Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(26)
Rose offers the drink to Poppy. She declines. “I’m safe from her. I have a husband.” Yeah, our mother has lost interest in Poppy’s relationships.
“She should know who I am by now,” Rose mutters. “I tell her all the time, you know? I’m never getting married, Mother. And it goes in one ear and out the other. I thought dating Connor would make things better. My first actual boyfriend. She’d be off my case. Instead, she’s whispering in my ear about what to say to him, how I should be, worrying over whether he’ll end things before I do.” Rose curses under her breath and stares up at the ceiling of the car. “How can you love your parents so much, but then absolutely hate them the next?” She inhales a deep breath. “I need to go back to therapy.”
I break into a smile, trying to lighten her downtrodden mood. “You know Connor goes to therapy compulsively too? I asked him where he was going last week, and he said to his daily therapist for just a regular session to let off some steam. Funny that you two have that in common, huh?”
Rose glares. “His therapist is also his ‘best friend.’ So no, we do not have that in common. I actually have people close to me that I love. Like you and Poppy and Daisy…” Her eyes trail up to the torso that stands in the center of the car. “Does she realize we’re on a highway?”
“I think she prefers it that way.” My eyes widen in mock horror. “The danger!” I mimic Daisy’s voice.
Rose and Poppy laugh, although Rose’s dies out rather quickly. She rubs her eyes and groans.
Normally, I’d be excited right now, wondering what face will greet me once we arrive at the event. But I’ve been trying to forget what it feels like to climax, the tingling of my body—the sensation of masculine, hard hands sliding along my skin. And I’m afraid once I see a guy, willing and wanting, I’ll take the opportunity and jump. Without thinking. Without breathing. I’ll just do it and ruin the one good thing in my life.
Rose lets out another long groan.
I have to ask. “What happened with Connor?”
“I thought everything was fine,” Poppy says.
Rose wedges the bottle between her bony knees. “When I’m with him, I roll my eyes so much I feel like they’re going to fall out of my face.” She talks with her hands—so unlike Rose, that I scoot forward on my seat to be closer to her. Rose gestures to her body, trying to express herself, but she looks like she’s swatting the air instead.
I reach out and hold her hand. Rose calms a little. “I can’t believe she’s doing this after I asked her not to.”
“It’ll be okay,” I say, but the words coming from me only worsen the look on her face.
“Did Connor want to break up?” Poppy wonders.
“I don’t know. When we fight, we both talk about it all the time…”
I interject. “Yeah, but you two break up in strange ways. Last month, I heard Connor say something like, ‘Sadie never disagrees with me.’ And you said, ‘If you want a doormat for a girlfriend, then your cat is perfect. Have a happy life together.’ Then you slammed the door to your bedroom, and he stormed out of the house, smiling.”
It was all really weird, and Rose ended up walking back into his arms the next day, not admitting defeat exactly, but I think Connor would count it as a success.
“Is this time different?” Poppy wonders.
Rose blinks in confusion, wracking her brain. “I don’t know. I guess not. He told me that I was being inane about something. I can’t even remember what, but we both split at the restaurant. We rode in separate cabs home, and we haven’t talked since.” Realization hits her, and she collapses back against the seat. “God, what am I doing? I feel like I’m in prep school when I’m with him sometimes. It drives me crazy.”
I open my mouth, so tempted to sing the Britney Spears song again.
Rose shoots me a look. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
I laugh instead, and it takes a long moment for Rose to join in. She puts the bottle to her lips, swigging one last time just as the limo rolls to a stop.
Here we go.
{4}
Assigned seating. I curse you.
Fifty tables fill the grand ballroom, and my mother wedged us near the front under the brightest lamp. Not only do we have to endure our dates, but we have to do so under the scalding heat of a spotlight. While we wait for the guys to find us, I play with the glittery napkin ring on my plate and try not to anxiously scratch my arms.
My mother’s party planner had too much fun with the black and gold decorations. A black sparkler centerpiece fits in the center of every gold clothed table. Photos of gold Fizz cans with black carbonation bubbles are framed along the walls. Diet Fizz is the reverse color scheme with black cans and gold bubbles.
At least Fizzle’s logo isn’t lime green and puke pink—two colors that would induce an instant migraine. Still, you think she could have branched out a little bit. Maybe added a splash of blue or red. But no, those are Coca-Cola and Pepsi’s colors. No Fizzle-loving person would dare touch them.
I’m going stir-crazy waiting for our dates, but at least Rose and Daisy sit next to me, not allowing any room for a guy to settle near me. I also choose not to glance around for them like Rose, who scans the floor trying to speculate who the hell our mother invited to be our arm candy. Anyway, too many people mill about the ballroom for me to play that guessing game. They congregate by the open bar or eat fancy hors d'oeuvres as servers pass.