That’s the funny thing right:
He’ll probably never love me.
21
0 years : 07 months
March
LILY CALLOWAY
“LILY! LOREN!”
The paparazzi swarm us like ants crawling out of a hill. Only now they’re willfully rushing between cars in the street, just to film us on the sidewalk as we try to push our way into a New York City building.
A camera lens accidentally knocks into my head. Ouch. I shut my eyes as the pain swells.
“Back up!” Lo yells at the paparazzi. He guides me forward and protects my head by tugging me closer to his chest.
Ryke physically restrains cameramen with the length of his strong arms, using them as barriers. He’s like my replacement Garth since I had to sadly put him on hiatus. The production team wouldn’t let Daisy and me keep our bodyguards, something about “getting in the way.”
I miss Garth’s brutal, intimidating stares that shrank any pedestrians who gave me stink eyes.
And I miss the way he smells like bagels in the morning. No matter if he’s a man of few words. He was brawn that I severely lacked.
I try to hold out my leopard-print canister of pepper spray for self-protection, but I practically have a T-Rex claw hand, not able to outstretch my arm very far.
“Who’s better in bed, Lily?!” a cameraman shouts. “Loren or Ryke?!”
Fire burns my belly. I wish I was a T-Rex. I’d eat him.
In a non-sexual way. Just to be clear.
My neck heats.
“Lily,” Lo says, his lips right beside my ear. “Breathe.”
I realize that I’m taking slow, shallow breaths. My forehead sweats, and my upper lip is probably perspiring. How sexy. “Lo,” I whisper over the shouting paparazzi and Ryke who hollers to move back! “Are we going to make it?”
I meant to the building. We’re here to support Daisy, who’s in a runway show for a popular designer. But my words seem to encompass more than this time and place. Princesses of Philly was the most viewed reality show on GBA ever. We didn’t have this amount of fame before. It’s a whole new level of crazy.
Lo answers by lifting me up in his arms, front piggy-back style which is intimate and safe. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. I block out the noise. It’s just Lo and me. Like old times.
He says, “We can make it.”
I believe him.
My legs tighten around his waist, and a bad part of me starts to ache…for something harder. Sex is on the brain today.
Just go into the building. Everything will be quiet.
It’s a wishful thought.
As soon as Ryke pushes through the doors ahead of us, Lo enters with a string of five or six cameramen trailing him. Only two belong to the reality show.
More flashes and clicking.
There is no escape.
* * *
We sit on plastic white chairs that line the runway. I lean closer to Lo, gripping his bicep while his hand remains on my knee. “Can you put your hand higher,” I whisper, my heart racing in my chest. I need something.
Wait. My eyes bug.
I take in the setting. Front row seats to a runway show. Press snap photos of the audience before the models begin to walk. I’m wedged between Lo and Ryke. For some reason, production separated us from Rose, Connor and Scott, who sit across the white runway.
I can’t be fingered right now. On this chair. In front of other people.
Some logical part of my brain died outside.
Lo gives me a worried look.
“Nevermind,” I slur together. “Keep your hand, right here.” I pat the top of his hand on my knee for further emphasis. But I wonder if I can just pull it up a little higher.
No.
I cross my legs to put some pressure between my thighs.
It doesn’t help. I think I’m sweating through a Calloway Couture blouse. I’m going to ruin one of Rose’s garments. Shit. I waft the silky fabric away from my chest to avoid boob sweat.
Lo rubs my shoulder. “Look at me, Lil.”
I do. His amber eyes almost melt me beyond recognition. My heart is speeding so fast. Everything will feel better if we just…I just want him to thrust…no Lily.
He scrutinizes my state of mind, his scotch-colored eyes dancing over me. Then he holds my head to whisper in my ear, “I can’t have sex with you today.” His voice is very stern.
I exhale a tight pain in my chest. “I know.” It’d be the bad sex that only medicates my anxiety. The compulsive, beastly side of me that comes out with stress and loneliness.
“Why are you here, Lily?”
I frown. “What do you mean…?”
“In this chair,” he says, “in this building. What are we doing here?”
I glance around. Oh. The cameras. The runway. I look across it. Rose and Connor are talking so quickly, probably in French, and their eyes keep flickering to me. Concern coats their faces.
Even a few famous actors line the front row. Some even former models themselves.
I turn to Ryke on my right. He stares down at me with those hardened brows. “You look like hell.”
Déjà vu. I abandoned Rose’s fashion show for sex once upon a time. Never again. I don’t want to keep repeating the same mistakes. This time will be different.
“I’m here for my sister,” I tell Lo.
He nods again, seeing that I understand.
I take a deep breath, uncross my legs and lace my fingers with Lo’s. Don’t think about sex.
Good plan, Lily.
And then the music fires up—an electronic beat that I wholeheartedly approve of. People still brush elbows with their friends, whispering as the models prepare to do their thing, but the overall chatter is drowned out by the song.
I squirm and sit taller, straighter in my chair, inflated with this temporary confidence. Don’t think about sex.
“Lily,” Lo winces. I’m gripping his hand so hard that his fingers purple.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s okay,” he says, resting his hand on my knee.
I stiffen, and he retracts almost instantly.
“Wait,” I say hurriedly, “don’t be afraid of me…”
Lo stares at me for a long second with confusion. “I’m not, Lil.” He rubs my thigh just to show me.
I nod. This is good. The spot between my legs pulses. Shut up vagina.
Now I’m speaking to my vagina. Great.
I can leave.
But that means I let my addiction rule my life. I only win if I stay put. Lo’s hand drifts to the back of my neck, his thumb making melodic, calm circles that slow my heart.
His amber eyes never leave mine, and I find myself scooting closer, my leg pressed up against his, my hand on his waistband.
“Lily…” he breathes shallowly. It’s a warning but why does he sound so sexy?
His concern is turning me on? Dear God.
I focus on the runway for uglier scenery. Loren Hale is too gorgeous to stare at right now. But as soon as I turn my head, I realize the models have already started strutting along the white lane.
Half of them are male.
Who did I smite this past week?
I train my gaze on their feet. They’re the non-sexiest part of a human being, in my opinion. I’ve never been into the whole foot fetish thing.
Ryke slouches beside me, his grumpiness strangely helping keep my anxieties at bay.
Lo says to us, “Rose thinks Daisy’s boyfriend is one of these models she’s been working with.”
I still can’t believe none of us have met him, and apparently they’ve been dating since January.