Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(66)

Connor and Ryke climb from the limo and then my door whips open. Connor sticks his head in from outside. “Lily, move. We’ll carry him.”

“No, Lo wouldn’t want that.”

Ryke lowers his head into view. “And most guys wouldn’t want to be carried in by their girlfriend either.” I take that as a personal insult, even though he may not mean it as one.

“He’s not even coherent to care,” Connor says, as if that settles the matter. I can see I’m not going to win this one.

I slide from the seat, bracing the cold Philly air. And Connor dips into the limo. “You take his feet.”

Ryke positions himself outside the door, and they exchange directions to each other until Ryke is able to scoop Lo into his arms, carrying him rather easily. I wish Connor was the one to hold him. Something about Ryke puts me on edge.

Nevertheless, he cradles Lo. The picture should be comical since Lo wears red and black spandex, looking like a wounded X-Men. But I imagine Lo waking up and seeing Green Arrow assuredly holding him in his arms. He would freak out. And not in a fan-boy kind of way.

“Watch his head,” I instruct as we walk through the revolving doors.

“I have him.” Ryke marches into the lobby without breaking a sweat.

Even in the elevator, I watch Lo closely, upset at the course of events. I’ve never allowed someone else to carry or help him. That job has been mine for as long as I can remember. And maybe I have been horrible at it, but at least he’s still alive, breathing. Here. With me.

At the door, I find my keys and lead them into our place. My nerves jump again when I realize this may be the most testosterone to ever cross the threshold of my apartment. Maybe not. I did have that moment where I brought two guys home.

“You can put him on the bed.” I lead Ryke into Lo’s room and motion to the champagne comforter. He sets him down. While I untie Lo’s boots, he scans the decorations, the Comic-Con posters, the photographs and the tinted cabinets. The way he looks off—it’s strange, as though he’s never seen a guy’s room before.

“You two live together?” Ryke picks up a picture frame from the desk.

“She’s a Calloway.” Connor leans a hip on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Ryke says, “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“My dad created Fizzle,” I explain.

“I know, that explains why Connor’s hanging around the two of you, but that has nothing to do with you two being together.” He puts the frame down.

Connor raises his hand. “Just to clarify, I actually kind of like these two. Never a dull moment.”

Ryke shrugs off his leather jacket that’s soaked in alcohol. “So you’re in a serious relationship with Lo?”

“What does it matter to you?”

His face twists in irritation. “Are you always this defensive with people who save your ass?”

Yes. Instead of admitting my faults, I answer his previous question. “He’s a childhood friend. We just started dating, but we’ve lived together since the start of college. Satisfied?”

“That’ll do,” he says, picking up another frame.

Connor asks, “What time do you think Lo is going to be awake? He promised me that we’d go to the gym tomorrow.”

I sigh. “Promises from Lo are like bars at 2 a.m.—empty.” I open the desk drawer and find three bottles of Advil. I toss the bare container in the trash and dump four pills from the second bottle into my palm. Hurriedly, I fill a glass of water from the bathroom and place it beside the bed with the capsules.

“You do this a lot,” Ryke states.

I shut off the lights, not meeting his eyes and usher them into the living room. I wrap my body in a cream cotton blanket, hiding my hands that have begun to shake. While they choose the couch, I curl up in the red suede recliner.

Ryke soaks in the atmosphere from the cushions, inspecting the light fixtures, the unused fireplace and the Warhol-inspired polar bear prints. It’s like he’s constructing a person out of our things. I don’t like it.

“You both should leave. I’m kind of tired,” I say softly.

Connor stands. “Okay, but I’ll be here in the afternoon to pick up Lo for the gym. He may not keep his promises, but I collect on all offered to me.”

Ryke stands just as Connor leaves through the door. He continues to glance around, his eyes flitting over the kitchen, the bar stools, the bookshelves…

“Are you planning on stealing something?” I ask. “We really don’t have that many valuables here. You should try my parents’ house.”

Ryke’s face contorts. “You’re something, you know that?” His eyes narrow. “Just because I’m staring at your lamp, doesn’t mean I’m going to hijack it.”

“If you’re not taking mental pictures to come back later, then what the hell are you doing?”

He cocks his head to the side and stares at me like I’m truly a moron. “I’m trying to get a sense for who you are.” He points to the fireplace mantel where a crystal vase sits, a house warming present from Poppy. “Rich.” He nods to the liquor bottles that litter the kitchen counters. “Alcoholic.” How can he form that conclusion from a few bottles?

My nose flares. “Get out.”