Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(5)

“No, but…if you start having sex, you should be careful.”

“I know.” She nods a lot. “Do you think…do you think you can take me to the clinic? I kinda want to be on birth control.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you.” Another secret I’ll have to keep from the family, but this one I’ll gladly take. Unplanned pregnancy can be avoided, and girls shouldn’t feel ashamed to be on the pill. “Just promise you won’t go crazy and have sex with a bunch of random guys.” Because I would and look how awesome I turned out.

“Ew, I wouldn’t do that.” She scrunches her nose, and the bottom of my stomach drops. And this is why I can’t tell anyone else in my family about my addiction. Rose was right. They just wouldn’t understand. “Will I go to college?” she asks another question for our game. I can’t even remember if it’s her turn or mine.

“I can’t predict the future.”

“Do I want to go to college then?”

“That…is a very good question…that I do not have the answer to. Do you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not yet anyway. I’m ready to be eighteen and do shoots without Mom there. I’ll be able to go to France alone and see the city without Mom scheduling my whole itinerary. You know, this year she wouldn’t even let me see the Louvre.”

“That sucks.”

Daisy nods. “Yeah, it blows.” Then her boot sets on the cement ledge. My heart lurches into my throat.

“Okay, game over!” I throw up my hands. “Let’s go back inside.”

Daisy grins from ear to ear and stands, perched on the fucking ledge with a twenty-story drop off. She straightens up and outstretches her arms. “I AM A GOLDEN GOD!”

Oh jeez. Quoting Almost Famous does not alleviate my panic.

Instead, she screams at the top of her lungs, which turns into a full-bellied laugh.

This bonding time has gone a little too far. “All right, game over. You win. Seriously, I’m going to break out in chicken pox.” Or at least a rash that looks like it. I start pacing, too afraid to move closer and pull her down myself. What if I tug and she falls backwards like on television? That’s how people die.

Daisy begins walking across like it’s a tightrope. “It’s not that scary. Honestly, it’s like…” She laughs into a smile. “It’s like the world is at your fingertips, you know?”

I shake my head repeatedly, so much my neck hurts. “No, no. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did someone drop you on your head?” That seems kind of likely right now.

And then she hops off.

Onto the gravel.

I breathe. She picks her Solo cup on her way to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s possible that one of the nannies did. Maybe that explains why I’m not as smart as Rose.”

“No one is as smart as Rose.” Except maybe Connor Cobalt.

“True,” she says with a laugh and turns to the door. “Now let’s see if we can find you a hot guy.”

Yeah, this isn’t going to be good.



*



Daisy tries to leave me with a scarily attractive blond model. Can a face like his really exist without Photoshop? Perfect bone structure, the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dear God, I’m in trouble.

“I’m going to go get some punch. You two stay here and chat,” Daisy says. I try to grab her elbow before she disappears from me.

“Daisy…” I’m going to kill her.

She spins around and mouths, mingle and tops it with another smile.

I look back. He towers over me and sips from a Solo cup. He bends to my ear, his hand sinking to my waist. And lowering. I swallow.

“You’re like a little hidden gem,” he tells me with a small laugh. I avoid those intense blue eyes that begin to rake my body, heating up places that should not, in no way, be hot by anyone except Loren Hale.

I brush off his hands so frantically that I end up looking like I’m swatting flies. And then I mutter something unintelligent that sounds like I have to pee or maybe there’s a bee. Either way, I disentangle myself from him and the mobs of models in the dance area. I find a safe spot on the couch by the floor-length window, the glittery city lit up and awake with cabs and pedestrians.

Daisy is in a discussion with a guy who seems to be around her age. It’s hard to tell in this group. He has black hair and European features, skinny like he could front an indie rock band. She’s unaware that I’ve ditched her handsy friend.

Next to me sits a half-conscious, drug-induced boy, staring up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze, not finding what looks so damn interesting besides white plaster.

I take an impulsive glance at the oak table by the wall—decorated with a spread of cheap liquor. People serve themselves, and I subconsciously look for Lo behind a curly brunette. After she plops a couple ice cubes in her drink and passes to the kitchen, I see him.

Leaning against the beige wall, cupping a Reidel glass with amber liquid.

His cheeks cut sharply, and his expression flickers between slightly annoyed and amused. He takes a small sip and meets my gaze, knowing I’m watching—as though we share a secret beyond every person here. The corner of his lip rises as he takes another swig, and I pin to my seat.