Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(27)

“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 f*cking 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 birthday,” she says flatly. “Tell me you’ve already bought her something.”

“For f*ck’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.”