Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(61)

Lo’s face twists. He won’t punch me. “I’m done with this shit,” he says. He’s about to walk away.

I grab him by the arm, not letting him go that easily. “You can’t run from your f*cking problems. They’re there twenty-four-seven. You have to deal.”

“Don’t talk about dealing. You won’t even text Dad back. You’re ignoring him like he’s not even alive.” He shakes his head, venom pulsing in his eyes. “You’re doing the same thing to him that you did to me. So why don’t you just do what you do best and pretend that I don’t f*cking exist.”

His words slice cleanly through me, the pain like a f*cking swift punch to the gut. Lo never needs his fists to fight. He shoves past me, and Connor stops him before he leaves the pub, calming him down.

I hold onto the bar, training my breath to normalize. When it does, I scan the crowds for Daisy. I spot her with Christina and another male model, his jaw chiseled. He leans in close to Daisy, licking his lips as he talks.

What the f*ck?

Not tonight.

Seeing that—it’s enough for me to start weaving through the f*cking people to reach her. I don’t like her body language that’s angled towards Christina, away from the guy, silently telling him to back off.

They stand by a high-table littered with beer bottles and spilt liquor. The taste of scotch still lingers on my tongue, making me nauseous. Some people recall the perfume their mom wore with fondness, the cigar smell on their late father’s shirt, the cologne, the shampoo—but for me, I smell and taste scotch and I remember my father sitting across from me in a f*cking country club. I remember his sharp gaze, his fingers tapping the glass in annoyance, as though the world moved too slowly for him.

I feel like I ingested my past, full of bad memories. It’s a sickening nostalgia.

I try to ignore it as I approach Daisy. The moment she sees me, her face brightens, but it dies down when she absorbs my features. “Do we need to leave?”

“Not yet,” I tell her, my hand finding the small of her back. “Who’s your friend?” He’s been sizing me up this whole f*cking time, a beer clutched in his hand. His pupils are also dilated.

“This is Christina,” Daisy says, her arm hooking with that young model. She sheepishly meets my eyes, her cheeks already reddening. “She’s in the same agency as me.”

“You’re Ryke Meadows,” she says with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Cool necklace.” She wears a sapphire on a chain, shaped like a dolphin. She bites her lip to hide her full smile. I raise my brows at her, and she has to look away from me, too giddy. Daisy has never been like that around me. I thought she would be flustered by me when she was fifteen, but instead, she had no trouble holding a conversation. It always felt like we were meant to be friends.

“This is Ian,” Daisy introduces. “He’s a—”

“Ford model.” Ian extends his hand. I shake it, both of our grips firm. He’s slept with her. I can see it in his eyes. And if not that, they’ve fooled around. A territorial rage consumes me for a minute. I want to wrap my arm around Daisy, but we can’t exactly do that in public.

He nods to her. “I was just telling Daisy that we should go to a salsa club after this.”

She looks up at me. “And I was telling him that I’m rhythmically challenged. Lily is the good dancer.” Daisy is right. She’s not good at dancing, but that has never stopped her from doing it. And I f*cking love that she doesn’t give a shit.

Ian laughs. “I don’t believe that at all.” His eyes graze over her hips, as though imagining them shaking side to side against his dick. Fuck you, you f*cking f*ck.

I glare at him, and he smiles as he sips his beer like Yeah, I’ve got the f*cking girl. Be jealous, *.

“I’d try to salsa,” Christina says, raising her hand.

“See,” Ian says to Daisy, “you have to at least try like Christina. I’ll teach you.” Over my dead f*cking body. He reaches out to wrap an arm around her shoulder, to bring her in for a f*cking hug, and I step between them.

“Sorry,” I say, “you’re not teaching her how to grind on your f*cking ass.”

Ian lets out a short laugh. “I don’t think she needs you to tell her what she can and cannot do. She’s a big girl.”

“Yeah,” I tell Ian. “She’s also my f*cking girlfriend.” I don’t break his gaze, but I can feel Daisy’s smile fill her whole face beside me. She grabs my hand, restlessly bouncing up and down on her toes like she wants to kiss me but realizes she can’t. Even though I said the f*cking words, it’s different than someone having photographic proof.

That evidence is enough to overturn our world.

Ian stares between us. “I thought you said you were on a break?” he asks Daisy.

I’m not that surprised she lied to him—before we were together—telling him that she had a boyfriend. She’s done more impulsive things than that.

“We got back together,” she declares.

Ian begins to smile again as he stares at me.

Don’t bring up your night with her, you f*cker.

But he does. “Did she tell you that we hooked up during your break?”

“Do you want me to rip your head off?” I ask. “Because I’m close to breaking your f*cking neck.”