Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(36)
I’ve never been good with dates or other peoples’ schedules. I turn to Daisy who seems to be looking everywhere but at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lo’s cheekbones sharpen, his jaw clenching, and I realize I’ve missed something. Daisy clears her throat, but her eyes train on the carpet. “I knew you would have made some sort of excuse…and we all agreed…” she trials off.
It hits me. She lied. She didn’t want to be here last night. I wasn’t really on her list of sisters to call for help. This was a set up.
“We knew you would forget,” my mother clarifies. “This is an important trip for your father. He’s been working hard, and we want our entire family present. If that meant having Daisy spend the night so you can’t run off in the morning, then so be it. But now you’re awake and we have to go. Rose and Poppy are already waiting at the plane.” I assume we have to fly to Florida in order to take the yacht to the Bahamas.
My head spins, excuses resting on the tip of my tongue, anything to avoid a family event. Even if it is my father’s birthday, they should have never tricked me into going.
Lo runs his hand along my arm. “You okay?” he whispers so only I can hear. Maybe he thinks I’m going to throw up again.
I nod even though the news slapped me in the face.
He says, “Put on a smile. You look horrified, Lil.”
I do as he requests, offering my mother a small one. Her shoulders stay tense, but her lips twitch in acceptance. Good enough.
It isn’t until we leave the apartment that it dawns on me. I haven’t had sex in over twenty-four hours, and Lo hasn’t consumed his usual amount of alcohol since he watched me all night. And we’re about to be sequestered on a boat. With my family.
This just got a whole hell of a lot worse.
*
I try thousands of excuses before boarding the yacht. Lo and I planned a double date with Charlie and Stacey. I’m failing economics (true) and I need to cram for the upcoming exam (truer). None stick.
After I puke over the side of the boat, I admit to being hungover and layer on the “drank-to-much-wine-last-night” defense. My mother looks less than thrilled by my behavior, but it gives me free reign to openly sip Lo’s hangover brew. I never ask what’s in the brown liquid, lest I barf again.
He nurses a glass of Fizz in his right hand. I accompanied him earlier when he slipped the bartender five hundred bucks to serve him three-fifths bourbon whenever he orders soda. That also covers the liquor bottles he requested to be sent down to our cabin. He’s a stealthy one.
I admire the tenacity, but I’m not feeling incredibly supportive. I lie on the yacht’s sun deck with a nauseous belly and a pounding migraine. I put a towel over my head to block the radiating sun from my tender eyes and pull a corner up so I can vaguely see my surroundings. The rays beat on my fair skin. Even after applying SPF 15, I know I’ll roast in the heat. And I secretly hope I’ll burn. Maybe it’ll get me off this fucking boat.
“Feeling better?” Poppy asks, dragging a lounge chair next to Lo’s. I make a great effort to not stare at his abs and toned body that bakes in the sun. He probably won’t get much of a tan because he has on SPF 90.
Poppy spreads out her Ralph Lauren towel and puts on large, engulfing sunglasses and a floppy hat before sitting down.
“No,” I tell her. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Still eating lunch inside. Are you sure you don’t want anything? I can bring you a sandwich.”
I groan at the thought of potent smells.
“That’s a definite no then.”
I nod. “Definitely no.”
Rose and Daisy have both earned official Brutus badges for tricking me when Rose announced my “pregnancy” scare secret, and my mother keeps shooting me sharp looks. She probably hopes I’ll turn to stone.
“Do you think they’ll notice if I jump overboard?” I ask, sitting up and plugging my nose before taking a much larger swig of the hangover drink. I stifle a gag. Gross.
Lo doesn’t say a word because he’s fast asleep, his Fizz-bourbon still wrapped in his fingers. I wonder if he stayed up all last night, taking care of me. I gently pry the glass from his clutch so it doesn’t spill all over him.
“It’s not so bad here,” Poppy says, cracking open a hardback. She relaxes, and if I was her, able to enjoy the sunshine, to read, to stare off and drift and dream about anything, I’d think this was pretty lovely too. But as I gaze at the wide, vast and endless ocean, I imagine my body rocking on someone else’s. I recreate the blissful feeling of reaching the highest peak in my mind. The elevator. The man in a suit. Thrusting. It’s all planted there, telling me to feel a familiar sensation again and again and again.
But I can’t. Not here. And so I’m left craving something that will never come.
The sliding door whooshes open, and Rose walks out with a tequila sunrise. She spends a great deal of time bringing the lounge chair in front of everyone’s, the legs scraping against the hard flooring. When it’s just right, she spreads out a light blue towel and sits, facing me.
“Do you want me to get you one?” she quips, raising her alcoholic drink.
“Very funny,” I say, my stomach gurgling, still unsettled.
Lo could have easily downed fruity drinks all night without too much suspicion, but he hates sweet mixes. And he’d rather not draw any attention to himself. He puts away drinks too quickly that people are bound to be suspicious or worried that he’s returning to those old, inebriated, party-filled years before we got together. Of course they never really ended, maybe the prep school parties, but not the drinking. No one knows that though.