It’s easier to be around him.
Ryke pinches his eyes and then rubs them wearily. “I’m going to call Daisy’s therapist and hopefully she’ll see her before the meeting.”
I listen to the shower water splash against the tiles, and a thought barrels into me, one that twists my face in a cringe. But I put it out there anyway. “Have you tried just having sex?” I ask.
Ryke glowers and his hand tightens on the door frame like he’s going to slam it in my face.
I elaborate with an edged voice. “I’m not saying it’s a solution, but she’ll be exhausted if you go at it long enough and then she’ll fall asleep.”
“Is that what you do with Lily?” he asks tensely.
I grind my teeth. He’s not spinning this back on me. “It’s one f**king time, you ass**le,” I tell him, “Daisy won’t be addicted to it. So go f**k her, so she can shut off her brain and sleep.”
Ryke’s shoulders slacken. “She’s on her period, and she’s not excited about the idea of being f**ked right now.”
Jesus Christ. I rub my mouth and try not to think hard about who we’re discussing. “She’s in the damn shower. Stop talking to me and go have sex. And when you’re done, I’ll be at the gym with Connor.” I start walking backwards as I talk. “Come with her, don’t come with us, and I’ll see you later.”
He flips me off, but I catch him nod as he shuts his door.
I descend the stairs and round into the kitchen—twice as large as the one in the Princeton house. The expensive silver appliances, granite countertops, gray walls, and leather bar stools are all thanks to some interior designer Rose hired. Every time I notice the mansion décor, modern and classic and more adult than I am, I realize that I’m supposed to have my shit together.
That I’m no longer in my college years.
I’m twenty-four. Time to grow up.
I’m trying.
God, I’m trying.
By the marbled sink, Connor grabs a blue mug from a glass cabinet. “Morning, darling,” he says. He’s dressed in Nike athletic pants and a navy blue T-shirt, so I don’t have to ask if he’s still on for the gym.
I nod to him and rest my forearms on the cold counter. “Boy or girl?” I ask, the question already jailing my muscles in an uncomfortable vice. I decide to do sit-ups in the kitchen while I wait for him. I walk in front of the island and lie on the floorboards.
“Is this what I want or what I think Rose will have?” he questions.
“What you want.” I watch him pour his coffee, and then I rest my hands behind my head and use my core to rise to my bent legs.
Connor walks over and steps on the tops of my shoes, keeping me stationary. He cups his mug. “I want many children, so I don’t really mind which one is first, as long as there’s a second.”
It surprises me, and I freeze midway to my knees. “Why?” He’s arrogant, conceited—really self-absorbed, not in a bad way exactly. It’s just a fact. And none of those things say I want a big, loud family.
He grins into his sip of coffee, towering above me at six-four. “The challenge is worth the reward, and I’m ready for a new one.”
At least one of us is confident. I scowl, my back touching the floor again.
“You’re going to do fine, Lo,” Connor assures me.
I want to believe him, but if anyone is good at placating people, it’s Connor. I can’t put faith in every word he says when I know it’s designed to calm me. I love it. I need it. But my past history says I’m more likely to fail than succeed. So I tell him, “We’ll see.”
Feet patter against the floorboards, and I turn my head, first noticing a hemp ankle bracelet. Long legs hidden beneath sweatpants—Ryke’s sweatpants—and a yellow cut-off top with the words: flower power.
What the hell. “Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask Daisy as she opens the fridge. There’s no way they had sex. He’d last longer than one minute with her. I stifle a worse cringe. Don’t think about it.
“Huh?” She plays dumb, grabbing a Lightning Bolt! energy drink.
I rest my forearms on my knees, and Connor watches her closely, still drinking his coffee. She has dark rings beneath bloodshot eyes.
“You look like shit,” I tell her flatly. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
She dips her baseball cap low, shrouding her gaze. That’s annoying. “Your dad won’t care how I look, right?”
I don’t know. “If you’re worried about it, you can put on makeup,” I say, my sharp tone cutting my eardrums. “Lily won’t, so you don’t have to.” I exhale, and Connor steps off my shoes to refill his coffee. Something tells me that we’re not going to make it to the gym today.
“Ryke’s right here.” She motions past me and takes a swig of her energy drink.
That’s when my brother rounds the island corner, entering the kitchen. He beelines straight for Daisy and snatches the baseball cap off her head, her damp blonde hair soaking her shirt.
“Hey, bro,” I say, not adding anything more since Daisy’s here. It’s normal for the three of us to talk about the girls and sex, but not when they’re around. And I have a pretty good feeling they do the same to us.
Ryke turns his head, and I give him a look like what the f**k happened? I thought he had a plan in motion.
“She’s not Lily,” he suddenly tells me.
My eyes narrow, my blood heating. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Yeah?” Daisy asks Ryke with a frown.
Ryke lets out a frustrated groan. “Just drop it.”
“No,” I snap. Now my mind is reeling. “You started it. You finish it.”
“Words to live by,” Connor smiles. He’s completely at ease with no information about this argument, but maybe he has everything he needs by observing us.
“All I f**king meant,” Ryke says, extending his arms, “is that Lily will do almost anything in bed.” The fact that he talks to Lily about sex often still unnerves me. “Daisy won’t, and I’m not going to force her to have sex when she doesn’t want it.”
Daisy’s mouth has dropped, her face reddening in embarrassment. She glances quickly at Connor and blushes even more. “This is not happening,” she mutters.
“It’s happening,” I tell her with a sardonic smile.
“Don’t be a f**king dick,” Ryke snaps, trying to close the subject now.
I could wait to ask Lily about whether or not Daisy has used sex to fall asleep—therefore not being a “fucking dick.” Or I could wait to ask Ryke after Daisy leaves. But frankly, that sounds like too much work. Plus, Ryke frequently talks to my girlfriend about sex, so guess what? This is how it feels. “Daisy,” I call to her, stretching my leg while I sit on the floor.
Ryke shoots me a look. “Lo, f**k off.”
I ignore him while Daisy acknowledges me. And I ask point-blank, “Have you ever tried to sleep by having sex?” It takes more effort to keep a straight-face, not cringing, than it does to say the words.
“You don’t have to answer him,” Ryke tells her. And he mouths to me, shut the f**k up. Too late for that.
Her face stays red. “Not on purpose, no…” She opens her mouth to add more but she hesitates.