Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters, #1)(122)

I give him a sharp glare. “You’re not an expert in liquor. You’re an alcoholic.” I set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table and take a large swig. It burns the back of my throat, but I hardly even cringe. The sting is numbed by my anger.

“Which makes me an expert,” Loren argues.

I wave him off. My go-to move at this point. Wave it off. If only I could magically wave away that sex tape.

I take three more gulps from my wine glass. I am so pissed. My body throttles with rage. I am shaking I am so fucking livid. Yes, it’s embarrassing that the world has seen my breasts and vagina, two parts of me that I was unwilling to show Connor for an entire year.

Yes, I’m slightly nervous the world will view me as a doormat now that they see me gooey and submissive in bed.

No, I will not cry.

I won’t shed a tear for Scott Van Wright. He deserves only my nasty, vile words. Not emotions that I reserve for people I love.

“What’s going on?” Connor asks, his voice coming from the stairs. Perfect. He’s heard my call. The loud, obnoxious television.

And his gaze traverses to the TV.

“Look honey,” I say, “we have a sex tape together.”

Everyone silences, probably wondering if the unflappable Connor Cobalt will suddenly lose his shit. It takes him less than ten seconds to unglue his feet from the floor—beating me by a whole minute. I expect him to take out his phone. To do the responsible thing and start dialing attorneys and crisis management centers.

Instead, he stops right in front of me. His eyes swim in mine, as if searching for my mental state. I’m fucking fine, I want to scream back. But I choose to take another large swig of the biting whiskey.

Raw concern encases his features. I want to explain how angry and not sad I am, but the words don’t form. And then he glances at my wine glass. He better not take this away from me like I’m a child. If he pours my drink down the sink—

And then he snatches the wine glass right out of my hand.

Before I have time to complain, he puts the rim to his lips. And I go quiet, watching him take a huge, brazen swig—washing away his own fury with the alcohol. I smile. Because we cope in the same way. Not usually with drinking, but with pulling our shoulders back and taking it like a fucking champ.

He hands the wine glass back to me and says, “Ce n’est pas la fin.” This isn’t the end.

I nod in agreement. He steals the remote from me and softens everyone’s ears by lowering the volume.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t even check to see who it is. I just sit on the armrest of the couch and watch the television.

“…Princesses of Philly has promoted Rose as a virgin. Many people are speaking out about the validity of the show…”

Connor changes the channel to cable.

“…either she lied or she lost her virginity during the time of the show. Go to our website for a poll—” He flips to another station.

I yell spitefully at the flat screen, “The world doesn’t have ANYTHING better to do than talk about my virginity?!” I motion to the TV with my drink.

“Or lack thereof,” Loren adds.

I ignore that comment and turn to Connor. “My vagina has trumped national news.” I let out a manic laugh. “What do you think our friends from Model UN would say about that?”

Connor’s eyes rake me like he’s diagnosing my hysteria.

I ignore that too.

After a quick moment, he sidles behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He presses his lips to my shoulder. I lean back against his chest. It feels familiar and warm, safe even, knowing that I have someone here—on my team.

Daisy clicks away on her laptop. “It looks like most people are voting in favor of you in polls. They say that you can’t be a liar or a hypocrite. Not when you’ve stated in the show that you would—and I quote—‘jam my five-inch heel in the eye or asshole of liars and cheaters.’”

That was a little dramatic, even for me. But the interviews riled me to a new degree, and I spouted every threat I could think of. Like roasting Scott’s penis by flinging it at the sun. I would love to execute that one if humanly possible.

Tink, tink, tink. Little bells clank together as Sadie pads over to our group. She looks as feral as I feel. And a wicked, crazy impulse drives through me. I disentangle from Connor’s safe embrace.

“Rose,” Connor says, half with worry and half with warning.

I don’t listen. Still holding my wine glass, I squat down in front of the tabby cat. She’s a hostile bitch (like me). She has scratched my arms. Hissed at me. And I swear she pissed on my Jimmy Choos, although I can’t confirm that.

But in this moment, I feel invincible from all offenses. The media. Scott. And this fucking cat. I reach out to her.

“Don’t do it!” Lily yells at me from beside the couch. “You’re going to lose an eye.”

Ignoring my sister, I slip my palm underneath Sadie’s furry belly and pick her right up with one hand, my other still clutching onto the stem of the wine glass. I stand and stare straight into her eyes that almost match the color of mine. I am channeling my hatred into one supreme death glare.

Sadie moves and Lily lets out an audible gasp.

But the cat doesn’t claw me. No.

She licks me. Her scratchy little tongue brushes against my chin like a puppy and not a feline.