Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(112)

This is weird.

Now it’s weird and awkward.

The waitress leaves, and Ryke says, “Explain.”

Lo motions to Rose, Lily, Connor, and me. “These four can still drink. Just because I’m sober doesn’t mean that I can’t handle the sight of alcohol. I know I’ve screwed up recently, but I don’t want to be reminded of it today. I want to prove to myself that I can be surrounded by this.” He gestures to the shots with his knife. “Now drink—not you.” He points his knife at Ryke. “But everyone else, take the shots. Celebrate my twenty-fourth year in this world. I’m sure I’ve impacted so many people for the better.” He flashes a dry smile.

Ryke processes this for a second before he nods. “Okay.”

“Love the speech,” I tell Lo, reaching out for the first shot to cut the tension. It does a little bit, but Lily and Rose stay put.

Rose and Connor are having some sort of staring contest.

“Stop reading each other’s minds,” Lo says. “It’s creepy.”

I lick the side of my hand. “It is Halloween.”

Ryke passes me the salt shaker, and I cross my legs underneath my butt, sitting up a little higher at the table. I put some salt on the wet part of my skin.

“Lil,” Lo says, about to drag the tray of shots towards her.

She shakes her head. “I don’t feel like drinking.”

He frowns. “Are you sure?” His voice is softer with her. “Would you rather have a beer?”

“No, I think I’ll stick with water.”

She’s not much of a drinker, so I’m not surprised she’s rejected the offer. During family events, she’ll go for the non-alcoholic options while Rose will drink mimosas, white wine, and dirty martinis.

Connor breaks his gaze off his wife’s and collects two shots for them. Then he says something in French that I can’t understand.

I wish Ryke could translate for me, but we’re too close to everyone else. It’d be obvious that he understands the language. He acts like he’s not eavesdropping, eating a chicken taco at the same time as Lo. No wonder he’s been able to hide his fluency in French.

I can barely tell he’s listening at all.





< 51 >

RYKE MEADOWS



I put more salsa in my taco while Rose glares at Connor, and he stares back in challenge. They’re usually strange, but they’re being really, really f*cking strange right now.

He says, “Buvez avec moi.” Drink with me.

Her nose flares as her eyes drop to the tequila. She snatches the shot glass, not backing down, and she raises it towards her mouth.

I bite my taco, and when I glance at them, I notice that Connor’s jaw has tightened, his gaze darkened. I feel like they’re playing a risky game of chicken. Like when I was at the bar with Lo, back in Paris. I sense the similarities in that and this, but my mind barely has time to add these facts together.

Rose puts the rim of the shot to her lips. Connor grabs her wrist and forces her hand down, the shot splashing as the glass meets the table.

Lo’s brows furrow, holding his chicken taco. “What the f*ck?”

Daisy freezes, a lime in her hand.

Connor stares harshly at Rose. “Vous êtes allée assez loin.” You’ve taken this far enough.

Her eyes pierce him.

Connor shakes his head. “Dites-le tout simplement.” Just say it.

She inhales sharply. “Ne faites pas ?a.” Don’t.

Connor edges closer to her, and she surprisingly doesn’t pull away. He cups her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as he says, “Vous n’avez rien à craindre.” You have nothing to fear.

She tries to glance at us, but he forces her head straight at him, making her come face-to-face with whatever she’s been hiding.

Rose has trouble surrendering and letting him win this long, drawn out game. Her eyes glance down at the spilt tequila, and he puts his hand over the top, telling her no. I finish my taco and grab my water, taking a large swig.

Connor pinches her chin between his fingers, and he says, “Vous êtes enceinte.” You’re pregnant.

I spit out my water.

Just like that. One word. Enceinte. And my cover is blown.

Fucking f*ck.

They both turn their heads to look at me. For f*ck’s sake—my brother gapes like I’ve grown horns, and Lily might as well be catching flies with her mouth.

Connor’s eyes continue to darken, his expression so rare that my neck starts to heat uncomfortably.

“Why are you f*cking looking at me like that?” I ask defensively, backtracking. My efforts are useless. It’s Connor Cobalt. If my brother figured out that I understood their conversation, then he definitely has.

“Vous savez pourquoi.” You know why. He keeps shaking his head like he can’t believe this. Maybe he’s upset that he got something wrong. That he misread me. That I’ve been f*cking overhearing his dialogs for years. All of the above, once again.

My muscles harden, and Daisy puts her hand on my leg underneath the table in comfort. I lace her fingers with mine and then nod at Connor. “You should be less focused on me and more f*cking concerned about your pregnant wife, who almost drank a tequila shot to f*cking one-up you.”