Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  Moffy pushes his little Ray-Ban sunglasses to his head. Then he struggles to zip up his leather jacket. Lately, he dresses more and more like Ryke.

  Lo kneels in front of Moffy and tries to help zip him up. Moffy exhales loudly and peeks at Ryke, trying to impress the person he’s emulating. His admiration for his uncle shouldn’t be awkward, but the media fixates on three-way rumors between Lo, me, and Ryke.

  His closeness with his uncle might prompt a tabloid to spread worse rumors. Lo said that Celebrity Crush tried once. A journalist speculated that Moffy was really Ryke’s son. Connor squashed the article before it went public, thankfully, but when Lo told me, his voice was raw and hoarse.

  “It’s not my feelings,” he said, “it’s about his. The doubt, Lil—I don’t want him to doubt this.”

  I hugged onto Lo, and he gripped onto me.

  We reaffirmed that we wouldn’t ruin our relationships because the media sucks. We’d never actively separate Moffy from Ryke. He loves his uncle, and that should be one of the best things in the universe. It is.

  I just worry. I’m a worrier. It’s been decided.

  And I worry that if Moffy hears about my dirty closet, he’ll find me gross. He’ll find reasons to hate me. I’ll lose a close-knit relationship with my son because he soaked up the media’s perceptions of who I am. I’ve been in the news long enough to have a sense of how I’m perceived. Alone, not beside Loren Hale, it’s not-so-good—but it’s not as bad as it was.

  Most popular tweet from the past: Lily Calloway is a cheating, dirty whore. Ew. Think about how gross her vagina is.

  I wish people would stop thinking about my vagina. Because then I think about my son thinking about my vagina, and I want to bury myself in blankets and never come out.

  The good news: every tabloid and news outlet stopped calling me a nympho after We Are Calloway aired since I explained why it’s so hurtful. It’s not like they grew a moral backbone and listened to my plea. Fans go after Celebrity Crush with pitchforks if they criticize Daisy’s PTSD and depression, and they attacked the tabloid for using the term nympho so much that they retracted their article.

  Connor said that consumers dictate what industries produce, and I never really understood that until recently.

  Lo stands after he finishes zipping up Moffy. “I packed an extra jacket for him if he gets cold.”

  “Perfect.” Ryke slings his black duffel on his shoulder and easily picks up the other two bags with each hand.

  Moffy already tears away from Lo and rushes to Ryke. “Are we ready? Can we go?” His enthusiasm lights up his face.

  “Yeah, let’s head out. Janie?”

  Jane pulls on a glittery leopard-print baseball hat. “Au revoir.” She says goodbye in French, waves to her mom and dad, and then she leads the parade out the door.

  Moffy catches up to Ryke’s side. “I can carry my bag.”

  His brows rise. “You can?”

  Moffy nods repeatedly.

  “Take fucking hold, little guy.” He lets Moffy grip a strap.

  I drift towards Lo, who watches our son with crossed arms. This is hard. Moffy is only four, but he already asks to do things that older kids do. What if he forgets about us?

  Lo hugs me to his side.

  I whisper, “I think this is what it must feel like for a Hufflepuff and Slytherin to have a Gryffindor baby.” Why is this making me so emotional? I dab at my eyes. They’re dry. Still. “I’m sad.”

  “Lil.” Lo squeezes me. “We don’t know what house he’s in. He’s not eleven yet.”

  This is true.

  “And we already agreed. We’d be happy if he ended up in Gryffindor.”

  This is even truer.

  Moffy and Ryke disappear in the foyer, but I don’t hear the door slam shut. Something’s wrong. Just then, Moffy sprints into the living room, eyes on us.

  He hugs Lo’s legs. “Bye, Daddy.”

  Then mine. “Bye, Mommy.” We barely have time to reciprocate before he races back to the foyer. The door shuts this time.

  He didn’t forget about us.

  I smile, in a slight daze.

  * * *

  Connor and Lo left to watch the car depart from the driveway. So I return to my spot on the couch cushion. I think I’m the only reason Rose stayed in the living room.

  “This was a bad idea,” I tell my sister as she sits beside me.

  “You need this.”

  I frown, not liking that I’m the first thing that came to mind.

  Maybe she sees this because she adds, “Did you see their faces? They’ll have more fun than we would among dirt and bugs.” She pauses. “I’m sure she’ll come home with a million bug bites. Which reminds me…” She whips out her cell and starts typing a note. “Buy calamine lotion.”

  “I can do just night sex,” I remind Rose. “Up until the third trimester, I’ve been acing my schedule.”

  Rose pulls her hair into a pony. “You practically fuck him with your eyes whenever he’s in the room.”

  “I’m that obvious?” I worry.

  “Yes.” She procures her lipstick from her purse and uncaps the tube. “There’s no shame in taking personal time. You need it. I need it sometimes. And you should take it, especially since you’ll have to go without sex for a while when Luna arrives.”

  The six-week “no sex” after giving birth rule. It’s doomsday all over again, but I succeeded after giving birth to Moffy. If I can do it once, surely I can do it twice.

  Rose isn’t showing off much of a baby bump in her blue dress, not too far along. I still can’t believe she’s pregnant again. Then I can. She’s determined to have a girl, and so she conceived right when she was able to have sex following Eliot’s birth. Six weeks and then pregnant again.

  Insane.

  Daisy would say that our older sister loves the insanity of it all. Cobalt chaos is a real thing now, and Connor and Rose thrive on every second.

  “It’s already penciled in, darling. Lunch tomorrow,” Connor says, walking in the living room with Lo by his side.

  “Tell your assistant tacos. I’m not your wife. I hate sushi.”

  Rose can’t have raw fish when she’s pregnant, but she’ll still eat vegetarian rolls.

  “That was an oversight on his part,” Connor says. “I wouldn’t forget your preferences.”

  Rose secures her purse on her elbow, rising like a queen. “Time to leave.” She sets a blazing glare on Lo. “Loren, please remind my sister that this situation isn’t just for her benefit.”

  I stare at my hands.

  “This isn’t just sex, Lil. I want a date night with my wife.”

  The rush of guilt escapes my body, freeing me.

  As Rose and Connor leave, my sister’s voice fades. “Please tell me you unthawed the chicken fingers before we left.” They feed their children what their children prefer. Celebrity Crush still speculates that Rose and Connor serve fancy five-course meals every night.

  Not true.

  “Who do you think you married?” he asks.

  “A narcissist, not a chef.”

  I imagine his blinding grin before the door shuts.

  The room blankets with silence. I crane my neck over the couch, just to sweep his sharpened features. Every day I wonder when Loren Hale the boy turned into Loren Hale the man, and I wonder how I could’ve resisted him for so long. It’s not just about his jawline and cheekbones. It’s how he sees me. In one look. In one stare.

  Worthy.

  Beautiful.

  You’re far from trash, Lily Hale.

  His perception of me defeats all the ugly ones that exist. It reinforces what I believe about myself.

  Worthy.

  Beautiful.

  You’re far from trash, Lily Hale.

  I drink in his love. Desire pools between my legs. His hands on your hips, down your thighs. Yes. Yes. I practically pulse when my thoughts descend to his dick.

  All of it.

  In me.

&nbs
p; Now.

  I freeze, really pulsating, and I concentrate on the present. I am not up against Loren Hale, as much as I’d love to be. He’s still standing on the other side of the couch.

  He stares at me so knowingly that my cheeks immediately flush. I remember what Rose said about me eye-fucking him. Have I been?

  I’m so obvious.

  Tension builds in the overwhelming silence. My neck aches, so I focus on the blank television and pat my knees. “So…” Lo’s cock.

  I press my thighs together, lost for a second. I shake out my arms to keep from drifting in a fantasy. Why do I feel so awkward? I’ve known him all my life. I wake up next to my best friend. I sleep next to my best friend.

  The proof lasts for centuries.

  I don’t check him out. I just drum my fingers on my knees. “Date night?” That’s why this is weird. When do we ever call them date nights? “What are we going to do?”

  “Watch the Rogue Cut.” He takes a seat beside me.

  Four words catapult my spirits. The Rogue Cut is a special edition of X-Men: Days of Future Past. We always put off finishing the bonus scenes in favor of shows and new movies, plus cartoons for Moffy.

  I angle towards Lo. “OhmyGod, what if there’s a secret Magneto scene?” I scrunch my nose. “Oh no. Do you think they made Rogue and Magneto hook up like in the comics?” I place a hand over my heart. “My shipper heart can’t handle it, Lo. That is literally my least favorite pairing. Ever.”

  “That’s Earth-295,” he reminds me. “It’d be a stretch to include it here.” I open my mouth to counter, but he adds, “But if it does happen, I’ll be fast-forwarding that shit.”

  I let out a big sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, love. Fast-forwarded shit is my favorite kind of shit.” His dry smile dimples his cheeks.

  My body throbs. Focus. On. The. Movie. I chant.

  I relax against the couch while he turns it on. Fifteen minutes through the extended edition, his legs are kicked up on the coffee table, our sides touch, and his arm is curved around my shoulders.

  I sit stiffly, knowing if I cuddle against Lo, my hands will wander to his jeans. I’ll unzip him and then rush for an orgasm. Slow, I often remind myself.

  Twenty minutes pass.

  I squirm. Lily!

  Sex seems better than superheroes. Which is a thought that’s played out plenty of times before. But Lo dubbed this date night, and what if he’s hoping I’ll wait patiently until the movie ends?

  I’m not ruining date night.

  Not with sex.

  I risk a peek at Lo. The movie hypnotizes him more than me. His brows scrunch as Magneto appears on screen, and he rewinds the scene by ten seconds just to listen again. This is why it takes us forever when we watch director’s commentary.

  I eye his crotch. What if I sit on him? Backwards…

  Anal.

  My doctor advised against anal while I’m this pregnant. I still think about it though.

  Anal. Why does a word that sounds so ugly have to feel so good? My thoughts are so weird, and yet, I’m okay with this. Embrace your weirdness. I nod confidently at the idea.

  Lo pauses the movie. “Are you doing okay?” His amber eyes flit from my head to waist to hands, evaluating my state of being.

  “Great. Why?”

  “You nodded to yourself.” He cups my cheek, and I do this thing—I nestle towards his palm. More. More. Closer.

  He can’t hear my chant, but he must see it in my eyes. Date night.

  Who knew “date night” would be a chant against sex? It is though. For me, it is. I clasp his wrist like I’m going to peel his hand away. I end up freezing, his large palm so warm against my cheek.

  You nodded to yourself, I remember him saying.

  “So?” How is nodding bad? I’m a nodder. A confident, self-proclaimed nodder. I frown. Is a nodder even a thing? I need Connor Cobalt to tell me if it’s a real word—but not right now. I do not need Connor Cobalt in regards to sex.

  Lo flips the remote in his free hand. “You only do that when you’re boosting yourself up over something.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m reminding myself that anal may sound like an ugly word and I can still like it and that’s okay.” I nod again. Fuck it, I’m a nodder—whether that’s a word or not.

  Lo laughs into a smile.

  I realize I’m still imprisoning his palm against my face. “This is yours…” I give Lo his hand back.

  His smile fades to the point where he looks wounded.

  “Unless…can I have it?”

  He leans forward like he plans to kiss me, but then he teases, inching a breath backwards. I gasp, needy.

  “Lily Hale,” he says my name in a sexy whisper. So close. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. “You can have more than just my hand.”

  Yes.

  I try to kiss him, but he teases again, his lips bypassing mine.

  Against my ear, he murmurs, “Slowly.”

  I ache and throb. He rotates more towards me, his knee on the cushion. His hand takes a perilous journey through the sleeve of my muscle shirt.

  He skims the skin beside my breast. Closer. Closer.

  “Lo,” I breathe, even more needy. I try to kiss him again.

  He turns his head, and my lips touch his jaw.

  “You’re the biggest tease,” I complain.

  Lo smiles like he could tease me a thousand more years. “What about now, love?” His thumb brushes my nipple, his full hand cupping my breast. He flicks the sensitive bud, and I jolt, my lips parting, nerves lighting up.

  I whip my head to the side, my legs shaking. Then I notice the movie paused on the screen. Date night.

  “Lo…” I wince at myself.

  “Lily?” Alarm spikes his voice. He rests his palm on my pregnant belly, scared for the baby, then his other hand touches my cheek. Scared for me.

  “ImfineImfine,” I say so quickly. “But date night?” I don’t want to be the reason we cut the movie short.

  His shoulders lower, relaxing. “Can I tell you a secret?” His voice deepens to a whisper again. Then he gently guides my back to the couch, so I lie lengthwise.

  As he remains above me, I fixate on Lo, his hand back beneath my muscle shirt. “Does it involve cocks?”

  He squeezes my small breast. “One cock.”

  I’m wet. “Your cock?”

  He grabs my hand. “This cock.” He unbuttons and unzips his jeans before stuffing my hand down his pants and boxer-briefs.

  He’s so hard.

  My eyes grow big. I didn’t think he’d be hard right now. I thought he was in movie-mode.

  Lo says, “I want this night with you. Because I want to fuck you, not just because you want to fuck me or because of the six-week no-sex period after Luna arrives.”

  My pulse quickens. I open my mouth to speak, but words escape me. In my silence, he removes my hand from his pants, and then he wedges a pillow beneath my lower back, my legs already split apart for him.

  Come closer. Kiss me. Fill me.

  I blink a couple times. What if I’m interpreting him wrong? What if he’s not suggesting sex right now? “Wait…what does this mean?”

  Lo hovers over me. “Lily Hale.” His eyes never leaving mine, he plants a burning kiss to my collarbone. Another on my neck. I try to buck forward, but the weight of my stomach keeps me grounded. “I…” He pulls my shirt off, my breasts in view. “Want…” His lips skim my nipples. I shiver. Oh my God. “To…” His tongue laps the stiff flesh. “Fuck…”

  Inside me. Come inside me.

  His hand dives down my leggings and panties. He cups my heat. “You…” He pushes two fingers inside of me.

  I gasp, my head rocking back, my muscles tightening. Yesyesyes. He pulses his fingers, and my toes curl. “OhmyGod.” I dizzy.

  His lips catch mine. I sink against his affection that deepens, that originates from the pit of his soul. We kiss like we’ve been told this will be our last. We show each
other why it couldn’t be the end. Even if other people said it should be.

  He breaks apart, just to pull off my leggings and panties with one hand, his lips right against mine, our eyes glued to one another. In my ragged breath, I ask, “Are you hornier than me? That’s not…”

  “Not what?” His edged voice makes me quake in want.

  By the time I respond, we’re both naked. “Not…possible.” I writhe as his fingers find the most pleasurable spot. He pulses them faster, over and over, and my back arches.

  I cry upwards, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Yesyesyes!”

  Lips back to my ear, he whispers, “You’re about to feel how horny I am, love.”

  Oh my…my hands skim his abs as his hardness nears me. “Closer,” I beg.

  “How close?” he teases, waiting and waiting.

  Sweat coats my skin. “All the way…in.”

  Lo has one protective hand on my abdomen. As though reminding himself to take this easy for our baby. Then he fills me so full.

  It sets me on edge. I tense up, and the way he stares at me does me in. Our eyes connect while he rocks against me, his muscles flexing.

  “Closer, closer,” I keep begging, even if he’s as close as he can go. I want to be completely consumed by Loren Hale.

  A grunt in his throat, he moves slower but deeper. I feel each shift inside of me. I want to sit on him. I want to blow him. I want to do a thousand different things to him, and I want him to do a thousand different things to me.

  My world rotates at the next thrust. “Lo…”

  His fingers graze my nipple. He pinches. I shudder and moan, hugging onto him.

  “Lo.”

  His hand runs down my leg, towards my thigh.

  “I want to sit on you,” I suddenly blurt out. I also tell him four more positions that are impossible pregnant. “…and come in my mouth.”

  I’m high-maintenance in bed. He told me so last week. In a loving kind of way.

  Lo kisses me on the lips while he rocks forward. I clutch his sides, still full of him. We’re one. We’ve always been one.

  And when our bodies meld, the need feels beyond need and more like survival. We’re surviving this world together.

  I reach a peak and only look at Lo, my body shaking in euphoria.