Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(38)
I hold up my phone. “Non-penetrative sex,” he reads and then licks his bottom lip in thought. His eyes meet mine. “That’s not real sex, Lil.”
“That’s not what this says.” I continue reading. “Outercourse. I think we had outercourse! Oh my God.” My heart is going to detonate. I crossed a line. I let myself get caught up in all the mixed up feelings and I crossed a fucking line.
“Whoa!” Lo puts his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “Take some breaths.” He waits for me and then says, “It’s Wikipedia. Not the fucking Holy Grail. You get to choose what you consider real sex for you. Okay?” His eyes look a little guilty, and I feel even worse for making him remorseful for something that I clearly wanted.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Then that wasn’t real. Outercourse doesn’t count.”
Relief fills him.
“But,” I continue. “I don’t think we should do it again.” I don’t trust myself.
He drops his hands from my cheeks. “That’s fine,” he says, sounding a little detached. “I just…” he shakes his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“I know.” I can’t let him go with that. “And it was the best present I’ve ever gotten. Honest.”
He smiles and kisses me lightly on the temple before picking his flask up on the desk.
I let out a deep breath. Never again. But as I remember the way he looked at me, commanding and determined and so very powerful, as though making me cry was his sole goal in life—well, I know I may never find that with someone else.
Never again is a very, very large price to pay.
But we’re not really together, after all. We’re just two friends playing make-believe.
{6}
A couple months at Princeton and I stopped going to class again. Seeing people walk around campus with smiles and laughs puts knots in my stomach, so I’ve been doing all the course work and attend only for the exams. I’ve been pulling Cs, which is better than failing.
Rose scolds me when I sit at home, moping again. I guess I just feel like February has turned into Day 1 without Lo—all the pain that crushed me from the first moment he left swallows me back in its dark, black abyss. I kept hope that he’d email me by now. And he hasn’t.
But my vibrator keeps me company. My fantasies do too. But I rarely climax. It’s like my sadness has eked out any possibility of feeling that high again.
To keep me busy and to lift my spirits, I decide to change my ways a little. For the past three days, I’ve consumed my time at Calloway Couture, making good on a bet that I lost with Connor. I promised him that I’d help Rose at her blossoming fashion company by being her assistant.
Which I’ve quickly found out just means being the errand bitch.
Although I do have my own desk that sits off to the side in a spacious city loft, the room decked out with racks of dresses, blouses, coats, boots, and handbags. Rose glances from her computer in her dictatorial office—a glass cubical that literally overlooks the whole room. She has two other girls manning desks near me in the center. They’re in charge of social media, websites, and inventory.
While they’re productive members of Rose’s company, I’m more like a little hamster running along a stationary wheel. I fetch coffee and file notes. Busy work. But it beats masturbating for a whole two hours without any sort of release. I did that yesterday. Not fun.
After a short minute, Rose exits her office and struts over to my white desk. “Did you get the business card I left you?” She made me a whole box, as though solidifying my position as “Assistant of CEO” for the future.
“Yep, they’re pretty.” They’re even “lily” scented. I asked her if her cards smelled like roses and she shot me a cold look. Apparently, Mom had the idea to scent the business cards, and Rose had to go along with it. Our mother has her claws in Rose’s company in more ways than just one. Rose started the business at sixteen, too young to realize that our mother would deem herself co-founder. She acts like a silent partner, but Rose would rather she wasn’t involved at all, considering the only contribution she makes is painful irritation. She’s a nosy gnat, but she’s also someone easy to love if she agrees with you.
“No, not those cards. The therapist.”
“Oh…yeah, it was taped on the computer screen. Pretty hard to miss.”
“Have you called?”
I lick my dry lips. “No, not yet. I thought you were still researching.”
“No, I’m done. That’s the one. I know she is, but if you don’t like her, then I’ll keep looking. But you should meet her at least. She’s a lovely woman.”
I inhale. “Okay, yeah. I’ll meet her soon.” Maybe she’ll prescribe me some drugs and take these feelings away. That sounds nice.
As her heels clap back to her office, I Hulk-grip the mouse and click my way through Microsoft Excel with efficiency. Rose has detailed my tasks and their importance by numerical code. I realize that calling my therapist is number one. Checking shoe sizes for shipment to Macy’s is number thirty-five.
Just as I reach for my phone to make an appointment, it buzzes on the desk, vibrating across the glass surface. I frown and check the screen, an unknown number popping up. Could it be…? I frantically pick up the cell, my heart hammering. If it’s him, what do I say? I hesitate, words coursing through my brain in overdrive. I don’t know if there’s any right way to start a conversation. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s just hopeful thinking. He’s not even supposed to be calling until March. Isn’t that what Ryke said?