of confidence he always exudes.

  I stand up and click into my text.

  Left waxing kit + shaving cream + razors for Ryke in the shower. Shave thighs, around the underwear line, legs to his ankles. Thanks! – Tiffany (event coordinator)

  Lo is already snapping a photo of his brother, who has no care in the world about the briefs. Even though I’m pretty sure if Ryke shifts the wrong way, something is popping out.

  “Stop!” I tell Lo.

  All the guys freeze.

  Ryke’s brows knot. “It’s alright, Dais.” He clearly gave his brother permission, but that’s not why I shouted.

  “If you post a pic now, you’ll have a ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture.” Fans would definitely put them side-by-side and compare his hairless legs to the original. I doubt Ryke would personally care, but Rose would be upset if all the headlines about the photo shoot read: Ryke Waxes!

  Lo swings his head to Connor while lowering his phone. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Ask Ryke to translate,” Connor says. “That’s his puppy.”

  Ryke gives them the middle finger.

  I explain, “Tiffany left wax in the shower for Ryke.”

  “Why the fuck for me?” Ryke questions over Lo’s second batch of laughter.

  “Oh, man.” Lo has to prop himself against the wall, a stitch in his side. “You better believe I’m pulling a strip off.”

  “It should be obvious to you,” Connor tells Ryke before I can speak.

  I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

  Ryke outstretches his arms. “I have hairy fucking legs. Tell me why that fucking matters?” Two fucks in one rant. He’s upset.

  “Society hates body hair,” Connor says. “Even occasionally on men.”

  Ryke shakes his head repeatedly. Ryke Meadows is unabashedly Ryke Meadows at all times, and I don’t think he expected anyone to tell him to change a part of himself today.

  “Welcome to modeling.” I force a smile.

  His hard eyes soften on me.

  “I know which body parts they want you to wax, do you want me to tell you?”

  Lo raises his hand. “I do.” He’s enjoying Ryke’s slight frustration. It’s a brother thing.

  “No.” Ryke crosses his arms. “Text Tiffany back. Tell her that I’ll give them fucking permission to use Photoshop.”

  I send a quick text, but her reply is even faster. “She says okay and to go to the roof now. Robes are on the back of the door.”

  Connor finds them hung up, black cotton, and after they shrug them on, we leave the hotel room.

  In the hallway, I walk backwards ahead of them. What a perfect photo this would be: all in identical robes, their strides are equal to where no one falls ahead or behind.

  “Boys,” I say as serious as I can, “this is the time to put your model faces on. Cry when they ask you to cry. Laugh only when asked to laugh—unless you have a nice photographer, then you can midway through. And do not, whatsoever, touch your hair.”

  Ryke touches his hair. He runs his hands through it and he gives me a look like what are they going to fucking do about it?

  I love him.

  “Your directions are too complex for a third of this group,” Connor says. “You need to go back to basics for Ryke. Like don’t piss on cement.”

  “Don’t hump your wife,” Lo adds.

  Ryke rolls his eyes. “Don’t fucking hump yours.”

  Lo feigns a wince. “Not possible.”

  I glance over my shoulder as we turn a corner to the elevators. “Another thing: you should all try to avoid an erection.” When I photographed with a model for a swimsuit spread, he had one mid-shoot. We were tangled together, and I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal (he was really embarrassed) but the photographer yelled at him anyway.

  I did tell Ryke this story once, and he just glowered at the ground, his forearms on his knees, deep in thought. The first thing he asked, are you okay?

  Not even “were you”—just am I okay about it. I won’t ever be able to erase these memories that flare up and make me pause. Most from modeling. Things I said. Things I did. What I let roll off my back. Hand-pats on my ass. Men slipping into dressing rooms for a second or two like they had permission when they had none.

  Back then, I shoved the attached sentiments to these violations so far down. I didn’t feel a thing. It’s easier being numb, to have zero regrets, but I wouldn’t trade what I feel now for feeling nothing. By processing these moments, I’m more apt to say no. I feel more empowered to walk away. To speak out about my experiences.

  After my pain and healing came strength.

  I’m stronger today.

  “Will Rose be speaking at the shoot?” Lo asks me while we stop at the elevators.

  “Yeah.”

  “Great, hard-on avoided.” He flashes a half-smile at Connor. “You’re in trouble, love.”

  I smile at Rose’s husband. “Her voice gives you an erection?” I’m even surprised I asked Connor Cobalt this. His intense all-knowingness has a way of making everyone feel small and inferior.

  I wait for his answer, but he just stares at me. And then he says, “I’m going to assume your question is rhetorical because you should already know the answer. Unless you’re not as intelligent as I believe you are.”

  Burn. So my sister’s voice definitely turns him on, probably among a long list of other traits. I push the elevator button a couple times since it’s taking forever. “What do you think about to avoid…” don’t think about Connor Cobalt’s ginormous penis.

  Too late.

  I mouth to Ryke, help.

  He shakes his head. “You got here all on your fucking own.” Then he reaches for my hand, holding tight. Ryke has trouble abandoning anyone in a sinking ship, and Connor would probably call that his greatest flaw.

  Connor barely even blinks. “I think about Ryke’s infinitely small vocabulary.”

  “We know who the nerd is,” Lo says.

  He’s probably one of the most sophisticated, yet domineering nerds I’ve ever seen in my life. I squeeze Ryke’s hand. “Is yours still Lily?”

  My older sister turns him off that much.

  “Yeah, her and her fucking whining,” Ryke clarifies.

  I lean my shoulder on the elevator door. “Hey, her whine is like a cluster of koala bears, pandas and chipmunks.”


  “Being killed,” Ryke deadpans.

  I almost laugh. Lo is actually really quiet. I thought he’d say something in reply, but he stares off towards a potted plant. I’m about to ask what’s up, but the elevator opens—I fall in.

  Ryke still has my hand, so I don’t go down.

  He walks inside and pulls me to his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist. It’s safe here.

  Connor pushes the rooftop button, and as we rise, Lo finally speaks to Ryke. “I bet I can give you something that’ll really turn you off.”

  “What?”

  Lo has this rare smile peeking at his lip. He rubs the back of his neck, unsure if he’s actually going to say it, but then he does, “Lily pregnant.”

  My mouth falls. “Is she?”

  Lo nods and his smile bursts. “Yeah.”

  My heart swells, and I bounce on my toes.

  “She wanted me to tell everyone, so don’t let Rose near me with a goddamn knife for some kind of sisterly betrayal.”

  I’m in this happy, surprised state of shock. I never really expected Lily and Lo to have another baby. Even when they said they could, I didn’t think they’d try. I’m not sure any of us did.

  “Congratulations, darling,” Connor says.

  Ryke affectionately messes Lo’s hair like the big brother he is, and I exchange a smile with him. Moffy will have a brother or sister, and this time no one here is worried if Lily and Lo can do this.

  We all know they can.

  * * *

  “Who’s the genius who scheduled a rooftop underwear shoot at the beginning of March?” Lo’s breath smokes the air, shivering in just his black boxer-briefs.

  The New York City skyline glitters behind him, the afternoon sunny. The rooftop is dressed like a summer bash: lemonade in mason jars on a nearby bar, beach towels over lounge chairs, and an inflatable swan floats in the pool.

  “There are only two geniuses here,” Connor says, “and I’m not to blame.” His conceited aura never diminishes, his black sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, wavy hair styled totally perfect. He reclines on a lounge chair without goose bumps or reddened skin.

  Connor Cobalt is impervious to frigid temperatures.

  Lo can’t stop shivering, sitting on a blue cooler. The camera flashes repeatedly. Standing beside Lo, Ryke battles the cold better than his little brother, but he’s as stiff as can be. The photographer has already asked him to “loosen up” three times, and Ryke shook out his arms but he’s still six-foot-three-inches of stone.