Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(125)

Her eyes widen at the comparison and she suddenly lets go.

“I’m sorry.” It sounds more like an impulse than something sincere.

“I don’t accept your apology.”

Her mouth drops, and I point between us. “Me and you,” I say. “We’re in a fight. And if you don’t start listening to me, we’re going to have serious problems, Lily. I’m holding up my end. I haven’t touched a drink. You have to start holding up yours.” Though I know it’s harder in a different way, but the porn and the masturbating shouldn’t be her big issues. It should be the actual sex.

She stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she actually heard of my speech. “We’re in a fight?” she asks, shock and hurt crossing her face.

I knew I shouldn’t have started with that.

“Yeah, how does it feel?” It doesn’t happen often.

She looks panic-stricken and I realize that the fear of losing me…of losing us is what really motivates her. She motions to the case. “Burn it. Do what you need to do.” She shoves it against my chest and tries to push me out the door. I force myself not to smile because the “tough love” is actually working. I’d rather not ruin it with a momentary grin.

“No masturbating,” I tell her again.

She nods wildly. “I know. None. Not at all. Scouts honor.” She holds up three fingers. I don’t believe her completely, but at least she’s come around from denying it.

Now I just have to bring her to the exam on time.





{ 39 }

LILY CALLOWAY



I don’t have time to think about my fight with Lo, being caught by all three guys, or the fact that paparazzi sprung up like woken zombies as soon as I arrived on campus. Someone leaked my class schedule to the press, and I sprinted into the building to avoid them.

I’m going to fail the exam anyway, but Lo and Connor would never let me skip. I leave the guys in the lobby to wait, and I jog up the staircase to the second floor. My plan is to slip into the back of the auditorium before anyone can see me. I’ll take the test, turn it in, and leave. How hard can that be?

I swing the door open and stop cold at the top of the auditorium-style room. All three-hundred students are already nestled in their seats while TAs walk up the aisles to pass out the exams.

I’m late.

And there’s no open seat anywhere in sight. Oh wait…

I spot one in the middle aisle of the middle row. There’s not much room to squeeze past people, and I imagine disturbing everyone as I hop over thirty bodies to reach my seat. I don’t want to be that person. Everyone always gives the late-arrival dirty looks, and since I’ve been on the news for the past couple of weeks, I can’t imagine the looks being the normal kind of dirty. They’d be dirty with an extra pinch of malice.

My throat goes dry and my palms turn clammy. I’m about to sprint out and make up some lame excuse to Lo, but the professor notices my lingering presence.

“Miss Calloway,” he calls.

I freeze, and like a tsunami, all three-hundred bodies rotate to set their inquisitive gazes on me. If this is what being an actress feels like, I want no part of it.

“Come see me down here, please.” The professor motions for me.

I suck in a shallow breath and descend the carpeted stairs, trying to avoid all the eyes. Not even halfway there, some guy coughs into his hand. On the second cough, I hear “whore.”

That’s original.

Two more steps and someone else calls me a skank, louder this time. I glance towards the noise and I see a girl elbowing the guy in the ribs.

Five more steps and the voices start to rise as people talk to their friends.

“All right, settle down,” the professor tells them.

“Go back to Penn!” a guy yells. Voices escalate and cheer in agreement.

“Better yet, go to Yale! I hear they like filth!” I don’t know what that person has against Yale, but I try to keep my cool. I’m almost to the bottom of the auditorium, and I silently curse myself for walking in on the second floor.

“Shut up!” A girl’s voice pitches over the talking. Huh…someone’s on my side? “We’re trying to take a test here!” Maybe not.

“Quiet!” the professor shouts, angrily now. “Everyone. The tests are out, and that means the next person who speaks gets a zero.” The room hushes instantly, and I finally reach my destination.

The professor is middle-aged and always wears a nice button-down with slacks. He takes out a manila envelope from his briefcase and hands it to me. My name is scribbled across the front.

“I’ve spoken to your other professors,” he says in a low voice so only I can hear, “we’ve agreed that your presence for finals week will only disturb the other students. Your exam today and your finals from all your classes are in that folder. You can turn it into my mailbox by the last day of finals.”

“So they’re like take-home tests?” I ask, a little confused.

“Essentially, yes. There’s no reason for you to be on campus for one last week. You’ll distract everyone. You’ve already wasted…” He looks at the clock. “Five minutes of their time. For some that could cost them a letter grade.”

“I’m sorry.”