It’s very weird, but I think I’m the most composed of the three of us right now. Sex isn’t even on the brain yet. I internally smile. I make sure to file the rare accomplishment with a few others.
“I’m not touching their…stuff,” I tell Rose, and just like that my face heats.
“Balls,” Rose emphasizes the word, shooting me a death glare on an epic scale. I blame her hormones on the intensity of those yellow-green eyes. They’re a lot scarier now. “Or testicles if that makes them any better for you.”
I shake my head over and over, my face flushing. I’ve already been dizzy all night, a pregnancy symptom, and the red rash is not helping my spinning head any. “That’s worse. And I don’t have a problem with them. I like balls.” I cringe. That sounds so bad. “I mean, I like them.” An image of Lo’s cock, hard and very erect, pops in my head, and my skin heats. No. No. No. I press my thighs tighter together.
Through Rose’s intense glare, I see glimmers of sisterly concern.
I’m like a tortoise, slow and steady. I’m not one-hundred percent able to talk about sex without flushing. I’m not sure if I ever will be that comfortable without feeling like someone’s going to hurl a dildo at my face.
That happened two weeks ago outside of Lucky’s Diner. Not fun. And I thought being pregnant would give me some sort of reprieve like: don’t throw sex toys at me and my unborn baby. Not so.
“Regardless of whether you like them or not, their balls need to go,” Rose says. She’s so pissed at these guys who keep pranking us. I am too, but I don’t have war maps and battlements planned in my head.
Daisy slumps down from the toilet, finally done puking. I flush the toilet and then press a cool washcloth to her forehead while she takes deep breaths.
We’re all quiet for a minute, except for the flap flap of Rose’s paper fan as she beats the air at Daisy. I have these painful flashbacks of what happened, and I’m more shaken up about my sister’s reaction to the paintball guns than the actual guys.
She was polishing my toenails with a bottle of Lucky Lucky Lavender while I read pregnancy stories aloud from a “mommy-to-be” magazine. My back was to the window, but she looked up, pure dead-panic in her eyes, wide like saucers.
And that’s when the bangs went off. I saw the blue and orange paint on the window pane like neon bird crap, and we both sprung to our feet together, the nail polish spilling on the rug.
When Ryke and Lo ran down to us and out the door, Daisy muttered something and then stumbled up the stairs. She was a ghost, her breath sharp as she choked for air. Like she was gasping on dry land. I helped her to her bathroom on the second floor and tried to calm her so she’d breathe normally.
This all lasted for maybe twenty minutes, and it’s only after she vomited that she’s settling, more at ease. Her white tank top with the words—kapow, baby—is soaked through from sweat. She’s not wearing a bra, which I understand. Neither am I. Free-boobing is the best. Plus, we’re both very tiny up top.
“Can you talk?” I ask her, pulling a strand of blonde hair off her face. When she returned from Costa Rica with Ryke, she dyed the multi-colored strands back to blonde and then changed the tips of her hair to pastel mint-green. She’s too cool for me, and she’s my little sister. I don’t even think she realizes the effect she has on a lot of people. When she smiles, usually everyone does too.
Maybe that’s why Daisy’s sadness hurts so much. It’s like watching a Care Bear cry.
“I overreacted,” she says in a morose voice, tears pooling.
My stomach knots. “I was there, Daisy, it was scary.” I pull her closer to me so she’s not clinging to the toilet bowl, and I wrap my arm around her waist. She’s wearing Ryke’s blue and red Penn baseball cap backwards, and she rests her head tiredly on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, wiping her eyes quickly. “I’m just disappointed in…myself.” Her voice shakes.
I give Rose a look to not interject. She’s not the most comforting human being in the world. And she knows this. So she mouths, fine, to me and stays out of it.
“I almost peed myself,” I tell Daisy.
She laughs softly and looks up at me.
“I’m serious. I know I peed at least a little bit.”
“It’s because you’re pregnant,” Daisy says with a weak smile. “You can’t hold your bladder.”
“No, it was definitely from fear. I’m not that pregnant yet.” Eighteen weeks and the baby bump is just noticeable. I’ve gained maybe five pounds or less, and my doctor wants me to eat more since I’m “underweight.” I think gangly is a nicer word than underweight.
Rose is twenty weeks along and a lot more pregnant looking than me. She has a round bump in her black Calloway Couture dress that molds her body. She’s been designing more maternity kind of clothes—just for herself. Lo called her vain last week, and she swatted him with her sketchbook.
I like that she’s making sure she feels comfortable. That’s important, especially when so many things are changing.
Daisy wipes the last of her tears with her sleeve, her other forearm wrapped in a bright yellow cast. No one was surprised that Costa Rica brought Daisy a bad compound fracture and a dislocated shoulder. When she has free reign of the wild, she goes hard.
I peel off the washcloth from her forehead.
“Thanks, Lily,” she whispers to me.
My heart swells. I recognize that my addiction (and all the nasty media attention it brought) is the origin of her pain. But it’s not guilt that makes me want to be here for Daisy. It’s just purely out of love for my sister.
“Lily, your foot,” Rose says with a scrunched face.
I glance down. Lucky Lucky Lavender is spilt all over my toes, and my left nails are half painted.
Daisy says, “I’ll redo them.”
Rose fans herself. “You won’t have time. The minute Ryke barrels in here, he’ll want to hold you.” She rolls her eyes, but she adds, “It’s sort of cute.”
I picture that embrace leading to other sensual acts. But I don’t think about it too hard. I squirm a little, clenching my thighs. “At least you’ll probably get laid tonight,” I say to Daisy and nudge her hip. That would be a definite perk in my book. But not by Ryke Meadows. With Lo. Separately. I nod resolutely in my mind and avoid a dark red blush.
“I’m on my period,” Daisy says, her cheeks still pale. “So that’s out.”
We’re all quiet for a second, and I can’t hold it in. “Just have sex in the shower.” I’m surprising myself, more open than usual. Maybe all the sex talks I have with Ryke are subconsciously helping a little bit. I can share some tips without needing a desk to hide under.
“We’ve never done it like that. It’d be weird,” she says.
My brows crinkle. “You’ve never done it in the shower?” Wait. I hold up my hands. “Ryke says he’s done it in the woods before. But he’s never done it in there?” I point at the glass doors of their giant shower with three different nozzles and spigots, plus fancy cobblestone wall-tiles.
Rose looks fascinated by this talk, her back straightened and eyes alert.
“We’ve done it there, just not on my period.” Daisy isn’t shy about her love life with Ryke, which I really like. It makes it easier talking to her about Lo. “Isn’t it gross?” she asks.
“It’s worth it…” I trail off. “Though I may not be the best source. I’ve been known to rank sex above food.”
Daisy laughs softly. I’m glad I can joke about my addiction now. I even smile.
“How about a sleepover in the guest room?” Rose asks Daisy. “We’ll redo Lily’s toenails and sleep in the king-sized bed.”
“I’ll kick you,” Daisy suddenly says. “If we sleep in the same bed, I mean. I move a lot and could kick you in the womb or something and then you’ll both miscarry because of me.” She inhales sharply.
“Then you’re doing me a favor.”
“Rose!” I shout.
She rolls her
eyes again, regret flashing in them. She’s not filtering anything lately. “It’s hot in here.” She fans herself some more, sweat beading her forehead.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Daisy suggests.
“I’ll sit down after we’ve plotted our retaliation and our plans tonight. They’re more important.” She likes to pretend her pregnancy has no side effects on her, even though she was the one hit with bad morning sickness. I thankfully bypassed that.
“I vote sleepover and TPing.” I raise my hand in the air just as hurried footsteps sound and the door whooshes open.
{ 3 }
LILY CALLOWAY
Ryke bounds into his bathroom first, followed quickly by Lo and then Connor. As they stand towering above us, a new tension strains the air, and I think we all feel our dynamic shifting just a bit. It used to be Daisy and Ryke on the outside of the inner circle.
Now it’s guys versus girls.
We scrutinize them while they do the same to us, measuring our wellbeing from afar. I notice the red marks on Lo’s shoulder and ribs, splashed with blue and orange paint. Ryke has similar paintball imprints. It’s safe to assume they were shot. My stomach tosses. They were shot. That phrase—no. I don’t want to picture anything like that happening.
“I hope those guys look ten million times worse than the two of you,” Rose says, slicing through the tension.
“They’re teenagers,” Lo says flatly. They must’ve let them go.
“Perfect, we’ll just call their parents.”
The guys are quiet, and Ryke hasn’t taken his eyes off Daisy. I can tell that she’s embarrassed by what happened and the extra attention that bears down on her. She lifts her legs to her chest, shielding her boobs (and see-through shirt) from the guys. I watch her pick at the white inside of her cast, and then she sets her cheek back on my shoulder.
“Hello?” Rose snaps her fingers at them and then zeroes in on Connor, his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. “You.”
“We’re not tattling, Rose.”
She glares. “Please. It’s not tattling. It’s justice.”
“It’s both. Though the tattling will undoubtedly outweigh the justice.”
Ryke and Lo approach us while Connor walks over to Rose by the sink.
“Dais…” Ryke whispers, squatting down, eye-level with her. The concern in his face clenches my heart in different ways. I’ve always wanted my sister to find someone that cares for her, so deeply, but I never thought that someone would be related to Loren Hale. I will always love that extra bond I share with Daisy, for however long her relationship does last.
I’m rooting for them to go on forever.
She lifts her head up and finally meets his eyes. Tears spill off her lashes, cascading down the long scar on her cheek. “I…” Her chin trembles, and I have a suspicion she was about to say overreacted but stopped herself short.
Ryke sits in front of Daisy and spreads his legs around her, so when he draws her close, she fits right against his chest. It’s a tender, gentle embrace that I would’ve never expected from an aggressive guy like Ryke. But he has a soft side when it comes to my little sister.
She twists the baseball cap front-ways and lowers it, blocking her eyes from him and everyone else. Her body vibrates with heavier tears, and I’m not sure how to comfort her. She feels like she failed herself, upset that she had a panic attack over paintball guns and caused a scene.
Ryke holds her tightly, and her slender arms wrap around his bare chest. An impenetrable stone in a raging storm. That’s what Ryke Meadows has always been.
“Lily.” The sharp voice captures my attention. Lo stands above me. His amber-eyed focus is all mine to obtain. His features are deathly beautiful, the severely cut cheekbones and smooth Irish skin. I think: his baby is in me. It’s such a weird thought.
But it sweeps me in an electric current, sparking each nerve and adding an extra beat to my heart.
“Hi,” I breathe shallowly, like this is the first time I’ve ever seen him. My neck heats, no doubt with a vibrant red hue.
His lips rise in a gorgeous smile. “Lily,” he says my name again, huskily in a deep, sexual voice.
My body tingles. “Don’t do that,” I whisper-hiss, flushing more.
“Lily,” he repeats, subtly licking his bottom lip. Oh my God. I spring to my feet to pinch him or punch him in the ribs for teasing me with my name. Who does that? He didn’t even touch me yet. As soon as I land on my feet, the world spins one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. I teeter backwards as my vision blurs with black and white blinding spots.
“Lily.” Worry breaches his voice, but I feel his hands around my hips before I tumble and fall. He combs my short brown hair out of my face, and I blink a few times, his features clearing past the dizzy haze.
“That’s…my least favorite Lily,” I say under my breath.
He exhales loudly. “Don’t stand up that quickly next time. Your blood pressure—”
“—is low,” I finish. “I know.” I’ve been taking lots of extra steps to ensure a healthy pregnancy: vitamins, eating less junk food, and reading books. But the more I try, the less I succeed. Rose leaves her doctor with an A-plus report and a pat on the back. I leave mine with a list of things to work on.
Lo said that they probably bribe the doctor to say nice things, just to one-up us. I doubt it. Though maybe the doctor is scared of Rose’s wrath. That is a likely possibility, especially since she went through four Ob/Gyn’s before choosing Dr. Freida Dhar.
My finger skims the blue paint on his ribs, the place so red beneath that I wonder if it’ll bruise. And I just hug Lo, my arms flying around his waist. The idea of a real bullet slicing through his skin nearly chokes the breath from my lungs. To lose Loren Hale is to lose my life. It’s these moments—of catastrophic change and brutal, ugly fatality—that I recognize how deeply I love him.
He tilts my chin up with his fingers, reading my pained features well, and he whispers, “We’re okay.”
I nod. We’re okay. And then he kisses my lips, full of pressure and force that numbs my brain. Yes. I shut my eyes and drift with the bursting sensations, his hand falling to the hem of my leggings. Yes. I feel so wet and ready for that image of his cock to become reality. But maybe now isn’t a good time?
I’m not sure.
And then he pulls away, my lips still warm from his touch. He mouths, later.
Later. I can do later. “What’s later?” I ask.
He just smiles.
His teasing is killing me. In a good-bad way. I cross my ankles, spin around to face my sisters, and lean against Lo’s chest. His hands settle on my hips, some of his fingers dipping below them hem of my leggings. He’s sneaky.
I catch myself rubbing my ass against his crotch, and I stop when his fingertips dig into my skin like he’s trying not to be that aroused.
Later.
I can hear Ryke whispering quietly to Daisy, but I can’t make out any of the words.
Across from me, Rose pulls her silky brown hair in a pony while she speaks to Connor in French. And then her gaze drifts to mine and she goes quiet.
“Talking about us?” Lo asks her, and I can feel his bitter half-smile behind me.
Rose’s eyes narrow. “You’re spending too much time with my husband,” she says. Connor barely even balks at this, knowing exactly where she’s going. My brows pinch in confusion with Lo’s.
“Why is that?” Lo asks.
“You’ve acquired his narcissism. No, we were not talking about you.” She snaps her hairband in place. “Get over yourself.”
Lo’s face sharpens. “Hey, Rose,” he says. Oh no. “You want to know what karmic justice looks like? Your baby, ripping slowly through your vagina on its way out.” He flashes another dry smile, and I punch him in the arm. He barely even acknowledges the attack. The get over yourself comment must have really eaten at him.
Rose straightens to attention and shoots him two middle fingers. “Fuck. You. Times two.”
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“I can count, thanks,” Lo says.
Connor is leaning against the sink counter with his arm hooked around Rose’s waist. His grin grows and grows the longer they go at it. That’s great for him, but I’m starting to sweat profusely, scared their back-and-forth verbal fight will go down a bad, bad road. They’ve been there before, and it can easily happen again.
“They teach algebra in detention?” she says with the tilt of her head.
“Weak,” he replies back.
She purses her lips.
I glance down at Daisy, who’s still sitting on the floor with Ryke. He spins the blue baseball cap backwards on her head again, her tears dried. She rarely wears makeup like me, so she has no mascara streaks. Ryke leans in to kiss her, and she swiftly turns her head.
The bottom of my stomach drops at the rejection.
Ryke is rigid and unmoving. And then Daisy says, “I threw up earlier…” Oh…Daisy. I cringe at how many moments she probably wishes she could alter and rewind. She rises to her feet and heads to the sink. Connor scoots over so she has room to brush her teeth.
Ryke stands and rubs his lips in thought as he wanders over to us. And then he whispers to me, “She threw up?”
I nod. “She was nauseous. She’s better now, I think.”
“At least she gave you a warning,” Lo tells Ryke. “Lily would’ve just kissed me.”
I gape and then think about it for a second. “Yeah…maybe.” I probably would’ve forgotten that I threw up. I crinkle my nose. “Am I that gross?”
“No, love,” Lo says and then kisses the outside of my lips like the biggest tease. I just realize that Ryke has already left our side and gone to Daisy’s.
Rose clears her throat to rein everyone’s focus.
“Hairball?” Lo questions.
Rose ignores him by clasping her hands loudly together. “We were holding a vote before you three showed up. We want to payback these guys—”
Addicted After All Page 2