Addicted After All(33)

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.”

“I’m working on it,” Ryke says, nearing the bar counter while Lo and Connor share furtive whispers a few feet away.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, my palms sweaty. I wish I wasn’t on the outs.

“Look,” Ryke continues, “a lot is going on…” He trails off as Rose snatches the nearest utensil—a whisk—and points it at him threateningly.

This would be scarier if it was something sharp. Like a knife or a fork.

“Do not tell me that you forgot her birthday,” Rose says in her icy tone. Oh no.

But I remember that Ryke isn’t Lo. He holds his hands up defensively. “Daisy is not the type of f*cking person to remind anyone about her birthday. It’s not my fault.”

“That was directed towards me,” Rose says like she caught an insult midair with a baseball glove.

Ryke frowns in confusion. “What?”

“Because I emailed you my birthday itinerary in advance…” Off Ryke’s scrunched gaze, she adds, “Do you even check your email?”

“To be honest, I don’t even know my password,” Ryke tells her. “And who plans their birthday six months in advance?” Solid points. I look to Lo, wondering if he sees how cordial this conversation is—how unsexy we all are.

My heart just keeps sinking the longer I stare at his back.

Rose drums her fingers on the bar counter. “I’m not ashamed. It’s the one day of the year dedicated to me, so if three-hundred-and-sixty-four days fail to live up to my standards, I still have this one.”

“You sound like Connor,” I point out with a small smile.

She glares. “If Connor appreciated the narcissism in his own birthday that’d make sense, but he refuses to believe they’re anything more than meaningless.”

I wait for Connor to pipe in about how he won’t celebrate his birthday, but like Lo, he’s not paying attention to our discussion.

I find myself scratching my arm, and I immediately freeze in slight panic. I haven’t done that in a while. Ryke’s face hardens in that masculine concern—something I do not want to see right now. In fact, I need to stop making eye contact with him altogether. I have a new tactic: Avoid Ryke Meadows.

Rose is still drawn to the birthday topic, thankfully not noticing my strangeness. “Buy her diamond earrings,” she says.

“She’d f*cking hate that.”

I stare at the bar counter while I mutter, “She’ll like anything you get her.” Daisy is pretty much the easiest person to please.

“Is there something interesting about the counter that we don’t f*cking know about?” Ryke suddenly asks me.

I squint at the granite, speckles of gray, white and black. “I think if you close one eye like this…you can see a bunny rabbit.”