Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(59)

“He’s a f*cking alcoholic!” I yell. “He’s not even supposed to be in a bar. You’re telling me you’re the smartest guy in the f*cking world, and you can’t even pry a drink from his hand.”

“I’m smart enough to know that it won’t do any good coming from me. You’ve already proven to be the hard ass. I’m not taking that role.”

“I sincerely hate you right now.” I’m shaking I’m so f*cking mad, and I don’t know if it’s because Connor accidentally turned his back on my brother or because I did. “You want to be his best f*cking friend while I get shit on, fine. I don’t care anymore.”

I hang up, breathing heavily. “We have to go.” I look up at Daisy, and she has a purse across her body.

“Ready,” she says.

I grab my jacket, and we’re f*cking out of there.



* * *



I have my hand on Daisy’s lower back while we try to navigate through the crowded streets, filled with cameramen and sports fanatics, wearing red and white rugby jerseys.

“Go England!” a drunk guy shouts with a British accent, pumping his f*cking fist into the air. That fist also has a beer in it. His friends chant a victory song, even though they lost to their South American rivals.

Daisy watches the sports fans in curiosity, her eyes lighting up at all the chaos. If there weren’t cameras flocking her, I think she’d go up to one of them and start a conversation just for the hell of it.

I try calling my little brother for the third time, but he’s not answering his phone. I’m going to kill him. No, I’m going to kill Connor and then I’m going to f*cking kill him.

“Are you two dating?” a cameraman asks us.

“How long have you been a couple?”

“Kiss her, Ryke.” That picture would be worth so much f*cking money.

Daisy and I are always spotted out together, so that rumor mill has been churning for a while. It just makes her mom hate me more, and it makes my brother more cautious of us. But there’s never been proof beyond my hand on her shoulder, my hand on her back, hugging—nothing serious.

Daisy locks eyes with one of the cameramen, her lips curving. “I don’t kiss boys who ride motorcycles.”

I almost smile, but her one quote shoots off ten more questions from each cameraman. We walk forward, and people keep congregating around us.

“Daisy, someone weird is behind you,” a cameraman suddenly says.

“Yeah, there’s a creeper. You better watch out, Daisy!”

I turn my head and find a leering guy who edges too close to her. No camera in his hand, but he’s touching her f*cking hair. And a scissors sticks out of his pocket. I immediately push back his f*cking arm, giving him a warning glare. I’ve been to court three times for smashing cameras. I even punched a “pedestrian” and was charged with assault. Even if that f*cking pedestrian was peering into Daisy’s apartment window with binoculars. I couldn’t prove it. He said he was bird watching. And he was on the street, public property.

Such bullshit.

He throws up his hands like I’ve infected him or something. Fucking A.

I stand behind Daisy and usher her forward, gripping her shoulders. “What was it?” she asks me, trying to catch a peek.

“Just a f*cking guy.”

She puts on a good front when we’re outside. She’s not alarmed or scared like Lily usually is. She’s just energetic and lively. At night, when she’s alone, that’s a different story.

She spins around and walks backwards so she’s facing me. Her eyes start at my hair and descend to my feet in the slowest f*cking once-over known to man. If that doesn’t f*ck with my head and my dick…

The camera flashes are blinding at this point.

There’s something hypnotic about the light going in and out on a beautiful girl. One second I can see her fully, the playful smile and bold green eyes. The next second, she hides in the dark of the night completely.

It also scares the f*ck out of me. There’s three feet in between us. For every step I take forward, she takes one back. And in those dark moments, I wonder if she’ll be gone for good. I imagine the light flashing and she’s no longer smiling. And then with the next burst of light, I picture fear in her eyes.

That one possibility pushes me to Daisy like a soul-crushing force. And I grab her by the waist, about to spin her around, but she suddenly stops. Our bodies knock into each other. Everyone is watching. The tension is enough to choke us.

“Move,” I tell her roughly. “Or I’m going to throw you over my f*cking shoulder.”

She stays put, her smile growing. And I’m f*cking glad I now have an excuse to carry her. Daisy annoying the f*ck out of me—that’s a common back and forth we have in front of the paparazzi.

I swiftly pick her up, my hands on her hips, and I toss her over my shoulder. She lets out a laugh, and I rest my palm on her ass.

Yeah, her father doesn’t really f*cking like me.

This won’t help.

Connor thinks I’m an idiot to do things that put me in a bad light—especially since I don’t bother to clarify my intentions. But in the end, they’re going to think what they want to think. I can’t empty my soul to every person who thinks I’m an *. I can’t even empty it to the people who matter.