Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(7)

“Do you trust yourself?”

I go quiet and glance at a well-built model who leans over the railing to grab the attention of a girl on the street.

He’s shirtless.

And hot. But I guess that’s self-explanatory considering his job.

Do I trust myself? Not completely. But I can’t stay reclusive forever and wallow in my sheets like a dying hyena. I have to be brave. I have to try to be normal. Even if my mind screams no.

Ryke takes my silence as an answer. “If you can’t even say yes, then you shouldn’t be at any parties. Find Daisy and stay with her until I get there.”

What? No, no, no. “You don’t need to babysit me, Ryke.”

He exhales loudly. “Look, I promised Lo that I’d make sure you didn’t jump off a cliff when he left. If helping you helps him, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll see you.” He hangs up and I realize I never told him the address of the apartment. Maybe he’s bluffing and trying to instill fear so I’ll avoid doing something rash and stupid. Like hooking up with a male model. Like kissing a random guy. I’m frightened by the place in my mind that says go—the trigger that forgets about the love of my life for a brief, horrifying moment. And then when it’s over, I’ll be filled with shame and disgust so deep that I won’t know how to crawl back out.

I breathe in and shake off my trembling hands. I shuffle into the apartment and spot Daisy by the silver refrigerator with a dizzying array of letter magnets attached. Someone spelled cum with me. Clever.

Daisy sips from a red Solo, now filled with punch, and chats with a tall Italian model, his chocolate hair thick and his smile insanely bright. As I approach, she says a quick goodbye and hesitantly flips her phone over in her palm.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Something weird just happened. I don’t know…” She takes another swig of punch and licks her lips. “Ryke texted me.”

Oh shit.

“I mean, I didn’t even think he noticed me.”

As far as I remember, Ryke has met Daisy once at my family house in Villanova, a ritzy suburb outside of Philly, and it was more of a wave from afar than a true greeting. “What’d he want?”

“To know what party I was at. I gave him the address.” She shrugs. “You think he likes me or something?”

“…I don’t know, Dais. He’s twenty-two, and he’s not the kind of guy that would hit on a fifteen-year-old.” Because those guys are perverts.

Her lips downturn into a deep frown. “Yeah, I guess. But why would he ask me where I was? I mean, I do look older, Lily. And I make my own money…”

“You’re still fifteen,” I tell her. “He’s still twenty-two.” This needs to be squashed right now before he gets here. I cannot have her thinking she has a chance with him. No, no, no. I itch my neck. Maybe I am getting chicken pox.

She groans. “It’s so fucking frustrating. I feel older than I am half the time. Some people treat me like I’m in my twenties, and then I go back to school, and I’m babied again. I’m given respect, and then it’s taken away from me. Over and over and over.” She downs the rest of her drink.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to tell her to make her feel any better. “You’re close to being sixteen, and then you’ll only have two more years.” I lamely shake my hands like faux pompoms.

She lets out a weak laugh. “You’re so corny.”

I shrug. “It made you laugh.”

“It did,” she nods.

“How did Ryke get your number anyway?”

“I didn’t give it to him. Maybe he called Rose and asked her for it.” She pauses. “So…why do you think he’s coming over?”

I inhale a strained breath, my muscles tightening. “I’m not sure,” I lie.

“I guess we’ll see.” She stares at her empty cup. “I’m going to get a refill. How about you go hang out with Bret?” She tilts her head to the scarily pretty blond guy that I dodged.

“Getting rid of me?” I joke. “Am I not that fun?”

She smiles. “I just don’t want to leave you here alone. I’m the one who asked you to come, after all. And it may take me awhile to escape the punch bowl.” She nods to the big tub full of red liquid and sliced pineapples. “See Jack over there.” I spot the black-haired, European guy that I noticed before.

“Yeah?”

“He’s a talker. I can’t ever get away from him, and I feel guilty when I try. It’ll take me probably ten minutes.”

“I can come save you,” I suggest.

She shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. “No, no. I have it handled. Have fun. Mingle,” she tells me again. As if mingling is the solution. It is not.

My palms sweat and my nerves jostle as she disappears. I really want to go follow her, but she basically said do not follow me, Lily. Didn’t she? I swallow down my anxiety and accidentally lock eyes with a dark-skinned model, his biceps bulging as he sets two palms on the alcohol table.

I bite my fingernails, losing control. Maybe I should try to calm myself. Go off and do my own thing. Find someone…Bret…

No.

My body thrums with the usual cravings that I’ve denied myself for seven whole days. The only thing that will satiate the nerves, the fear, and everything that balloons my dizzy head is sex.