“Likewise,” I tell her. I finally rotate, actually seeing the way her face has softened, not as severe, defensive or on guard. She’s trying to be real with me. “Did Connor ask you to come patch things up for him? He got you to do his dirty work?”
She glares. “I’m not Connor’s bitch,” she snaps. “I do what I want to do. You want to know the truth? He told me to stay out of his relationship with you because he’s afraid I’ll do more harm than good. He’s so scared to lose you, and you can’t see it because Connor won’t let you.”
I process everything she says. “Why is that?”
“He enjoys acting like he’s invincible. It’s infuriating, but we all have our faults, even him.”
I put him on a pedestal above everyone, above my own brother. I thought there was no fucking way Connor Cobalt would hurt me. He was designed to be there for all of us. He made me feel worthy of love even if he never truly loved me.
“Our whole friendship feels like a lie,” I tell her.
“It’s not,” she says. “I’ve known him since I was fourteen, Loren. I’ve seen his superficial friendships and the ones he creates to further himself in life. You’re not one of those. He’s more himself with you than he usually is. You have to believe that.”
“Why are you sticking up for him?” I ask. “He doesn’t even love you, Rose.” This time, I think she’ll have a different reaction to the words, no longer drunk off champagne.
But her expression remains exactly the same. “He’s incredibly intelligent,” she says, “but that comes with a few quirks. This is one of those that I’m okay with. I don’t need him to love me because it’s not as though he’ll ever love another woman. Not if he doesn’t believe in it.”
My headache pounds. “Sometimes I’m glad I’m not as smart as you two.” I open a nearby drawer and pull out a bottle of Advil and swallow a couple pills without water. They lodge in my throat before sliding down.
“Loren,” she says, her voice still icy, “just give me a sign that you understand anything I’m saying.” She really wants me to make up with Connor. This is coming from a girl who dislikes me the most out of everyone in our group of six.
Everything Rose said makes more and more sense to me. Connor won’t apologize or say he’s wrong, not if he believes he’s right. But the fact that I frazzled him in some way—that means he cares about something other than just himself.
It has to mean that our friendship is real.
I give her a weak thumbs-up, practically sideways, like a half-assed affirmative answer.
“Always juvenile.” She gives me a look like I’ll take it and approaches the quarter-filled coffee pot, too impatient to wait any longer.
I set my mug on the counter and open the pantry door.
Footsteps sound on the floorboards. “Rose, have you…” Connor trails off only when he sees me. I don’t pay him that much attention. He swallows and then regains his focus. “…my passport, have you seen it? I thought I left it in our drawer.”
“I organized it with our itinerary.”
I grab a bag of bagels and set them on the island. Connor’s eyes flicker to me again, tension mounting in the air. He’s already dressed in a white button-down and black slacks.
I put a bagel in my mouth, take out an extra, and twirl the bag closed.
Connor speaks to Rose in French, and she snaps back in the same language.
I’m too used to the French to be bothered by it. I just fill my coffee and slip the extra bagel in the toaster.
Then Connor says, “Lo…”
I don’t spin around as I head to the living room. I just point to the toaster. “I’m not going to butter it for you.” I take a bite of my bagel and only glance back once. Yeah, I made the guy breakfast, a small, small sign of peace between us.
I watch as his lips pull into one of those genuine smiles—one that holds no trace of arrogance.
I add, “It doesn’t mean that I’m not still mad at you.” I won’t let him off the hook that easily, but I doubt this fight will last much longer.
“I prefer my friends angry,” Connor says. “It makes me look better.”
“Too soon,” I tell him, eating my bagel and walking back to the living room.
I can practically feel his grin widen behind me. And it takes me a minute to realize that I’m smiling too.
{ 26 }
0 years : 07 months
(March)
LILY CALLOWAY
I underestimated the amount of people that watch Princesses of Philly. A couple teenagers sip lattes and peek around a tall bookshelf, whispering as they spy on Lo and me. It’s impossible to be invisible with Brett’s camera pointed at us.
I keep asking myself why we left the townhouse. My brows crinkle. I don’t have an answer, so I turn to Lo who peruses the Sci-Fi/Fantasy aisle in the local bookstore.
“Why did we leave the townhouse?” I ask
“Fresh air.” He pulls out a small trade paperback and scans the summary. He mostly reads comics, but on occasion, he’ll branch out into these genres. He devoured Game of Thrones before watching the television show. I told him that I finished the first book, but really, I just skipped around and read Arya’s parts.
She’s the best.
Laughter emanates from one shelf behind us. My shoulders curve forward, hoping that it’s not something I did. “The air was pretty fresh back home.”
He gives me a look, one that says: I don’t want you becoming a scared, little hermit. His looks say more than his words. That’s a fact.
I inhale strongly and try to follow Lo’s lead. Just relax, Lily. Be casual. I shake out my arms and scan the row of books. Then I freeze, sensing beady eyes bore down on me.
Slowly, I look up and spot someone with a mop of brown hair, watching us from above a shelf. He ducks quickly when our eyes meet.
Holy shit.
I can’t do this.
I can’t.
I grab Lo’s hand, my chest constricting in a paranoid, freakazoid way. Swiftly, I drag him into the nearest bathroom, ignoring the fact that Brett trails us. I shut the door on the cameraman before he enters.
He pounds on the door in protest.
“I’m peeing!” I shout.
His fist must fall because everything grows silent outside.
My eyes dance over the door like someone is going to intrude any second. “Everyone is staring,” I whisper to Lo. I shiver, like eyes have attached onto me. Like they can see me in here.
When I turn to Lo, his gaze softens for me. I prepare myself for an epic pep talk. He holds my biceps. “You’re a sex addict and I’m an alcoholic,” he says, “and the whole fucking world knows it. We have to get used to people staring, love.”
He’s right of course. My mind seems to calm, but my body doesn’t follow just yet. My legs feel gooey, and my shoulders shake a little, on edge.
The words leave my lips before I can stop them, “Can I give you a blow job?”
“No,” he deadpans.
I raise my hands. “You’re right. You’re so right. Blow jobs are so ‘89.”
“Let’s not go that far.” He smiles softly, and I don’t know why, but tears prick my eyes. I’m such a sap. And there goes that smile, fading away. “Lil…”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I shouldn’t have asked. Can we do take-backs?”
“Sure,” he says. “And how about we wait in here for a while, see if we piss off Brett enough that he’ll ditch us for Ryke or Rose?”
“I like that idea.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “And maybe a virus will infect everyone, turning them into zombies, and when we leave the bathroom, the bookstore will be completely deserted.”
“Nice,” he says, “but I’d rather not be inserted into the plot of 28 Days Later.”
Damn. He’s good.
“I love you,” I suddenly say. I mean it. Because who else would stay in a bookstore bathroom with me, just to hide out for a little while.
Definitely not Rose. Maybe Daisy. Ryke would rather die, I’m sure. And Connor can never be added into any equation without hurting my head.
So that leaves Lo. Just Lo.
{ 27 }
0 years : 08 months
April
LILY CALLOWAY
“Did it hurt? Did you like it? Have you done it again?” My questions pour forth like a broken dam. This isn’t the first time I’ve asked Rose, but she never provides details, so I’ve waited until we could talk alone. But we haven’t had much of a chance since the Alps vacation, a trip planned by production. I thought I’d squeeze some conversations in on the plane ride home, but she sat with Connor.
The biggest event of the trip, in my opinion, was Rose losing her virginity.
Rose hisses at me, “Lower your voice.”
Okay, so we’re technically not alone. Production wanted another group segment, so we’ve gathered everyone together for an evening of bowling. When Rose went to pick her bowling ball, I followed her to the rack.
The others congregate behind our lane in the plastic swivel chairs, out of earshot. But Savannah hovers beside the rack, pointing her camera right at us. Even so, Scott has refused to air anything about Rose and Connor sleeping together. At first I thought he didn’t want to come across like the loser on television, but Rose said that they just want to perpetuate her “virgin” label for marketing.
“Do you not want to talk to me about it?” I ask.
“It’s not that.” Her lips purse while she scans the colorful bowling balls. “I just hate that Scott is taking advantage of a throwaway comment I made in an interview about being repulsed by bowling.”
Germs. Rose grew out of the obsessive compulsive trait when we were little, but the intensity of the cameras and lack of privacy has reignited some of her old habits. She has a strict policy on hygiene, and sticking her fingers in three holes that were once occupied by sweaty, unidentified hands kind of breaks it.
“Daisy will probably roll the ball granny-style,” I say. “Just copy her technique.”
She ponders this for a second, and her expression softens a fraction. “Connor and I have had sex again.”
I grin, and I swear she tries so hard not to. “Was it everything you thought it would be?” I ask.
“Better…different, but better.” She stares faraway, a smile playing at her lips. I try to imprint the image. My sister—swooning. Her glow flashes away all at once, replaced by ice. “Since when do you want to talk about sex?”
True. I’m usually tight-lipped and rosy red about the subject. “I’m trying to be better about it,” I admit, “and shockingly, it’s easier talking about someone else’s sex life.”
“Not shocking,” she refutes and squats like a lady to grab the bowling ball on the middle rack. Her blouse shifts, and I notice a red bite mark on her shoulder.
“Ohmygod,” I slur.
“What?” She straightens up quickly in alarm. “What is it?”
“He bites you,” I whisper, my surprise filling my face. She immediately presses her hand to my mouth, silencing me. I never pegged Connor to be rough. I thought he was the sweet, gentle type. Like a friendly giant.
“Don’t be so overdramatic.” As though she’s never dramatic? She pauses and then blurts out in curiosity, “Has Lo never bitten you?”
I frown and recall the times we’ve had sex. Uhh, there are too many to remember the exact details of each one, that’s for sure. He’s probably nipped my neck before.
She drops her hand so I can speak.
“It’s not the biting that I’m surprised by,” I whisper. “It’s the Connor biting that weirds me out.”
“Then don’t think about it,” she snaps. Good point. “In fact, while I love this newfound confidence in talking about sex, I’m not sure you should be thinking about it so much.”
She’s right. I need to relax.
“I’m just excited for you,” I tell her. “It’s like a milestone in your relationship.” The orbiting nerd stars have finally collided.
Out of my peripheral, I spot Daisy slipping on her bowling shoes while simultaneously sprinting across the carpet towards our lane.
“Babe, what the hell?” That comes from the guy behind her. Twenty-three. Dark hair. Tanned skin. A model. And also her boyfriend. “Be cool.”
She spins around and walks backwards with a lopsided smile. “I’m totally cool.” The moment she steps onto the slick bowling surface, her feet slide beneath her and she falls straight on her butt.
Ryke, slouched in a chair, turns his head to assess the situation and then glances back at the lane. “How’s that ground, Calloway?”
“Hard,” she banters with a mischievous smile. “It’ll probably leave a mark.”
“That’s usually what happens when your ass meets something hard, sweetheart.”
Okay, this is sexual. I know for a fact because Julian looks ticked, glowering at the back of Ryke’s head. Daisy picks herself off the ground, and Julian suddenly kisses her out of nowhere, one roaming hand gripping her butt.
Uh. This is why I don’t like him.
Ryke and my boyfriend see their spontaneous make out session, and they both end up glowering, mildly disgusted and definitely infuriated.
Everyone met Julian in the Alps, and things did not pan out so nicely. Lo doesn’t like him. Ryke doesn’t like him. Even Connor, who can find a morsel of decency in anyone, claimed that Julian was nothing short of an ape.
“You gave a speech to the guys, right?” I ask Rose. She places a teal ball back on the rack and heaves a bright pink one into her hands, cringing at having to touch it.
“Yes,” she says, “I told them if they’re rude to Daisy’s boyfriend that we’d have serious problems.” She lets out a harsh breath. “And then Connor had the audacity to tell me that the same rule applies to me.”
I don’t mention that I agree with him.
Rose has bitched Julian out far more than Lo or Ryke. But my little sister wants everyone to get along, and production wants her boyfriend in the show for more drama, so we’re all going to put on a happy face.
For her.
And so we can have one sane day.
{ 28 }
0 years : 08 months
April
LOREN HALE
I struggle with the frayed shoe string, forcing me to take an extra minute to tie them. Ryke sits beside me, his dark scowl plastered to Julian, who continues to stick his tongue down Daisy’s throat only ten feet behind us.
“I can’t be nice to him,” Ryke says, finally removing his gaze off them. “I’m not fucking created that way.”
“By using the word ‘created’ you imply that someone else made you into a barbarian,” Connor replies, almost absentmindedly as he types our names into the computer. I smile, amused by him but my brother doesn’t take the same route.
Ryke shakes his head. “I sincerely thought your personality was the product of jerking off one too many times this past year.” He touches his chest. “For fuck’s sake, I’d be a dick if I didn’t get laid for twelve months. But obviously, being a prick is just programmed into you.”
“You’re still not understanding,” Connor says casually, “being a prick is a choice. The same way you being rude to Julian is a choice. It’s not that hard to take responsibility for your actions.”
Ryke groans. “Just fucking shut up.”
“Hey,” I cut in and nod to Connor’s computer screen. “You know we’re bowling, right? We’re not signing up for Model UN. You’re supposed to make nicknames.”
Connor stares at the screen like I told him that he answered a quiz question wrong.
Ryke almost laughs. “Cobalt, is this your first time bowling?”
“In a public bowling alley, yes.” He begins to delete all of our names. “All the bowling I’ve done has been at someone’s house.”
Ryke’s grin transforms into a glare. “Fucking prick,” he mutters under his breath. Connor just
smiles wider like he’s enjoying being called one.
When I finally finish tying my shoes, I sit up and my elbow knocks into Brett’s camera. “Can you give me some room?” I snap, on edge.
Connor and Ryke exchange a long look. Yeah, I get it. I haven’t been too kind to production this past week. On the ride here, Brett wanted the passenger seat so he could film me driving, and I told him that he either rides in the back or I’d throw him out of the car halfway down the road.
All the nice sentiments I had towards the camera crew died on the plane ride home three days ago. Scott played nasty in the Alps. He fucked with Lily again, handing her a Magic Mike DVD like it was an innocent gesture, but his actions had a clear motive. It was the same as him shoving Maker’s Mark into my chest.
And then later, Lily and I caught Ben leaving actual porn in our room.
We didn’t tell anyone. Lily threw the magazines in the trash on her own accord, overcoming a huge hurdle. And although Scott tried to make her relapse, we both considered the trip a success. We skied down the slopes. We laughed. We felt normal, even under the hot gaze of the camera lens.
I try not to let my frustration and anger towards Scott surface. Not when he’s back at the townhouse, editing footage from the trip. Which is fine by me. The less I see his goddamn face, the less I feel like ripping it off.
“Enough,” Rose snaps, physically pushing her way between Daisy and Julian, separating them. “I’m not rushing my sister off to the hospital for oxygen deprivation, thank you.”
Daisy tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, shifting out of Julian’s arms, embarrassed. She claps her hands, acting more lighthearted than I think she truly is in this moment. “So who’s going first?” She plops down on an empty chair.
“Why don’t we let Julian go first?” I say with a half-smile. Just saying his full name out loud makes me grimace. He shouldn’t be allowed to share it with my favorite X-Men: Julian Keller. It’s fucking sacrilege.
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