Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(16)

Lily flushes red in embarrassment.

Daisy frowns in confusion and then she laughs lightly. “You used to jack off to mags? That’s fucking awesome, Lil.”

I suck in a sharp breath, worried by my little sister’s lack of filter in front of the cameras. But I don’t scold Daisy for her bluntness. I don’t want to make it seem like female masturbation is a bad thing. I wholeheartedly approve, but Lily is a recovering sex addict who has been known to compulsively delve into self-love and porn, abusing both. Those days are over for her. They have been for months.

“I don’t think girls can jack off,” Lily tells her, collecting her bearings. She tries to act more confident, straightening up.

Daisy swings her legs, hitting the cabinets below with her high laced boots. I would care more about scratching the wood if this was my house. But it’s practically Scott’s. So scuff away, Daisy. “You’re totally right.” She nods. “I guess it would be like rubbing one out?”

“Girls can jill off,” Lily says.

“What?” Daisy and I say in unison.

“You know…” Lily turns bright red again, only her flush looks like an allergic reaction. Red splotches her arms and neck. Her eyes flit to the camera and then back to us. “Jack and Jill went up the hill. Guys can jack off. Girls can jill off.”

Daisy cracks up laughing, hitting her leg with each full-bellied sound. “Holy shit…That’s awesome.”

I smile too. I love my sisters for so many different reasons.

I slide a piece of pizza out of the box with a napkin. “You’re sixteen,” I say to Daisy. “Men shouldn’t be thinking about screwing you while they look at your photos. They should know better.”

“I’ll be seventeen in a month,” she says. “And it probably happened to Brooke Shields, so…” She shrugs like that makes it okay. It doesn’t. No one likes that they’re calling Daisy a sex symbol in the media just because Lily is a sex addict. Daisy was only a high fashion model before all the publicity, in background shots, a few small campaigns. Nothing big. Now she’s a supermodel, posing more suggestively, wearing less and less clothes.

I don’t even want to think about what will happen when she turns eighteen.

When she can legally pose nude.

I wish she would care more, but she entered the modeling industry at such a young age that I’m not sure she’ll ever see her body as something other than an object to the male gaze.

“Girls!” Scott calls. “We only have the psychic for another half hour. You need to come back.”

We shuffle out of the kitchen and into the living room, pizza and drinks in hand. I pass Connor the plate he requested and sit beside him, which happens to also be next to Scott. I’d kick Scott somewhere else but I don’t want to put him next to Lily (a sex addict with a stable boyfriend) or Daisy (a sixteen-year-old high fashion model with impulse issues). Seriously, my little sister dove off a forty-foot cliff in Mexico.

I wish I was exaggerating.

Lily slumps beside Loren on the loveseat, and he pulls her a lot closer so her legs are over his lap, splayed across him. She leans into his chest as she picks the pepperoni off her pizza.

“Do me next,” Daisy says with a roguish grin, plopping on the floor. She leans against the legs of Ryke’s chair and holds out her hand to Madame Charmaine. The psychic’s peppered hair is so thick and frizzy, like she brushed her curls. Sun spots even mar her skin.

Ryke has kicked up his feet on my cedar coffee table that was transported from the Princeton house. At least there’s that ugly purple tablecloth on top.

But I can’t restrain myself from saying something. “Ryke, I can see the mud on your boots.”

His brows rise and he runs a hand through his brown hair. His features are harder and more brooding than Loren’s, but he has the same lean and muscular build. Not bulky but incredibly fit. He nods to his brother. “Please tell me this isn’t a regular fucking thing with her.”

“Oh yeah.” Loren steals the pepperoni off Lily’s plate and pops one in his mouth. “Don’t leave the toilet seat up unless you want a ten minute lecture.”

“It’s called respect,” I retort.

Lily raises her hand. “I agree with Rose.”

Ha! Take that, Loren.

But he ignores me and playfully bites Lily’s neck. Her face lights up in a giddy smile.

My achievement is popped in an instant. I just feel…strange at being thwarted by Lily and Lo’s constant blinding love. Instead of being agitated by their in-the-face groping, I’m a little more aware of what I have. I turn to Connor, and for some reason, I can tell he’s been watching me, studying me, understanding everything. I trace his features: the smoothness of his unblemished skin, the waviness of his brown hair, and the curve of his muscles in his arms and chest, beneath a sophisticated button-down and behind those all-knowing blue eyes.

He is power and perfection in so many ways that I will never admit aloud. His head would be humongous by the fact. But when I was younger, I often thought about what it would be like to be with him, physically.

I was sixteen when I first pictured Connor inside of me, and the most contact I had with him was verbally fighting at Model UN Conferences. Literally, we’d stand in the hallways of a fancy hotel and argue about Epicurus and his philosophy on intangible things like love, happiness and God. Once Connor went off on a tangent in French, I tried to keep up. I vowed to be better than him. And so I studied harder. I opened more books. I made sure I was fluent enough to understand him and then more—to stump him. I never did, but I also never fell behind.