Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(51)

“Then you better get to bed.” He looks inscrutable, glimpsing at Lo one last time, and then slips out the doorway, leaving the apartment.

Lo is dead to the world, and I decide to sleep in the guest bedroom. I curl in my purple sheets and realize that I’ve been so concerned for Lo’s safety that I haven’t thought about sex at all tonight.





{14}


Connor arrives promptly at six with steaming coffee and a box of croissants. Unlike me, no dark circles shadow his eyes, and he saunters in, all too chipper. He must run on five hours of sleep.

“Are you on drugs?” I ask. “Adderall?” Lots of college students abuse stimulants to study, basically performance enhancers for the intellectual elite.

“Absolutely not. You can’t taint natural genius.” He pauses. “Have you tried it? It may work for you.”

“You do realize you just insulted me?” I finally “out” his rudeness.

He rips a croissant in half and smiles. “I apologize,” he says, unapologetically. “I was just trying to be helpful. Some people can concentrate better on Adderall. It’s not for me, but maybe for you?” Strangely, rephrasing the question helps mild the insult. That may be one of Connor Cobalt’s intricacies. Or just a gift.

“No drugs,” I tell him, never liking stimulants, downers, or any narcotics. I have an addiction already—I don’t need another. “I want to do this the right way, even if I’m not a natural born genius.”

“Then let’s get to the books.”

We study a few more hours, and I retain the information this time, working on problems while Connor busies himself by making me flashcards. His handwriting is neater than mine, and I’m sure he’s already inflated himself with that knowledge.

When he finishes his last stack, he peeks at the clock on the oven. Studying eats time like a beast, so I’m not surprised it’s already noon. “He’s still asleep?” Connor asks, sounding surprised.

It takes me a moment to realize he means Lo. We dodged the subject since Connor stepped through the doorway with sweet smelling coffee and baked goods. He asked if Lo was okay and that was that.

“He’s passed out,” I correct him. “He’ll probably wake up within the hour.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

I give him a noncommittal shrug, not wanting to discuss Lo right now. Thankfully, he catches the hint and flips open my notebook to review my problem sets.

Twenty minutes later, we order Chinese for lunch. As soon as I hang up the phone, the toilet flushes in the other room. I focus on the sound of heavy, sluggish footsteps. I have zero interest in speaking with Lo, only to get slurred responses with irritable jabs.

I turn to the books, pretending that Lo hasn’t risen from bed, and ask Connor to explain chapter four to me again. Lo must hear another guy’s voice because only seconds pass before he braces the sunlight that streams through the kitchen windows.

Connor’s words taper off as Lo lumbers in. His matted hair sticks up in different directions, his complexion peaked and clammy, and the pungent smell of scotch permeates around him. If he was a cartoon, he’d be Pepe Le Pew with a smoky cloud circling his body. I should have helped him shower or at least tried to change him out of his clothes last night. He would have done the same for me.

Lo runs a hand through his hair and shuffles to the coffee pot. His eyes briefly flicker to the bar where we sit. “I know you,” Lo says, filling a mug.

“International Affairs. You sit in the very back. I’m in the very front.”

Lo turns his head a fraction to catch my gaze, his eyebrows rise like do you hear this guy? Yep, been there already. “Right.” Lo opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of Baileys Irish liqueur for his coffee. “You’re the guy who sets the curve.” He says it like it’s a bad thing, but he doesn’t see Connor beaming beside me.

“I’m tutoring Lily for her econ exam tomorrow.”

Lo shuts the cupboard, and I see his neck flush red. He hesitates before facing us fully, leaning against the sink.

“You know about the exam, right?” I ask Lo. I can easily see that he forgot.

“Yeah,” he says into his mug, taking an extended sip.

“Are you in the same class?” Connor looks all too eager. “I do group tutoring too.”

“I’m maxed out on studying. You help Lily.” Lo finishes off his coffee way too quickly. Then he opens the refrigerator and grabs a carton of eggs, preparing his hangover cure.

Connor nudges my shoulder. “Back to work. You’re at a sixty, minimum. I need you pulling out an eighty average on these problems.”

“But I thought we’re just trying to get me to pass.”

“I always deduct ten points for nerves.”

The blender cranks up, and Lo hunches over, using his arm to hold the lid and his other to support his weight on the counter. In effect, he looks about ready to melt into the floor or fall asleep again.

He barely acknowledges me. Maybe he thinks I cheated on him. I don’t even know how much he trusts me around other guys. We rarely leave the apartment to test those boundaries.

Or maybe it’s just guilt—at not being coherent to answer my phone calls. I suppose that makes more sense.

After Lo concocts his hangover cure, he disappears back into his bedroom. I try to concentrate on studying, and then the Chinese arrives. I sigh at the sound of a food break.