I wish I could be like that about sex. But I think it’s a little different being a girl.
“The beach,” he lists.
I shake my head. “Sand is evil.”
“But in the early morning, it’s so f**king beautiful.”
I can’t recall a morning beach hookup for myself. Night, most definitely.
“Bathrooms,” he continues.
“Even the dirty ones?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t really notice.” He adds, “Parks, elevators, golf courses, locker rooms, the woods—love the woods.”
“Did you ever have sex at your high school?” I ask.
He nods. “Under the bleachers like a cliché.”
I smile. “Me too.”
He raises his water bottle in a toast.
“Lo and I had sex in a movie theater once,” I tell him. “He actually bought every ticket just so we could do it.”
Ryke’s brows shoot up. “Before you went into recovery, I assume.”
I nod. It was when he wanted to satiate my every whim and desire, which turned into one big enabling factory. But it was fun. I can’t deny that. Even though we’re having public sex, I doubt Lo would ever buy out a theater again. Some things go too far.
“I f**ked this gypsy at a carnival once,” he says, his arm stretching over the back of the couch, “right underneath her table. We knocked over the crystal ball.” He smiles at the memory like it’s a good one. Like the whole event was more than just a cl**ax for him. That’s not how I ever saw sex. I didn’t seek out wild places to f**k. They were just convenient at the time. Settings to get me what I wanted.
“I did it at a carnival or amusement park or…whatever,” I say. “On the Ferris wheel though.”
“While it was moving?” Surprise infiltrates his voice.
“Yeah, I mean, he didn’t last long.” My throat tightens, trying not to think about the messy details.
Ryke’s face falls a little. Maybe he’s just now realizing that I’m not talking about Lo. I test out this theory by saying, “I also did it with a guy I met at a cotton candy booth. Same night.”
He shifts forward, removing his arm from the couch, darkness clouding him. I can tell he’s trying to push it away, but when his gaze meets mine, there’s more understanding, more empathy for my addiction than I’ve ever seen before.
Me and him. We’re not the same. He can reminisce about all the places he’s f**ked with laughs and smiles, rehashing stories that involve beginnings, middles, and satisfying conclusions. With orgasms and no shame in the end. My past is littered with hurt and regret. I’d rather leave it all in the fog.
He was right. He won’t ever join my club.
It’s just me.
By my lonesome.
How it should be.
“You ready?” Lo’s voice wakes me from my reverie. He stands in the doorway with wet hair and a sharpened jawline. His eyes flit from my head to my toes, assessing my state. And then he nods to me like you’re okay. I rise to my feet and gladly walk straight into his arms.
Maybe I’m not so alone.
52
2 years : 01 month
September
LILY CALLOWAY
Landed. Flight was pretty good, almost no turbulence. – Lo
Rugby World Cup is going on in Paris this weekend. Horrible traffic. – Lo
Daisy looks shaken up. – Lo
I scroll through my old text conversation with Lo, rereading each word. His road trip with his brother and Connor had to take a major detour and pit stop for my little sister.
She had some sort of night terror…are you sure you don’t want to come up? – Lo
Is Rose raging right now? – Lo
Rose paces in front of me, slamming her fingers violently on the screen of her phone. Raging, yes. Fuming, yes. She growls and looks like she’s ready to chuck her phone across the room. “Connor won’t snap a picture of her and send it to me,” she says. “How am I supposed to verify that Daisy is okay without evidence?”
I rest an elbow on the checkout counter at Superheroes & Scones, the store opening in a couple hours. “Trust,” I say, a pit in my stomach. “We have to believe that they’re telling us everything.” I scroll through my messages again, silently cursing Lo for being such a brief texter.
I should just focus on my book that’s cracked open for my Options, Futures and Financial Derivatives course. Every page is highlighted with neon yellow marks, my fingertips stained that color. But the sentences blur together, my mind in Paris with the guys and my little sister.
“We can fly in tomorrow,” I suggest.
Lo did call to deliver a more detailed account of what happened. Daisy was thrown out of a runway show only minutes before she was supposed to walk, and the designer basically ripped off her clothes. In front of everyone backstage. I would have been mortified if that was me, so I wasn’t surprised that she was upset. But I am a little shocked that she chose to call Ryke and only Ryke about the incident.
He immediately wanted to check up on her in person. And when they spent the night, Daisy woke them up, screaming like she was being murdered. Apparently she was “stuck” in a nightmare…or something like that.
Chills still prick my skin every time I imagine it. Lo said, “It was horrifying.” It was horrifying. I want to jump on a plane and hug my sister, not leave her with our significant others and Ryke.
“We can’t fly in tomorrow,” Rose tells me, her eyes still narrowed at her cellphone. “You won’t graduate.”
After being delayed for so long, I can almost feel the crisp paper of my diploma, so close. But I have a huge exam, and if I don’t make the date, I’ll be given a big fat zero. My professor said, “In order to be excused, you need to be dying in a hospital.” This particular professor isn’t fond of the “celebrity special treatment” either, so I have to be there.
In the flesh.
“You can go,” I remind her, already feeling a bout of guilt for not being present for Daisy. I don’t want to hold Rose back too.
She pockets her phone in her clutch and sidles up to the counter. I smell coffee being brewed by one of the employees. “I’m not leaving you,” she says. I read into the rest: not while you’re pregnant.
I give her a weak smile.
Rose straightens up. “Now where are your notecards? I’ll quiz you.”
I fish them out of my backpack at my feet and pass the disorderly stack to her.
She snorts. “Connor is a horrible tutor. He didn’t even teach you to rubber band these.”
“He did,” I say, even though I thought that “helpful tip” was pretty self-explanatory. “I just always lose the rubber bands.” My tablet pings on the counter. I’ve been entrusted with the internet to study for my exam, but I may have also setup notifications for certain tags on Tumblr.
I don’t deny it.
I’m still a little obsessed.
I just don’t want another surprise like the one about Lo’s dad. Plus, I sometimes fear that the pregnancies will just pop up online. That cannot be the way Lo finds out.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I power the tablet on and check the alert: 1 New from #Coballoway. I click into the tag, and my cheeks burn at the gif of Connor’s hand gripping Rose’s bottom, her ass already a little red. I quickly click out. I didn’t see it.