Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(64)

“Can we steer the conversation away from me now?” Lo asks. “How have you been holding up?”

“I’m a little frustrated,” I mutter. “Sexually and mentally.”

“Mentally?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” I say quickly. “It’s just that the therapy sessions drain me. I want to know why I’m addicted to sex so badly. Dr. Banning says the answer might not be so clear. And I just worry that when I find it…I won’t like it.”

His breath grows heavy over the line, and his words come out as a whisper. “Do you think it’s me?”

It feels like a stab to the chest. I glance down at the Twizzler braid on my lap. “It’s me, Lo,” I choke. “I can’t blame anyone else for my problems. I just have to figure out how it started.”

“When we were nine, we did some things,” he says quietly. “Do you remember that?”

“Lots of little kids do stupid stuff,” I defend, thinking about what Dr. Banning told me. Experimenting, she called it.

“It was wrong,” he tells me with added confidence. I imagine him running a shaking hand through his light brown hair. His voice remains firm and determined. “I was older than you.”

“By nine months.” He’s being ridiculous.

“It doesn’t matter, Lil,” he snaps. “I’ve been thinking a lot in this place, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. For everything that I’ve ever done to hurt you—”

“You haven’t hurt me,” I interject. “You haven’t.”

“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You remember the night before we split up and I came here? The day before Christmas Eve?”

“The Charity Gala,” I say. The night where he broke his short sobriety by chugging mini-bottles of tequila from a hotel room.

“I hurt you,” he says. “I had sex with you so you’d stop focusing on my alcohol addiction…so you’d stop looking at me like I was unraveling. You were crying hysterically, and I fucked you. And afterwards, I was a complete dick about it. What do you call that?”

“You didn’t…” rape me, I think, knowing that’s what’s plaguing his mind. He didn’t. “I wanted it, Lo. Please, don’t think that.” God, we’re so messed up. I listen for his reply, but I only hear silence. “Lo?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Lil. For that night, for when we were nine. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to take all the blame. I was there too when we were younger, you know. I touched you. Maybe I fucked you up.”

He laughs now, and it makes me smile. “I can assure you that I’m fucked up, but it’s not because of you.”

“Likewise.” At least, I hope so.

He suddenly lets out a long groan. “God, I just want to kiss you.”

I grin. “Welcome to my world. I think I’ve imagined making out with you about five billion times since you’ve been gone.”

“And how many times have you imagined my cock in your mouth?”

My eyes widen, and I lose breath, even though he says it so blasé.

“What about my cock in your ass?” I hear the smile behind the words.

Oh my God. I lick my dry lips and squirm a little on the bed. The spot between my legs begins to pulse with his words.

“In your pussy?”

“Lo,” I croak. Are we having phone sex right now? I eye the door. Should I go lock it?

“Have you been good?” Lo asks. “Did you touch yourself at all?”

“No, I’ve waited.”

“I’m proud of you,” Lo tells me. And I immediately feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. “You’ve earned something then.”

We are having phone sex! Yes. I crawl out of my canopy, struggling with the net for two seconds too long, and then jump off the bed with the phone still braced in my hand. I race to lock the door. Pausing in the middle of the room, I look to my closet. “Do I need…” How does this even work?

“Need what?” he asks in confusion. Great, he can’t read my mind. What I’d give to be dating Charles Xavier— though the X-Men: First Class edition where he’s played by James McAvoy. Bald doesn’t do it for me.

“Never mind,” I mutter.

“Need what, Lily?” Lo prods again, his voice serious. I don’t answer right away, trying to gain the nerve to say the words. “Am I going to have to guess? It better not be lube. You’ve never had a problem getting wet around me.”

“Stop talking,” I tell him. “You’re making this hard.”

“You’re making me hard.”

I roll my eyes while my lips involuntarily rise. “Please tell me that’s not your best dirty talk.”

“I’ve said better,” he agrees. “You know you can tell me anything. It can’t be that embarrassing.” He pauses. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be embarrassed anyway, but good news is that I can’t see you turn all red.”

I wish he could. I’d give anything for him to be here right now. But then I wouldn’t. Because coming home early means failure on his part, and I want him to succeed. I just feel so conflicted. About everything.