Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(65)

Maybe that’s why I’m still standing in the middle of my bedroom, wavering on whether to venture to my closet or hop right back on the mattress.

“Do you think I should…use a vibrator or…dildo…” I actually stutter. My whole face heats, and I swear little beads of sweat gather on my upper lip. I wipe it frantically, panicked as though someone will see me perspiring.

“Are you serious? That’s what you’re fucking nervous to ask me?” he says, slightly offended. “I thought you wanted to use the cellphone or something.”

What? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about. I gag and cringe. “Ew.” Now I’m offended.

“That’s what you get for not coming clean from the start, love,” he says with a laugh. His voice drops to a serious tone. “What does your therapist say about the toys?”

“We haven’t talked about them.”

“Then let’s avoid them for now, okay?”

I can’t help but feel a little dejected by the decision. In my head, I heard Lo saying of course, go pick out the one that looks like my cock. I guess those days of enabling are over.

I untangle the knotted canopy and climb back on the bed, the phone now on speaker. “Where are you right now?” I ask, wanting a mental picture in place.

“In my bedroom. I have my own bathroom, no roommate, so the privacy is nice. The comforter is kind of scratchy though.”

“How sexy.”

I see him grinning in my mind, his amber eyes lighting up. “Aren’t I always?”

God, I miss him. A wave of sadness bears down on me, and the crash feels so sudden and abrupt that I have to pinch my nose to withhold tears. I sink back into my pillow and stare up at the top of my canopy. All I can think about is how much I want to see him. How ironic is that? The one time we’re about to have sort-of sex, and I’m turning into an emotional spaz.

“Lily, are you crying?” Lo’s worry intensifies.

“No.” I wipe my eyes and keep my phone on my stomach. “Let’s just do it.”

“Well when you say it like that,” he snaps.

I haven’t had a release in days. I need to collect my bearings because if we call this off then I’m going to regret it badly in a couple hours when the urges start again.

“No, really, I’m okay.” I straighten up and the phone thuds to my comforter. “Let’s go. Who takes off their clothes first?” I cringe. That could have been way sexier.

“I think we both suck at phone sex,” Lo tells me.

I should find this funny, but instead his words bulldoze right over me. It’s like someone offered a bag of cocaine to a drug addict and decided at the last minute to yank it away. I picture tonight, alone in my bed, fighting the cravings yet again. And the moment will be my fault. Because I grew mopey and sad and pathetic. Idiot.

“No, we’re good at it,” I defend us. “Pleasepleaseplease, let’s try again.” But fear shakes my voice and causes me to garble them out with tears.

“Hey, hey, Lily,” Lo says urgently. “It’s okay.” I can hear him rustling around, and I wonder if he’s taking off an article of clothing. Maybe his pants.

“It’s not,” I refute. “It’s not okay.”

“Shhh,” Lo whispers. “You’re fine. I’m fine. I’m still going to make you come, I promise. Just relax and breathe, love.”

As soon as he says the words, my computer lets out a ping! I sniff a little and mumble, “Hold on a sec.” I pop open the Skype menu. Then I see the alert: Accept call from Hellion616

My heart immediately jumps to my throat. That’s Lo, of course. His username has been his favorite Marvel character since he was fifteen. I’m going to see him, aren’t I? Can this be real? I bite my lip and click the button.

The screen fills with Lo. He stares right back at me. He looks the same as I last remember. Almost three months have passed, and he still has the same light brown hair, shorter on the sides, full on top. The same sharp cheekbones that make him look menacing and lose-your-breath sexy. He sits cross-legged on his single bed, the comforter navy blue. He wears a charcoal gray T-shirt, and a pair of black track pants. His amber eyes actually stare into mine. I’m looking at him. Not just imagining his body, his eyes, his face. I can’t help it—I instantly burst into uncontrollable, happy tears.

“No,” Lo prolongs the word and adds a small smile. “Don’t cry. You’re going to make me start crying.”

“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I let out a long breath and situate the laptop on my bed a little better. Now he’s not staring at half of my face.

I meet his gaze again, this time more relaxed, but my chest swells. A part of me feared that he’d return home too changed and too different somehow. All my terror evaporates and shushes to bed. He’s still Lo. He’s still mine.

“Hi,” he says in one breath.

“Hi.” The hardest part about the whole ordeal has been being away from him. It has nothing to do with sex, I realize. He’s my best friend, my whole world, and losing that hurts more than losing a body to grind on at night. Seeing him reminds me that he’s not gone forever. Even if it may feel like it sometimes.

“You look good.” His eyes flit around my body. “Are you gaining weight?” he asks hopefully. Maybe he imagined I’d be a withered twig, so gaunt and gnarly that he’d have to pick me up before I wasted away. Wow, that would be scary.