Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  It’s a plastic carton. He pops the lid, places the carton on her lap, and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter.

  My heart swells at the realization, and I peek into the carton to confirm.

  Inside lies a slice of molten chocolate cake.

  Connor’s grin has nothing on Daisy’s bright smile, a contagious one that causes our lips to lift just as high. Even Rose is showing off her pearly whites.

  Chocolate cake.

  That is what all four guys had been searching for. Not cigars.

  It’s possibly one of the sweetest, kindest gestures I’ve seen. Because it’s something that Daisy loves.

  Ryke lights the waxy candle, and then he messes her hair with a rough, caring hand. And we all start to sing happy birthday.

  Daisy looks around at us, and her eyes begin to glass with tears. We’ve celebrated her birthday before, but this time it’s different. We’re all closer. She’s finally with Ryke. It’s like the puzzle pieces of our lives have begun to fit together just right.

  When we finish the song, I have to wipe my eyes quickly.

  I catch Rose wiping hers too, and I point a finger at her and gawk. She told me to suck it up last week when we were watching a movie and I cried at the end.

  She mouths, shut up. And then she adds, hormones. Fine. I’ll let her throw out the hormone card, especially because I use it all the time.

  Daisy blows out the candle. Not long after, she dips her finger in the chocolate and instead of sucking it off—not dirty like that—she draws a line of chocolate down Ryke’s lips.

  “Lil,” Lo breathes in warning. I’ve scooted back up into his crotch. It’s not my fault. The way they are staring at each other—this is eye fucking if I ever saw it.

  A second later, they attack each other with carnal desire, the kind that you search for in good porn. I squeeze my eyes shut at my perverted thought. This is bad.

  When I open them, their kiss is front and center, spotlighted, but no one else seems to be watching. There is serious tongue. Tongue that is done right. His hand envelops her face as he deepens the kiss, and she breaks from him, just to let out a pleasured cry.

  Holy shit.

  This is so physical and explosive that it really does deserve a fireworks show.

  The other couples are talking and flirting, and Lo suddenly stands. “Follow me,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I’m okay,” I tell him quickly, whipping my head away from the PDA. Do not watch, Lily. I try to bury any gross, guilty shameful feelings. They do not exist, I chant over and over.

  Lo’s brows rise and he says, “I know.” He smiles to show me that he’s being honest.

  I believe him.

  “Follow me, love,” he repeats.

  I throb in good-bad places. Yes. I rise to my feet like a dream. He has a head start, exiting the little couch area and onto the dance floor. He walks backwards, beating his head to the music with very good rhythm. It’s a song that you salsa to, one that is full of fire, smooth vocals, and a melodic beat.

  Lo’s dark gray crew-neck fits him snuggly, an arrowhead necklace against his chest: a present I gave him for his twenty-first birthday some time ago. I can see the lines of his abs tightening beneath his shirt, especially as he begins to move his body to the song. Girls record him with fangirling giggles, their cellphones directed at my best friend. But his gaze is solely planted on me.

  When we were younger, Lo was the one who taught me how to dance.

  He’s always been able to move like no one is watching, like no one can harm him in this brief expanse of time.

  In his last year of college, before he was expelled, he refused to dance with me. Every single time. He sat at the bar and said dance by yourself when I asked.

  It didn’t always used to be like that.

  So seeing him, right now, dancing in the middle of the club, with no alcohol in his clutch—it possesses me in ways that I can’t express. It’s like my soul is alive. Like I’ve woken up from a long, long sleep.

  I slowly walk towards him, and he holds out his hand, waiting for me to near and take it.

  I do.

  And he draws me swiftly to his chest, my breath escaping. His hips begin to move with mine, so sensually that a heat builds across my skin.

  I flourish beneath his intoxicating eyes, drinking him in completely.

  He twirls me, and I hit his chest again, my feet following his in a steady pace. It’s our bodies, melded together, that stirs every part of me.

  I’m not letting go.

  After a few minutes, the song dies down, and we ease to a slower sway. I want to hear his answer, even if it doesn’t make much sense now that we’re moving to the music. I grow the courage to ask anyway, “Will you dance with me?” For some reason, I still fear that rejection, the familiar response that always comes.

  He cups my round face, his fingers lost in my hair, and his lips curve. Very softly, he says, “Yes, love. I’ll dance with you.”

  { 18 }

  LOREN HALE

  “Husbands can’t choose wives, boyfriends can’t choose girlfriends and vice versa.” Poppy sets out the parameters of the game as she sips a rum and Fizz. After claiming the leather couches by the wall, we decided to pay for VIP bottle service for Poppy, Daisy, Connor, and Sam. Anything is better than dealing with the shit bartender. Even playing truth or dare, which usually ends with someone throwing a fit.

  Lily sits on my lap, her skin coated in a sheen of sweat from dancing earlier. It was a really good time. I missed it more than I realized.

  I hold her to my chest, satisfied with the fact that we can’t disappear and ditch our friends and family. This, right here, feels close to perfect.

  Sam cautiously glances at all the locals who snap pictures of us, some even film us from their bar stools. “Can we play this game some other time?” he asks us. “I really don’t want to have to call Fizzle’s publicists in the morning to clean up whatever happens tonight.”

  He’s the head marketing guy or whatever at Fizzle. “Sammy,” I say with the tilt of my head, “I get that being a chaperone is so deep within your pores that no facial strips can remove it, but we’re not ten.”

  Connor rephrases, “We’re all used to being filmed. Some more intimately than others.” His voice is conversational, not bitter. I’d be causing hell if sex tapes of Lily and me were circulating through porn sites. I get that Connor has taken the publicity to his advantage, but this type of invasion of privacy has to be eating at Rose. It’s been over a year since the first tape was released, and last I heard, there are now five online.

  At his comment, Rose tenses and crosses her arms. “No one is allowed to mention the sex tapes until I can have a glass of wine.” Her head whips to her husband. “That includes you.”

  “I was making a point,” Connor says casually.

  “Make it when I’m not in the room,” she retorts.

  They start bickering in French, and I tune them out. At the other end of my couch, Ryke slings his arm around Daisy’s waist and she rests her cheek on his shoulder. When Lily and I finished dancing, both Daisy and Ryke were missing. Poppy explained how they snuck off to the bathroom. To fuck.

  Clearly.

  It’s not as uncomfortable with them returning as I thought it’d be. Maybe because they’re not on top of each other—like Lily is with me. We’ll forever take the PDA championship title, I realize. What’s scary is that when we were just friends, we were always touching too.

  It’s hardwired into us. I pull her further against my chest, and her breathing shallows. I watch her take a trained inhale and exhale to control her urges. I rub her arm in comfort. She’s doing well.

  Sam clutches a vodka soda. “Let’s just try to keep it classy.”

  Connor says, “Truth or dare by nature is juvenile. If you’re looking for a posh game, we should break out chess or Scrabble. However, you won’t beat my wife and you certainly won’t beat me. So the level of fun, for you, isn’
t that high. I’d enjoy it though.” He grins.

  I whistle at his conceited statement, but I’m smiling.

  “Truth or dare is fine as long as no one takes it too far,” Sam says, his gaze landing on me.

  I give him an invasive glare. Seriously, he doesn’t need to treat me like I’m twelve-years-old. I swallow a biting retort that’s about as nasty as what I said to the bartender. I don’t want to put Sam on that level, but he’s beginning to irritate me.

  Connor fills the silence. “Some zebras can’t change their stripes.”

  “Cobalt, are you calling me a fucking zebra?” Ryke interjects.

  “Don’t be offended,” Connor says, not denying it. “Almost every animal plays a role in the kingdom. Even zebras.”

  “Yeah?” Ryke says roughly. “If I’m a fucking zebra, then what’s my brother?”

  Connor’s deep blue eyes pin to me, full of clarity, something I desperately crave. His face becomes a complacent blank slate. “What animal do you want to be, darling?”

  My eyebrows rise. “I have a choice?” Something tells me that he would’ve picked an inferior animal if he was truthful. He tiptoes around me. It’s old knowledge by now. My muscles tighten, wishing he just called me a zebra like my brother.

  Ryke groans. “I call fucking bullshit on this.”

  “It’s called favoritism,” Rose chimes in, her hand clasped firmly in her husband’s.

  “Favoritism is bullshit,” Ryke says.

  “I agree,” Rose announces. Though infrequent, I hate when she teams up with Ryke. It’s like two bulldozers headed in your direction. Having them on opposite sides is easier.

  “Bullshit aside,” Connor says, passing through this discussion quickly. “Who’s starting the game?”

  “Lily should,” Poppy says, gesturing to Lil who’s been really quiet for the most part. In group discussions, she’s more like the observer, not as loud or as brash. Her cheeks flush red at all the attention placed on her.

  “Uhh…” Her head whips around, trying to find a person to ask a question to. Her back straightens as she grows more confident with her thoughts.

  “Rose,” she says.

  Rose crosses her ankles, alert like she’s about to answer some collegiate quiz question. Of course she’s happy to be participating.

  “Truth or dare?”

  “Truth,” she says instantly.

  “Unsurprising,” I add, just to tick her off.

  Her yellow-green eyes drill into me.

  “Umm,” Lily says, and her face just keeps reddening and reddening. I can’t read her mind, but I have a suspicion what’s rolling around her head.

  I whisper in her ear, “It can be a sex question.” That’s the point of this game. It gets dirty.

  Lily’s eyes flicker nervously to Sam. Yeah, she’s known him for a long time. It’s like speaking to an older brother, slightly estranged since you don’t know his likes and dislikes or the other side of his family. What makes it more awkward: he’s close with Greg since they work together.

  Sam checks his phone, as though he’s hoping this will end soon so none of us embarrass ourselves.

  “Oh noble Captain America,” I say dryly, “cover your ears.”

  Sam pockets his cell. “Why?”

  “You’re like her older brother, and you work with her dad.”

  Confusion blankets his face.

  Jesus Christ. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

  Still blank.

  “S…E…” I start.

  “Got it,” he says, avoiding Lily’s gaze. “Should she really be talking about that at all?”

  Lily’s chest collapses.

  “Yes,” I snap. “She’s a human being and human beings ask sex questions during truth or dare.”

  Sam shakes his head at me. “I don’t.”

  “Then you must be a reptile, Sammy. Go slither away.”

  “Lo,” Poppy cuts in. “Be nice.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I say back. I look at Sam. “Father. Are you going to ground me too?”

  Sam is as unamused as me. I won’t let anyone shame Lily. I get that he’s confused about her sex addiction. Most people are, but their doubts plant something in her head. He can say that shit out loud when she’s not around. Fine. But she’s not in a good place to be welcoming comments from the fucking peanut gallery.

  Daisy adds to the group, “I think anything should be game. It usually is.”

  “I’m just more reserved around you girls,” Sam realizes.

  “Which is why I told you to cover your ears,” I say with less edge.

  A light bulb goes off in his head like I get it now. Most of us are too comfortable with each other, and he’s starting to understand that. So he nods but never plugs his ears, taking the risk.

  “Okay, I have it,” Lily cuts in, her hands on my knees. She clears her throat. “Rose, what position do you like the best?” Lily smiles more, able to ask this without stumbling over words.

  Rose clutches Connor’s hand so forcefully that his skin begins to turn purple. Lily bringing up the sex tapes would’ve been worse for Rose and way more awkward, so Lily went easy.

  “My favorite position is Connor’s least favorite position,” she says.

  “This isn’t called lie or dare, darling.” Connor fixes her hair over one shoulder, her neck bare.

  Rose purses her lips, her collarbones protruding from her black dress. “Fine…my favorite position is missionary.” She pauses briefly. “With a few alternations.”

  And just like that—Connor looks ready to fuck her across the couch.

  I can’t shut my mouth. Habit. “Meaning handcuffs, whips and yes sirs.”

  Rose lunges for me—what the hell.

  I instinctively flinch back while Connor seizes her around the waist—right before she catapults across the fucking table. She’s incredibly pregnant and acting like she’s a pole jumper in the Olympics.

  I give her a weird look. “Way to sacrifice your baby for payback.” It was such a low blow that I regret it the moment it leaves my lips. My heart clenches like it’s skipping five beats at once.

  Connor shoots me a single expression that says drop it. He’s holding the back of Rose’s head, and she says something fiercely to him in French.

  I look to Ryke.

  My brother sighs but ends up ratting them out, “She doesn’t call Connor sir, ever.”

  Connor lets annoyance cross his face. He’s not a fan of Ryke understanding their private French conversations. So I’m not surprised when Connor says something in Italian to Ryke. When Ryke responds in the same language, gesticulating like he’s just as pissed, Lily’s eyes grow big.

  She extends her arms, almost whacking me in the face. “I thought we said no secret languages?”

  I cut in, already sorry I started this string of arguments. “I got it wrong,” I tell Rose. “I accept that. For Christ’s sake, I wouldn’t be surprised if I only got one out of three right.”

  Rose stares at me with more confidence in her stiff posture and focused eyes. “Two out of three were right,” she says honestly, owning up to her sexual preferences.

  I nod. “I’m not such a loser then,” I say dryly. “Shocking.”

  She eases down a little. Look at that, I calmed the ice queen. Who would have thought this day would come?

  Lily turns her head and whispers to me, “Maybe you’re inheriting some of Connor’s smart person powers.” She noticed the same thing as me.

  I give her a smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Or you could’ve had them all this time and you never knew,” she says, her eyes brightening at that idea.

  “The former is more probable,” I tell her, expecting her to frown. Instead she clings to me harder, as though saying she loves me all the same.

  I take a deep breath, one that releases all kinds of strain.

  Seconds later, a server appears, passing out a new rum and Fizz to Poppy, a tequila sunrise to Daisy, and a glass of wine
to Connor. Poppy twirls her stir straw in her drink and says to Rose, “Your turn.”

  Rose tugs at the hem of her dress and then rotates to Connor. “Truth or dare, Richard?”

  “You can’t choose him,” Poppy reminds her. “We’re not letting couples choose their partner.”

  Rose rolls her eyes dramatically. “For this absurd rule…” She targets her older sister. “Truth or dare?”

  Poppy’s muscles are relaxed from the booze, and she leans into her husband’s chest. Sam and Poppy hug more than they kiss in public, and whenever they start to have an argument, they usually take it to another room. They’re so normal that having them here reminds me how the rest of us ride these extremes of life, rarely wading in the “okay” content state.

  Connor is too conceited.

  Rose is too high-strung.

  Daisy is too wild.

  Ryke is too aggressive.

  Lily is too awkward.

  I’m too hateful.

  Sam and Poppy are just right.

  And I wonder if they’re the ideal we should all be striving for. Or if we should just accept our nature and continue as we are.

  After brief contemplation, Poppy says, “Dare.”

  “I dare you to give me a shoulder massage.” Rose snaps her fingers like hurry up.

  Of course she’d find a way to benefit from the dare.

  Poppy scoots closer to her sister on the couch and starts kneading Rose’s shoulders with her fingers. Rose looks at peace, as though everything worked in her favor.

  “Loren,” Poppy says. “Truth or dare?”

  I tense. “Truth,” I say, even though dare might be easier for me. I selfishly don’t want to move Lily off my lap for any reason. I like her where she is.

  “How many people in this room have you seen buck naked? Name them too.”

  I tilt my head. “And I was just starting to like you, Poppy.”

  “You always tell me that,” she says warmly.

  I do? I mentally pass through her comment while I calculate my answer. Christ. “Four people. Lily, of course. Ryke.”

  Ryke raises his brows quickly like guilty. This happens when we’re undressing for events in one room. We all just don’t care.