“I’ll clean it later,” I say the moment our door blows open without a knock.
“Hey,” Ryke says. “I heard a…” He sees the glass and then the brick in my hand.
“Here.” I step around the shards and hand him the brick and balled note. “Do what you want with this. It’s nothing to me.”
His shoulders tighten, and he unfurls the note, reading it quickly. His voice lowers so Lily can’t hear him. “This is fucking wrong.”
“We’ve heard it all before,” I say. “I can deal with it.” I don’t need Ryke to threaten these guys on my behalf. I have a louder voice than him anyway. I’ve always been capable of lashing out. This is the route I’ve never taken before.
Wait and see. Be calm. Try to put my emotions aside to find the better option.
“Are you sure?” Ryke asks me, his eyes flickering to Lily on the bed and back to me.
“They’re not going to break our fragile hearts into little pieces,” I say dryly. “So no one needs to contact a realtor. We’re not moving.” Everyone’s lives have changed too many times because of outside forces. This house is supposed to be our stability, and these teenagers aren’t going to take that away.
We’ve lost way too much already.
“You feel like you need something, and you come to me, okay?” Ryke suddenly says. He means booze.
I play dumb. “Sure. Next time I need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll make sure to blow snot on your shirt.”
He flips me off, but we both end up smiling weakly.
I rub the back of my neck. “Can you just let everyone else know what happened? I want to be alone with Lily right now, and Rose hasn’t learned how to knock either.”
Ryke rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll tell everyone to give you an hour—”
“Longer,” I say.
Lily inhales in surprise and partial arousal.
Both Ryke and I turn to look at Lil, her skin nearly blending into her red onesie. She flings a blanket over her head so Ryke can’t see her embarrassment. I can’t hold back a smile. Goddamn, I love her.
“I already fucking saw you, Lily,” my brother says like she’s being ridiculous.
Lily mumbles out a response that sounds like, no you didn’t.
I pat Ryke’s shoulder. “See you later.”
He takes the hint and exits the bedroom, shutting the door on his way out. I climb back on the bed, straddle her and yank the blanket off her face, her hair frizzing with the static. Her lips part while her gaze trails my body.
“In my fantasy, you’re naked,” she reminds me.
“Do you want this to last longer than an hour, love?”
She nods with wide, desirous eyes.
I kiss her lips tenderly and then whisper, “Then we’re going to go really, really slow.”
She smiles and kisses me back, agreeing to this plan. She pauses for just a second and I sense the hesitation in her body, which is unlike Lily.
“Do you think they’ll stop?” she asks me seriously.
I realize she’s talking about the teenagers. “Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know.” I frown. “Are you scared?”
“Not really. We dealt with worse assholes in prep school, right?”
Me, I think. I was worse. I poured pig’s blood on a guy’s front door and did countless other things. “Right,” I breathe.
“They can’t come in the house…” she says with unease.
“No,” I say forcefully. “They wouldn’t. Plus, we have a security system.”
She nods repeatedly and then she kisses me quickly and deeply. I rest her back against the mattress again. I just try to forget about the interruption, the teenagers, and the sharp look of the young guy down the street—the one that simultaneously said fuck you.
And kill me.
{ 11 }
LILY CALLOWAY
“How could I have slept through a fucking car accident?” Rose says, aghast for the umpteenth time. She sits on a leather bar stool with a winter recipe book cracked open.
“Queen Rose¸ it’s been ten days,” Loren says with little amusement. “You weren’t even there, so let us peons reflect on the situation and you can let it go.” He gives her a bitter smile and dusts flour off his hands with a towel. That was one of his nicer comments of the day.
Baking, I have found, makes Loren Hale mean. Almost like smiling, happy gingerbread men frustrate him. He already put frowny faces on the second batch of cookies, just to ensure that they all share in his irritated state of being.
“I can’t let it go,” Rose says in a huff. “No one even called us.” She angrily flips a page in her recipe book. They found out about the car accident from Celebrity Crush before we could tell them. We’ll never live it down.
But I know it’s more than not calling. Rose is scared that she’s now part of the outer circle. Connor isn’t happy either. They both like to know everything before everyone—so this stings.
I watch Daisy and Ryke man the blender in our stainless steel kitchen. Measuring cups, cupcake trays, sugar and butter are splayed on the countertops.
I’m not wandering around, but I eat chocolate chips out of the bag next to Rose, which I’d like to think helps in some way. I’m taste-testing the food.
It’s edible. Just in case someone out there is wondering.
“I would’ve liked a text message, at least,” Connor says, opening a carton of eggs. He stands closest to Lo on the other side of the bar counter.
Lo leans against the cupboard. He snaps back, “I’ll send you one right now if it makes you feel better.” He doesn’t even add love on the end of it, which he reserves only for me and one of his best friends.
Connor’s eyebrow arches and he stares blankly at him.
I say to Lo, “Baking makes you mean.”
He grips the counter, takes a deep breath, and his narrowed amber eyes flit up to me. “My dad texted me about the meeting.”
The kitchen goes quiet except for the whirling blender.
“And?” I ask, caging a breath.
“And nothing. He just keeps saying he’ll explain in person, but now he’s not even saying when that’ll be.” He straightens up as he exhales again. “It’s annoying as shit.”
Ryke says, “He’s just messing with us. It’s what he fucking does.”
Lo shakes his head again in disagreement. “It’s like he’s scared or something…I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it, honestly.”
Rose points to a photo of peppermint cookies. “Whole Foods sells this exact cookie.”
Lo looks grateful for the digression, even if it’s coming from Rose. My older sister is ready to hop off the barstool, grab her keys and go shopping.
Her shopping skills far outrank her cooking skills.
And I agree, this sounds like a brilliant plan. I perk up. I’m about to call quits on our attempt at baking. I’m known to be lazy, so I have a perfect excuse.
But Connor rips the recipe book out of Rose’s hand and skims the ingredients. “You can make this easily, darling.”
Her yellow-green eyes pierce his forehead. “I don’t cook. The smart thing, Richard, would be to save time and buy all of this.” She gestures to the tray of misshapen gingerbread men (Lo’s), burnt snickerdoodles (Daisy’s) and perfectly brown oatmeal raisins (Ryke’s).
“It’s the efficient thing,” Connor says. “But Maria asked for homemade cookies, not store bought ones.” Poppy’s daughter is having some sort of baked goods sale, and my oldest sister enlisted our help.
“Maria also knows that I loathe baking.” Rose stretches over the bar to talk to Connor.
Oh this is good. I eat the chocolate chips like popcorn, my lips rising in entertainment. The nerd stars are sparkling. Lo is watching too, and he joins my side and sticks his hand in the chocolate chip bag.
Connor is practically grinning. “Are you really implying that she’s doing this on purpose?”
“Yes.” Rose pulls back her shoulders like a cat ready to poun
ce.
Connor grins, full-on now. “She’s six.”
Lo whispers to me, “Burn.”
“Rose has this,” I whisper back. “Watch.” I’m Team Nerd Stars, but if I must choose an allegiance, I will go with my sister, every time.
“All kids are devils in disguise,” Rose retorts, her forearms on the bar, “and apparently I’m the only one who sees them for what they really are.”
“And what is that?”
“Small, tiny gremlins.”
Lo chokes on a chocolate chip. I pat his back and keep eating mine, my eyes widening with delight. This is better than a summer blockbuster.
Rose’s butt rises off the stool as she continues, “The kind that will suck up all of your time and energy, and before you know it, you’re an old hag with nothing but saggy, disgusting cookies.”
“Your hyperboles are nothing new,” he tells her. I think he only likes them when they come from her.
She scoffs. “I speak the truth.”
“If anyone here is a truthteller, it’s me, darling.” He winks.
She glares. “Next time you wink at me, Richard, I’m going to scratch out your eyeball and set it on fire.”
He leans closer to her, their lips a breath apart. “Go ahead and try.”
Her gaze falls to his mouth, the sexual tension heightened, but it doesn’t stir me to bad places. Their intellectual love is always more amusing to me than erotic. “If you’re a truthteller,” she says, “then what does that make me, Richard?”
“A storyteller. The world needs those, so don’t feel bad.” Ohhhhh.
“Double burn,” Lo says. He looks to me. “You were saying, love?” He’s Team Connor, all the way.
I refuse to concede. My sister will come out on top.
Rose’s cheeks are flushed though—half in anger and half in arousal, her breath shallow. And she glowers. “Don’t smirk at me.” Her eyes flit to his lips again and back to his deep blues.
Connor’s grin only overtakes his face, arrogant and—
“I married an egomaniac,” Rose says. “What is wrong with me?”
Okay, so maybe she’s going to come out on bottom, but I think that’s a place she likes to be in the bedroom. In my book, she won. I nod definitively.
Connor leans forward, his wrists on the counter, fingers skimming her arms. “Rien du tout.” Nothing at all.
I flinch in surprise with the candy bag in hand, chocolate chips sailing through the air. Everyone turns to me, and I redden. Still I point at Connor. “I understood you! Ha!” My French translation book is finally paying off.
And Connor gives me one of the most genuine smiles, and then he claps, not in sarcasm, like real applause for someone who aced a test and deserves an A-plus.
It fills me with more confidence than I think I’ve ever had. I can be on the same level as the two smartest people in the house. It just takes a little work and dedication. Things they excel in—things I’m learning.
Lo kisses my temple, his hands swooping around my waist from behind. My body warms at his touch, and I purposefully avoid his features, not able to stare too long. His gorgeous jawline and amber eyes will send me on a one-way ticket to the bedroom, and I’ve been doing…not so hot these past few days in the sex department.
It’s just difficult being so aroused all the time.
Lo even reads me well, no teasing. He just keeps his one loose arm around me and stays by my side. He says to Rose, “It’s funny how you’re bitching when we’ve done most of the baking.” He gestures from his chest to Ryke to Connor.
“Daisy helped us,” Ryke reminds him, popping the lid off the chocolate icing.
“And Daisy,” Lo amends.
“I’m bitching for Lily too, not just for myself.” She raises her chin to me. “You’re welcome.” And then she folds her hands on the counter and sits straighter. I do love Rose, even when she’s standing on the opposite side from Lo.
He flashes her a half-smile and then walks back to Connor. He pats him on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, love.”
Connor grins a billion-dollar grin, and his eyes never waver from Rose’s and hers never detach from his, like they’re speaking in their brains. Mind reading—a smart person superpower.
I smile and scoop some chocolate chips off the counter while Lo checks the oven. When I look up, I catch Ryke and Daisy flirting, two of his fingers dipping into the chocolate icing.
My body actually reacts, my skin warming in places it shouldn’t. I stiffen, remembering a similar icing situation in the past with them. When they weren’t together. But I never heated back then. I definitely didn’t break into an aroused sweat. I wipe my arm over my clammy forehead, cursing myself for feeling anything at all.
Daisy faces her older boyfriend, holding onto his belt loops, and then Ryke sucks the chocolate off, his fingers deep in his mouth, and his eyes roll back in a fake orgasm.
Holy shit.
I need to look away. Ryke Meadows cannot be arousing me. No, no, no. If there is one constant it’s this: Ryke Meadows is my mood killer, my go-to image to make me dry. My hormonal body doesn’t realize how annoying Ryke can be.
As soon as Ryke drops his fingers, he kisses Daisy so deeply, with skilled tongue action. Her hands grip his thick brown hair.
I grow wet and force my gaze anywhere else.
That was not hot, I try to fool myself. I would like to crawl beneath the bar stool, hide and disintegrate into the floorboards.
This is too awkward to even talk about, let alone ponder in my dirty, messed up mind. Now my elbows are even red.
Great.
I hear a tray clatter on the stove, and I realize Lo not only saw me squirming but he may have caught the source of my arousal.
Oh God. My face contorts in humiliation. I’m not turned on by his brother—he can’t believe that. Not when Mr. Clean on the Febreze bottle made me hot and bothered the other day. And he’s old and bald and very two-dimensional.
But Lo’s features have marbleized in this I hate the fucking world expression that he carries almost twenty-four-seven. “Your cookies are burnt,” he snaps at Ryke, breaking my gaze.
Wait, come back.
Ryke detaches from Daisy in an instant. “Fuck,” he curses and checks the tray on the stove. His brows pinch. “They look fine to me.” He flips one over, the bottom light brown.
“My bad,” Lo says dryly.
I open my mouth to call him over, but his back suddenly spins, like he’s icing me out. My heart lurches. Turn around. I need to know I didn’t upset him…or offend him. I usually have the best read on Lo, and I have no superpowers of mental persuasion or any magic like Connor. I am too much of a squib to fix this.
Turn around. Nothing.
Lo whispers with Connor, and a pit wedges even further in my lungs.
And then Daisy’s phone rings while Ryke washes his hands.
“Who is it?” Rose asks.
Daisy’s face falls a little. “Mom. She’s trying to convince me to go to a plastic surgeon for the scar again, on top of planning my birthday.” She lets out a tired breath and rubs her eyes. “I’ll be a couple minutes.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Rose says, outstretching her hand to snatch the phone as Daisy passes.
“No.” Daisy hugs the cell to her chest and walks backwards to the basement door. “You don’t need the stress. It’s all cool. I can handle her.” With this, Daisy disappears. The last thing I hear her say is, “Hey, Mom.”
I try not to worry about Daisy or Lo, and instead focus on Ryke who chucks some dirty bowls into the sink. Maybe I can squash this and convince Lo that nothing is happening. I’m repelled by Ryke. We’re so platonic it hurts.
In a nonsexual way.
I cringe. I really need to stop thinking. I ask Ryke, “What are you getting her?”
He rotates to me, his features all dark. All stone to his brother’s ice. “For what?”
Rose lets out a not-so-surprised half-laugh. “Her birth
day,” she says flatly. “Tell me you’ve already bought her something.”
“For fuck’s sake, it was just Valentine’s Day.” And he cancelled his plans of camping under the stars with Daisy that day, the paparazzi just too rabid after the small car wreck. Any time we pop up in the tabloids like a newsworthy blip, our photos start selling for more money. So February 14th, Ryke just cooked Daisy dinner and spent the night indoors like Lo and me.
Connor and Rose were the only two who ventured out, and Rose called the evening “hellish” since they were late for their dinner reservations in New York. Even though their whereabouts were tipped to the media, Rose returned home with an uncharacteristically giddy smile and a limo full of red and pink roses.
They were from her fans, who showed up to see her, just to say I love you, Rose Calloway, and give her a present on Valentine’s Day. I love our short-lived reality show for bringing this type of unexpected joy into our lives, and it verifies why these kinds of fans should rule the world.
“So what if it was just Valentine’s Day,” Rose snaps, redirecting my thoughts to the present, “it’s still her birthday on the twentieth, and she’ll expect a gift from her boyfriend.”
“I’m working on it,” Ryke says, nearing the bar counter while Lo and Connor share furtive whispers a few feet away.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, my palms sweaty. I wish I wasn’t on the outs.
“Look,” Ryke continues, “a lot is going on…” He trails off as Rose snatches the nearest utensil—a whisk—and points it at him threateningly.
This would be scarier if it was something sharp. Like a knife or a fork.
“Do not tell me that you forgot her birthday,” Rose says in her icy tone. Oh no.
But I remember that Ryke isn’t Lo. He holds his hands up defensively. “Daisy is not the type of fucking person to remind anyone about her birthday. It’s not my fault.”
“That was directed towards me,” Rose says like she caught an insult midair with a baseball glove.
Ryke frowns in confusion. “What?”
“Because I emailed you my birthday itinerary in advance…” Off Ryke’s scrunched gaze, she adds, “Do you even check your email?”
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