Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(69)

“No one said being in a relationship is easy.” He doesn’t go back to the handles.

My body aches. I wish I had the fire in my heart to stand up, to walk over to him. To put my hands on his chest and wrap a leg around his waist, straddling him on the bench seat. His breath falls short and he asks, “Lily?” But he doesn’t stop me. He lets me lean in, my hips sinking into his. I kiss the base of his neck while his restraint lessens, and he groans. He becomes excited underneath me and throatily tells me to meet him in the locker room.

A damp towel hits my face, and I jolt back to the living. Lo raises his eyes accusingly. “Dream of me?”

My arms flush. “Maybe.” Hopefully I’m only transparent with Lo.

“You’re supposed to say yes.” His eyes twinkle in amusement.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “Can we do it now?”

He swings his legs off the bench and grabs his Gatorade. Excitement swells inside my body and instantly extinguishes when he stays seated. “It’ll be better if it’s spontaneous, Lil.”

I frown. “Are you…are you scared to do it in public? We won’t get caught. I’ll make sure of it and—”

“I’m not scared,” he assures me. Just to prove his point, he kneads his hand in my hair and then kisses me aggressively, full of eagerness and promise of something more. His tongue slips into my mouth, and a small noise escapes me.

He pulls away with a satisfied grin. “Soon.” Yes.

He walks towards the lower body machines near Connor but stops when he notices me permanently frozen to the floor. His kiss has turned me to stone.

“Are you coming?” Soon apparently.

“Shouldn’t I let you have boy time?” I’m the intruder, the needy girlfriend who hangs around. It’s hard to know the proper protocol for moments like this since we’ve always been each other’s only friend.

Lo considers this for about two seconds before he grimaces. “Fuck that. Come on.” He motions for me with two fingers. I don’t think he’s being overtly sexual, but good God, he can’t do that to me right now.

I look up, just as he spins around, and glimpse a fragment of a smile.

Lo takes a machine next to Connor, and I grab a yoga mat and spread it on the ground near them but far enough away that I’m not smothering Lo.

I’m not a complete idiot. I notice the way he’s dragging out having sex with me, and a part of me wonders whether it’s to heighten the tension or to limit me, to try to see if I can have less sex throughout the day, to help me fight my addiction.

I have no idea which, but I lean towards the latter.

The guys in the gym are transfixed by a soccer game on the flat-screens. I vaguely pay attention to it, but boredom sinks in. My gaze drifts to a golden skinned man on a forty-five degree machine. He holds a bar above his head and brings his legs up in a “crunch” position.

I lie on the yoga mat, staring at the ceiling and shut my eyes. He rests a hand beside my head, hovering. His body weight suspends above me. He peels down my pants with my panties and kneels between my legs. His hands creep towards my thigh and he cups the place between…

My body shudders and my eyes snap open. Oh my God.

“YESSSS!” The whoops and hollers cause my face to flame, even if it’s because a soccer team scored another goal.

Connor’s gaze transfixes to Bloomberg Television, a business channel. At least he missed me zoning out like a freak. But Lo has his eyes set on my body. How long has he been staring? Does he know I’m not dreaming about him anymore?

I spring to my feet, unable to wait any longer. He’ll either have to follow me into the locker room or I’ll find a way to appease myself without cheating.

“I’ll be back,” Lo tells Connor. He races after me.

I relax. Maybe this isn’t easy, but we’ll have to make it work.





{19}


It’s inhuman to require a general science credit for all majors. In two years, I’ll forget everything I learn anyway, and my plans don’t involve going into business for some pharmaceutical company. When will I ever need to know about mitosis? And if I have to read one more case study about Drosophila—the fancy word for fruit flies—I may seriously consider switching to Fungi, Foes, and Friends.

But the ingeniously named course has a horrible rating on RateMyProfessors.com. A student review called the instructor a hard ass for making everyone memorize the scientific names of all fungi discussed in class. And my brain can barely retain the names of my neighbors. Now I’m stuck in another ring of hell: Biology 1103 for Non-Bio Majors, meaning the scientifically challenged. It doesn’t make the class any easier; it just allows more students to share misery.

Library lights dull as time ticks on, tugging my eyelids down and down and down. I yawn, about to employ Connor’s study technique and buy a Red Bull. Maybe I should make flashcards.

So far I’ve only been distracted once, and it wasn’t even to fantasize about the cute guy with glasses two tables away. Some student beat a Fizzle machine to death when it refused to deposit his Cherry Fizz. He gave up after realizing the big plastic box is indestructible—at least against a pair of Vans.

Lo texted me twice. The first to ask if I’m going to be home to drive him to the liquor store. The second to tell me to pick up condoms. I almost choked on my Diet Fizz with that comment, never believing we’d be so intimate and comfortable about it.