Of course, Rose came up with an alternative: a “private” course, taught by her and Connor since they’ve both earned their certificates last week. I’m less nervous of tripping up in front of them.
“How is twenty-three so far?” Ryke asks me, making conversation as we wait for the others. I lean my butt on the loveseat armrest, adjacent to his couch. I try really hard not to think about his underwear or the junk that goes in them.
“Huh?” My eyes flicker to his package like a nervous tic.
If he noticed, he brushes it off. “Twenty-three. How’s it been?”
I’ll be twenty-four in three months, after I have Maximoff, so it’s not such a random question.
All the websites online say that twenty-three is the worst year in your twenties. Twelve months of identity crisis and “what the f**k am I doing with my life” realizations.
In the past year I’ve hit some major road bumps, including forgetting my birth control. But I love this year the most. I have conquered immeasurable fears. Public places don’t scare me as much. The articles and headlines don’t make me want to touch myself. The world feels smaller and more manageable. And the best part, I can be me and not feel so ashamed by it. My crazy (controlled) sex life and all.
How has twenty-three been? “Better,” I tell Ryke. “How was it for you?”
He rubs at the chalk on his palm. “It f**king sucked.” He doesn’t elaborate. I wonder if it’s because he couldn’t be with Daisy back then or because he was on bad terms with his brother. Probably both.
“Did you finish folding?” Rose cuts in. “I need my black shorts for tomorrow.”
My cheeks heat at this. Laundry has now cursed me into a new shade of red. My life has taken a sad turn. Rose’s glare intensifies my swelter.
“What in that is sexual?” she chastises like I’ve offended her ability to talk to me without causing me to flush.
“Uhh…” I trail off. I can’t exactly admit that I touched Ryke’s boxer-briefs. Can I? It’s his fault they were in our pile to begin with.
“What did she say?” Lo’s voice stirs me awake, and I pop up from the armrest, happy to see him but not so happy to be on this conversation still. His black crew-neck outlines his fit, lean body, but it’s his well-styled light brown hair, cut shorter on the sides, that attracts me like a panda bear discovering bamboo for the first time.
I think I’m drooling.
His eyes flit from my head to my stomach to my toes, assessing that I am all in one bright, tomato-red piece. “Lil?”
“Lo,” I reply back.
His brows rise and then he grinds his teeth, his jaw twitching. God, I love that, and my body responds, my toes curling a bit. I smile and inwardly cheer with pom-poms and high-fives. Nothing is better than being turned on by Loren Hale.
“Rose asked if Lily was finished folding,” Ryke rats me out.
I gawk and point an accusatory finger at him. “It’s your fault! You’re sneaking your underwear into our laundry pile. Ha!”
Ryke rolls his eyes. “This is about my underwear?”
“So you’re not denying it.” Double ha!
“I’m not f**king denying it,” he admits. “Do you have an underwear fetish now?” His tone is serious.
“No…” I say, roasting further.
Lo stands behind me and presses his hands playfully to my ears. “Don’t say the word fetish, it turns Connor on.”
I smile, and Connor wears a billion-dollar grin. “Words are my favorite sex toy,” he says and then walks over to his wife.
I take a deep breath, not feeling so much like the abnormal sex-crazed monster now.
Ryke nods to me. “What’s the deal, Lily?” He’s trying to understand more parts of my addiction, especially since I opened up to him at Hale Co., so it’s only right that I clarify.
“I touched your underwear.” I scrunch my nose. That’s good enough of an explanation, right?
It clicks for him. “It’s a piece of cloth, not my f**king cock.”
Please stop talking about your cock, Ryke. I spin around, wanting to leave before my body turns into Brutus, the ultimate betrayer. I turn right into Lo’s hard chest. Perfect. I love it here.
Lo rests his hands on my shoulders, hugging me closer to him. Even better.
“What’d I do wrong?” Ryke asks, concern in his voice.
“Maybe don’t mention your c**k in front of my girlfriend,” Lo says dryly.
I can practically feel him grimace. “Got it.”
Connor chimes in, “Are you sure, Ryke? Those were really complex instructions. I can always transcribe them for you.”
I peek from my Loren Hale cocoon to spot Ryke flipping off Connor. I let out another breath, glad to have overcome this little hurdle. I could’ve given Ryke another week-long silent treatment instead of sticking it out.
“What…did you do to your hair?” Rose suddenly asks, seeing Daisy first and everyone quiets.
27
LILY CALLOWAY
“Stop looking at me, please,” Daisy announces to the entire room. All the couches pushed aside, we stand on the cream rug in a circle. Her hair has taken the spotlight for the past ten minutes. I’m kinda grateful to have a distraction. I hold my plastic baby, carefully attempting to emulate Rose’s baby-cradling form. Sweat gathers under my boobs, which is a whole new feeling for me. I’ve never had big enough br**sts for boob-sweat.
“It’s hard not to,” Lo tells her, his doll cradled on his arm. “It’s just so bright. I’m almost blinded.”
I elbow him in the side to stop. Normally he’d mock wince, but his focus is on Daisy. She groans and covers her eyes with one hand. I notice how she holds her doll by the wrist, the plastic torso dangling.
“I know, I know. It’s really bad,” Daisy says.
Ryke tucks his doll underneath his armpit. Literally, he just shoved the baby’s face in there. Only Rose seems to be paying attention to Ryke’s placement, her eyes slowly narrowing to pinpoints. He’s busy messing Daisy’s hair with a playful hand. She exhales a breath.
Her medium-length locks are dyed yellow. Like a highlighter. I’m with Lo on this one, it’s bright. Over the past few months, Daisy has changed her hair to every color under the sun, some highlights, some a full-dye job, some pretty, others ugly. All the while, she took the change with enthusiasm and excitement. This is the first time I’ve seen her visibly upset over the hue.
“What color were you trying to dye it?” Connor asks, his doll cradled a little differently than Rose—the head more supported. I hone in on this detail and shift my doll to a better position. I glance at Ryke.
He’s still suffocating his baby.
“Blonde,” Daisy admits.
“You wanted to return to blonde?” Rose asks with a frown, not mentioning how Daisy may damage her hair if she keeps dyeing it so much.
Ryke’s hand has dropped to the small of Daisy’s back, more caringly, but his face has hardened to that familiar stone.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Daisy grips her doll, dressed in a pink onesie, more securely underneath the arms. “Please let’s do this CPR class.”
“Can we not call it a class?” I ask, my arms trembling a little with nerves. “I just graduated, and classes and I aren’t the best of friends.” I have bombed more college courses than the average person, but maybe I can blame Princeton for being unnaturally hard.