I sometimes forget that Ryke is comfortable by most things. “Yeah…I miss it a lot,” I lie. The truth: Lo and I had sex in the pool a few weeks ago while Connor and Rose spent a long weekend in London.
“You know that you shouldn’t be ashamed of liking it. It’s not wrong,” he tells me. This is definitely a Ryke Meadows ploy to make me comfortable.
My cheeks heat. Half out of embarrassment and the other half out of fear. This is not how I want Ryke to discover my “extra sex” secret. He can learn the same way as Rose, when I eventually tell him that I’m pregnant.
“Not that this makes me a sex addict,” he prefaces, “but I prefer to have sex in places besides a bed.”
I perk up, more interested. I knew it. All of those bathroom breaks with Melissa during a Cancun trip years ago suddenly make more sense. He even did it on the plane. It’s very rare for me to find someone who enjoys these things. Maybe because I just don’t talk about sex all that much.
“Like where?” I ask.
“I’ve fucked all over,” he says conversationally. I must admit, he has a gift in speaking without restraint or shame. It’s like he owns who he is to the fullest degree.
I wish I could be like that about sex. But I think it’s a little different being a girl.
“The beach,” he lists.
I shake my head. “Sand is evil.”
“But in the early morning, it’s so fucking beautiful.”
I can’t recall a morning beach hookup for myself. Night, most definitely.
“Bathrooms,” he continues.
“Even the dirty ones?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t really notice.” He adds, “Parks, elevators, golf courses, locker rooms, the woods—love the woods.”
“Did you ever have sex at your high school?” I ask.
He nods. “Under the bleachers like a cliché.”
I smile. “Me too.”
He raises his water bottle in a toast.
“Lo and I had sex in a movie theater once,” I tell him. “He actually bought every ticket just so we could do it.”
Ryke’s brows shoot up. “Before you went into recovery, I assume.”
I nod. It was when he wanted to satiate my every whim and desire, which turned into one big enabling factory. But it was fun. I can’t deny that. Even though we’re having public sex, I doubt Lo would ever buy out a theater again. Some things go too far.
“I fucked this gypsy at a carnival once,” he says, his arm stretching over the back of the couch, “right underneath her table. We knocked over the crystal ball.” He smiles at the memory like it’s a good one. Like the whole event was more than just a climax for him. That’s not how I ever saw sex. I didn’t seek out wild places to fuck. They were just convenient at the time. Settings to get me what I wanted.
“I did it at a carnival or amusement park or…whatever,” I say. “On the Ferris wheel though.”
“While it was moving?” Surprise infiltrates his voice.
“Yeah, I mean, he didn’t last long.” My throat tightens, trying not to think about the messy details.
Ryke’s face falls a little. Maybe he’s just now realizing that I’m not talking about Lo. I test out this theory by saying, “I also did it with a guy I met at a cotton candy booth. Same night.”
He shifts forward, removing his arm from the couch, darkness clouding him. I can tell he’s trying to push it away, but when his gaze meets mine, there’s more understanding, more empathy for my addiction than I’ve ever seen before.
Me and him. We’re not the same. He can reminisce about all the places he’s fucked with laughs and smiles, rehashing stories that involve beginnings, middles, and satisfying conclusions. With orgasms and no shame in the end. My past is littered with hurt and regret. I’d rather leave it all in the fog.
He was right. He won’t ever join my club.
It’s just me.
By my lonesome.
How it should be.
“You ready?” Lo’s voice wakes me from my reverie. He stands in the doorway with wet hair and a sharpened jawline. His eyes flit from my head to my toes, assessing my state. And then he nods to me like you’re okay. I rise to my feet and gladly walk straight into his arms.
Maybe I’m not so alone.
{ 52 }
2 years : 01 month
September
LILY CALLOWAY
Landed. Flight was pretty good, almost no turbulence. – Lo
Rugby World Cup is going on in Paris this weekend. Horrible traffic. – Lo
Daisy looks shaken up. – Lo
I scroll through my old text conversation with Lo, rereading each word. His road trip with his brother and Connor had to take a major detour and pit stop for my little sister.
She had some sort of night terror…are you sure you don’t want to come up? – Lo
Is Rose raging right now? – Lo
Rose paces in front of me, slamming her fingers violently on the screen of her phone. Raging, yes. Fuming, yes. She growls and looks like she’s ready to chuck her phone across the room. “Connor won’t snap a picture of her and send it to me,” she says. “How am I supposed to verify that Daisy is okay without evidence?”
I rest an elbow on the checkout counter at Superheroes & Scones, the store opening in a couple hours. “Trust,” I say, a pit in my stomach. “We have to believe that they’re telling us everything.” I scroll through my messages again, silently cursing Lo for being such a brief texter.
I should just focus on my book that’s cracked open for my Options, Futures and Financial Derivatives course. Every page is highlighted with neon yellow marks, my fingertips stained that color. But the sentences blur together, my mind in Paris with the guys and my little sister.
“We can fly in tomorrow,” I suggest.
Lo did call to deliver a more detailed account of what happened. Daisy was thrown out of a runway show only minutes before she was supposed to walk, and the designer basically ripped off her clothes. In front of everyone backstage. I would have been mortified if that was me, so I wasn’t surprised that she was upset. But I am a little shocked that she chose to call Ryke and only Ryke about the incident.
He immediately wanted to check up on her in person. And when they spent the night, Daisy woke them up, screaming like she was being murdered. Apparently she was “stuck” in a nightmare…or something like that.
Chills still prick my skin every time I imagine it. Lo said, “It was horrifying.” It was horrifying. I want to jump on a plane and hug my sister, not leave her with our significant others and Ryke.
“We can’t fly in tomorrow,” Rose tells me, her eyes still narrowed at her cellphone. “You won’t graduate.”
After being delayed for so long, I can almost feel the crisp paper of my diploma, so close. But I have a huge exam, and if I don’t make the date, I’ll be given a big fat zero. My professor said, “In order to be excused, you need to be dying in a hospital.” This particular professor isn’t fond of the “celebrity special treatment” either, so I have to be there.
In the flesh.
“You can go,” I remind her, already feeling a bout of guilt for not being present for Daisy. I don’t want to hold Rose back too.
She pockets her phone in her clutch and sidles up to the counter. I smell coffee being brewed by one of the employees. “I’m not leaving you,” she says. I read into the rest: not while you’re pregnant.
I give her a weak smile.
Rose straightens up. “Now where are your notecards? I’ll quiz you.”
I fish them out of my backpack at my feet and pass the disorderly stack to her.
She snorts. “Connor is a horrible tutor. He didn’t even teach you to rubber band these.”
“He did,” I say, even though I thought that “helpful tip” was pretty self-explanatory. “I just always lose the rubber bands.” My tablet pings on the counter. I’ve been entrusted with the internet to study for my exam, but I may have also setup notif
ications for certain tags on Tumblr.
I don’t deny it.
I’m still a little obsessed.
I just don’t want another surprise like the one about Lo’s dad. Plus, I sometimes fear that the pregnancies will just pop up online. That cannot be the way Lo finds out.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I power the tablet on and check the alert: 1 New from #Coballoway. I click into the tag, and my cheeks burn at the gif of Connor’s hand gripping Rose’s bottom, her ass already a little red. I quickly click out. I didn’t see it.
Rose finishes straightening my cards together and gives me a look. “Why are you all flushed?” I’m flushed in embarrassment, not arousal, just to be clear. Her eyes flit to the tablet. “Lily, do you have internet on there?”
“Just a little bit,” I blurt out.
“Okay”—she snatches the tablet from me—“you can’t have a little bit of internet.” She logs into my settings.
“It’s for work purposes, and you know, studying.” I tap my highlighter to my book for further emphasis.
“Stick to your notecards.”
She just doesn’t trust me as much since the doctor’s office. I think she’s waiting for me to slip back into my old, destructive porn-filled routine. Which is understandable. But she’s pregnant too and…
My eyes grow big as my thoughts take a dangerous turn. “Rose,” I whisper, leaning close, “are you going to be able to have sex now that you’re pregnant?” I frown, thinking harder. Oh my God. “Can I have sex when I’m really, really pregnant? Oh my God. What about right afterwards?” I lunge for my tablet. I need answers. Answers that the worldwide web can provide.
“Lily,” Rose snaps, raising the tablet over my head. Damn her heels. “Be calm.”
“Aren’t you freaking out? Just a little. Even internally?”
“Internally I’m rolling my eyes at you,” she deadpans.
Oh. “These are valid questions.” I point at her. “You should be more worried. I mean, you and Connor do it like…” I trail off.
“Like what?” Her eyes pierce me through the skull.
“Like…rough, and you’re into bondage.”
“So?” she says.
“How is it?” I suddenly ask.
The break room door breezes open, drawing our attention to a makeup-less girl with straight black hair, big rimmed glasses and rosy cheeks. She flashes the Vulcan salute, a clipboard tucked underneath her other arm. “Live long and prosper.” She smiles and then says another greeting in Korean.
Did I mention that I am in love with our new store manager? Ryke can’t have her.
Rose taps her nails on the counter, watching Maya Ahn slip behind it. All our conversations about babies and sex have disappeared with the threat of eavesdropping. Worst case scenario: The news is leaked to the press before we tell Connor and Lo. That is a nightmare of hellish proportions.
The silence drags and Maya spins around from the coffeemaker. “Did I interrupt something?” She pushes her glasses up with a finger.
“No,” I say quickly. “We were just talking about…breast implants.” Ohmygod. I clear my throat. “Mine are kinda small…” I actually don’t have a problem with my boobs, but it was the first thing that jumped from my lips.
Rose stares at me like I just purchased my one-way ticket on the crazy train. “And I’ve been telling Lily that her boobs are fine how they are.”
Maya doesn’t look fazed by the conversation. “As long as you’re happy with yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you look, right?” She starts the coffee pot and it gurgles in response.
“True,” I say with a nod. “I think I’m going to stick with these.”
“Okay.” Rose grabs her purse off the counter and starts towards the door. “I need to get to Calloway Couture to prep for opening. Come along, Lily. You can study in my break room.”
“I have a break room,” I motion to the backdoor.
“Yes, but my couches are better.” Her eyes turn fierce. Okay. Jeez.
“See ya!” Maya calls out as we leave through the front door. The wind hits me and I release a large breath. Close call.
“At least we’ll know how trustworthy she is,” Rose says as we walk across the street. The people standing in line at Superheroes & Scones whip out their smart phones to snap pictures of us. I’m a little surprised no cameramen pop up out of the thin air.
“Why is that?” I ask. Rose unlocks her store door and I shut it behind me.
“Because if tomorrow’s headline reads Lily Calloway is getting a boob job then you can fire her.” She pauses in thought. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Plant a lie for your staff and see if they feed it to the press. Weed out the betrayers.” She grins like she found her new tactic for her own store.
My phone buzzes before I can compliment her evil strategy.
Miss you. – Lo
I take a deep breath and try not to count the days until I see him again.
{ 53 }
2 years : 01 month
September
LOREN HALE
Loren, where did your father touch you? I can still the feel the heat of the flashes as we walked down the Paris city street, the paparazzi bombarding us, a whole ocean away from where we live. Walking. Just walking. Became a nightmare.
Why hasn’t your brother made a statement to the press? Does Ryke know the truth, Loren?
I sit on a barstool in a pub, gripping a glass with dark carbonated liquid. I try to focus on the Rugby World Cup playing on every television screen, but I can’t distance myself from all the questions today. No matter how hard I try.
Connor says something to me, a plate of fries between us, but I lose track of his words.
“Whatever,” I mutter, my voice biting and cold. I sip my drink, the bitter taste of liquor sliding down. Beginning to numb my head. But not fast enough.
Connor has to know I ordered a Fizz and whiskey when he went outside to call Rose. He’s not an idiot, and while his demeanor never changed, he stepped out again. I’m guessing to call my brother.
Lo, what about Lily?!
I grit my teeth. My eyes sear like someone rubbed salt in them. I glare at the rows and rows of bottles behind the bartender. I don’t want to think about this.
Did your father ever touch, Lily?
I chug the rest of my drink. I flag down the bartender and then point to my glass. She nods, understanding. Has your girlfriend been molested?
Where did your father touch her?
Stop.
Thinking.
Today.
It was the first day that I’ve ever heard Lily’s name thrown around with this mess. I just want everyone to see the truth. To realize how much damage they’re doing to my family by speculating. Instead, every lie keeps growing into a bigger one. I don’t see how it’ll ever end.
Connor looks between me and the television, eating a fry.
“Did you hear,” I finally say, “that Sara Hale is going to be interviewed on television?” Some sort of tell-all special. “She’s going to bury my dad.” And I’ll be dragged down with him.
The bartender slides the newly-filled glass towards me. She avoids eye contact, fear in her brows. She’s afraid of me. I must wear the worst fucking glare—like I’m sitting here hoping that the world burns with me in it.
I partly do. And then I take another sip, a buzz barely even present.
“Sara has nothing to gain from that,” Connor says easily, as if the matter is settled.
“Not everyone is like you,” I retort spitefully, clutching the cold glass. “Everything Ryke’s mom has ever done is because she hates Jonathan.”
“I never said that she wouldn’t lie on camera. I just meant that it’ll solve nothing for her if she does. So revel in that fact. I am.”
“You go ahead and revel in that, Connor.” An acidic taste sears my throat. “You’ll be the only one.”
“I’m used to being the only person who thinks intelligently. I hon
estly can’t expect everyone to reach my level.”
His arrogance doesn’t fuel me like I thought it would. Maybe because he takes my insults and just creates more of his own. It makes being an asshole easier. “Cheers,” I say raising my drink and taking a long gulp.
It’s not that sharp. If I could, I’d just drink whiskey straight.
The bar erupts in exclamations and overly energetic shouts at the rugby match. French chatter overwhelms the small pub. Just as the noise begins to die down, a hand rests on my shoulder. “Hey,” Ryke says.
I just sip my drink.
“How was shopping?” he asks, his voice deep, like black, rolling clouds before the downpour.
“Boring.” I eat a fry and glower straight ahead, ready for his onslaught of: what the fuck are you doing? How could you break your sobriety again? Stop this stupid fucking shit.
It doesn’t feel stupid. He doesn’t have to be rushed by cameras and people that see a victim of a crime that never happened. Doesn’t he fucking get it?
I will always be Loren Hale: the guy who was touched inappropriately by his father.
And now Lily…
Ryke drags an empty stool between Connor and me, and I grind my teeth. I wait for Connor to move back, but he stays quiet.
Fine.
Whatever.
Ryke motions to the female bartender, and my muscles constrict. “What can I get you?” she asks.
“What he’s having.” He points to the glass.
The bottom of my stomach drops, realizing his stupid ploy. All so I can admit, out loud, that I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a bastard. I get it! I know what I am, and it’s no one good. I down the rest of my drink in one swallow. “I’m done. Let’s just get out of here.” I stand off the barstool. This isn’t happening. I don’t need him to do this. Why can’t he just let me go this once? I just need to breathe.
His hand grips my shoulder. “Sit your ass down. I want a fucking drink.” He literally forces me back onto the stool.
“You sound like Dad, you know that?” I retort. Just tell him. Just say the fucking words: I drank. They rise in a jagged ball to my throat. And I keep swallowing them.
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