Addicted After All(91)



“Okay! Okay! I’m done!” Not really, but I’m glad for the excuse to leave his underwear behind. Where it should be. Far far away from me.

When I enter the spacious living room, I realize that I’ve been tricked. Not everyone is here yet. And the person I looked forward to seeing the most (Loren Hale) is blatantly absent. Connor stands by the window in black slacks and a white button-down, texting quietly, while Ryke lounges on the nearby couch, his hands all chalky from a morning climb.

“Where’s Lo?” I ask Rose, who’s sitting on the Queen Anne chair, as though waiting for her royal subjects to arrive. She’s in a gorgeous black Calloway Couture dress, one of her prettier maternity designs, so she does appear regal.

“I don’t keep tabs on Loren,” Rose says.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Ryke tells me, his bare feet on a pillow. Rose looks like she wants to save the plush yellow pillow from his calloused soles.

“And Daisy?” I frown, not seeing my little sister anywhere either.

“Blow drying her hair,” he replies. My brows scrunch. When does Daisy ever blow dry her hair? She’s a let-it-air-dry kinda person.

I’m about to ask, but the six plastic babies on the heavy cedar coffee table distract me. When Rose announced that we’d all have to take baby CPR class, I almost had a mini-panic attack. I could just see the headline: Lily Calloway fails baby CPR. Another reason she shouldn’t be a mom.

Of course, Rose came up with an alternative: a “private” course, taught by her and Connor since they’ve both earned their certificates last week. I’m less nervous of tripping up in front of them.

“How is twenty-three so far?” Ryke asks me, making conversation as we wait for the others. I lean my butt on the loveseat armrest, adjacent to his couch. I try really hard not to think about his underwear or the junk that goes in them.

“Huh?” My eyes flicker to his package like a nervous tic.

If he noticed, he brushes it off. “Twenty-three. How’s it been?”

I’ll be twenty-four in three months, after I have Maximoff, so it’s not such a random question.

All the websites online say that twenty-three is the worst year in your twenties. Twelve months of identity crisis and “what the f*ck am I doing with my life” realizations.

In the past year I’ve hit some major road bumps, including forgetting my birth control. But I love this year the most. I have conquered immeasurable fears. Public places don’t scare me as much. The articles and headlines don’t make me want to touch myself. The world feels smaller and more manageable. And the best part, I can be me and not feel so ashamed by it. My crazy (controlled) sex life and all.

How has twenty-three been? “Better,” I tell Ryke. “How was it for you?”

He rubs at the chalk on his palm. “It f*cking sucked.” He doesn’t elaborate. I wonder if it’s because he couldn’t be with Daisy back then or because he was on bad terms with his brother. Probably both.

“Did you finish folding?” Rose cuts in. “I need my black shorts for tomorrow.”

My cheeks heat at this. Laundry has now cursed me into a new shade of red. My life has taken a sad turn. Rose’s glare intensifies my swelter.

“What in that is sexual?” she chastises like I’ve offended her ability to talk to me without causing me to flush.

“Uhh…” I trail off. I can’t exactly admit that I touched Ryke’s boxer-briefs. Can I? It’s his fault they were in our pile to begin with.

“What did she say?” Lo’s voice stirs me awake, and I pop up from the armrest, happy to see him but not so happy to be on this conversation still. His black crew-neck outlines his fit, lean body, but it’s his well-styled light brown hair, cut shorter on the sides, that attracts me like a panda bear discovering bamboo for the first time.

I think I’m drooling.

His eyes flit from my head to my stomach to my toes, assessing that I am all in one bright, tomato-red piece. “Lil?”

“Lo,” I reply back.

His brows rise and then he grinds his teeth, his jaw twitching. God, I love that, and my body responds, my toes curling a bit. I smile and inwardly cheer with pom-poms and high-fives. Nothing is better than being turned on by Loren Hale.

“Rose asked if Lily was finished folding,” Ryke rats me out.

I gawk and point an accusatory finger at him. “It’s your fault! You’re sneaking your underwear into our laundry pile. Ha!”

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