Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(101)

“So you have two eights,” Daisy says, a smile to the words.

“You beat me, didn’t you?”

“Two jacks,” she says.

“You were dealt two f*cking jacks?”

“You shuffled.”

He groans.

“You can have the ring back if you want.”

Boy Meets World? No. Sabrina the Teenage Witch? No. Soccer? Definitely not.

“No, you won it. It’s yours.”

“I’m going to feel weird if it’s a family heirloom or something.” She tries to shove the ring into his hand. He holds them up in the air.

“It’s from a jewelry store, and I was going to retire the thing anyway.”

“Why?”

“It’s ugly.”

“So, you gave me an ugly piece of jewelry.”

“It’s worth two thousand f*cking dollars.”

She smiles wryly. “Oh yeah.”

Ryke crumples the paper with the Ducati arrangement on it. He lost those bikes, and there’s a bit of disappointment in his eyes from not being able to snatch one. I wonder if they’re rare.

“How about…” Daisy folds the cash and stuffs it in her wallet. “…I’ll let you keep the black Ducati if you teach me how to ride.”

Law & Order? No. X-Men cartoon? Possibly. I hover on this channel a little, watching Wolverine in his original yellow and blue spandex.

Ryke taps the pen to the table. “I’m not going to teach you how to kill yourself.”

“That’s dramatic.”

He glares. “Knowing you, you’d run the f*cking bike off a damn cliff for the hell of it.”

She spreads her arms. “Then teach me how to stay on the road.”

He shakes his head. “No, if I show you how to ride, you’re going to do something stupid on the interstate.”

She touches her chest. “I would never.”

He throws a hundred dollar bill at her face. And it flutters into her lap before hitting her nose, not the effect he was looking for.

X-Men is not helping take my mind off Lo. I glance back at him again. Same hunched position. Same sadness. What is going on? I sigh and switch channels quickly.

“I’m not killing you,” Ryke repeats.

Her smile fades. “Ryke,” she says, “I’m going to figure out how to ride a motorcycle with or without you. I was just giving you the opportunity to have one of the bikes. I know you want it.”

He stares off, deep in thought, and then he shakes his head repeatedly, cringing. “Fuck.”

“What?”

He covers his face with his hand. “I can’t stop picturing you flipping the bike over.”

“I haven’t fallen off yet,” she reminds him.

“Have you tried to do a wheelie?”

She stays quiet. “No,” she mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, not believing her one bit. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And is it not processing in your head or you just don’t give a f*ck?”

She unfurls the crumpled piece of paper slowly. “I think…that I’ll be okay,” she sidesteps his question with more confidence than I could even possess. “But if you change your mind about the bike, here’s my number.” She writes down her cell on the paper.

I wonder if a premium channel is playing a Marvel film.

Before I click into special programming, I land on a newsfeed.

I see the word sex.

Huh.

It’s like a big flashing light in my eyes. I stay on the channel in curiosity. Maybe some senator had a sex scandal.

“Lily, wait!” Lo shouts.

My heart stops as my mind tailspins, trying to digest the program and Lo. Wait, wait, wait. Tears brim. Lo was upset.

And that’s not a senator.

He was upset because of this.

It’s me on the screen.

I shrink into a ball on the couch, my knees tucking to my chest. My hands are fixed on my mouth, my eyes too wide to shut.

I think…I think…I don’t know what I think.

The news stations are congregated outside Penn, and the bottom of the screen reads: Fizzle heiress has over fifty sexual partners and counting. Rumored sex addict.

Is this national news? How is this a national issue? What the hell is going on?

I don’t hear Lo call my name again. I turn up the television, and I’m shaking so badly that I have to hold the remote with both hands.

The news anchor is a petite blonde woman with bright red lipstick. “We just confirmed from a source that Lily Calloway, daughter of the founder of Fizzle, is a sex addict. As well as the fifty plus known men she’s slept with, she’s also been known to hire male prostitutes.”

My throat closes up, but I manage to barely breathe a word. One word. “Lo.”

He doesn’t come to me, and I can’t tear my eyes from the television.

“Lily, what’s going on?” Daisy asks, her voice tight.

Daisy, my parents—Oh my God, my father? His company…the guilt plows through me. They’re watching this. Everyone is watching this.

Melissa stirs from her corner, tugging her earbuds out and eyeing the screen. Oxygen refuses me. I shake my head again and again like this is a dream. I want to wake up. This can’t be real. But the words on the TV run through my head over and over and over. Sex addict. Sex addict. Sex addict.