Thrive (11 page)

“Here’s a tip: maybe you shouldn’t talk about jacking off in
front of her.” Lo crosses his arms. “Is it that fucking hard?”

“For me, it is.”

Lo stares at him for a long minute. I anticipate something
really nasty. He says, “I bet your teachers hated you in high school.” That
wasn’t so bad.

Ryke lets out a laugh. “I got detention almost every day for
saying
fuck.
So yeah, they weren’t
too fond of me.”

I peek past Lo’s shoulder to scrutinize the showers again.
“They’re huge.”

“It’ll be okay,” Lo reassures me, his hands lowering to my
hips.

I hope so, but everything the production company has setup
feels like drama bait.

We’re bound to feed into it.

{ 14 }

0 years : 05 months

January

LOREN HALE

“This is ridiculous.” I flip through a five page
script
in disbelief. As soon as we
arrived at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Scott handed me what I thought was a
museum pamphlet. Turns out production wants Lily to talk and act a certain way.
Most of which is crude.

Lily leans over my arm and gasps as she reads a line. “I
can’t say that.”

I skim the paper and see where she’s concerned.

Lily stares into
Loren’s eyes with longing and carnal desire.

Lily: I remember how
you tasted last night. I can’t wait to taste you again.

“Jesus Christ,” I curse. “This is like a bad porno.” I scan
the small crowd, hoping it won’t grow into a larger one later today. Quickly, I
find Scott speaking in hushed tones to Brett, who has a camera attached to his
chest.

I take Lily’s hand and lead her over to the
twenty-eight-year-old dipshit. As soon as we approach, he turns and I chuck his
five-page script at his body. It hits his chest with barely a sound and then
flops to the floor. “We’re not reading off a script,” I snap.

Scott Van Wright has found every way to grate on me in the
shortest
amount of time. First off—he
lives
with us. No one fucking invited
him to permanently crash upstairs. Secondly, I can’t stand to look at his dirty
blond hair, his smug face, and those douchebag tailored pants. He’s like the
anti-Connor. An arrogant prick who one-ups you and screams about it at the top
of his lungs.

Thirdly (and most importantly) he antagonizes my girlfriend.

Yesterday he tried to corner Lily to ask her questions about
her old hookups. We’re not even a month in with the cameras.
That’s not fucking okay. I’m trying
to stay positive, but shit like this is
why I opt for a quiet bar and a bottle of Macallan.

“Then tell your girlfriend to speak up,” Scott replies
smoothly, not even breaking a sweat. “She’s so quiet that she literally
disappears in the background. We’re making a show around a sex addict, not a
wallflower.”

“I’m standing right here,” Lily says before I can chew him
out. “You can talk
to
me.”

His eyes never waver from mine. I could seriously deck him
in the face, but I rarely fight with my fists.

“While the cameras are rolling, you both need to stop acting
like I’m the producer of the show,” he says, completely ignoring the issue.

“Right,” I say. “You’re Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” It’s nothing
but a lie. Just scripted drama. Scott’s creating a fake love triangle between
himself, Connor and Rose. His motives are all over the place.

“Exactly,” he says, unbuttoning
one
button on his white shirt. So what—viewers can see his muscles?
This guy—

“Do you think Rose and Connor will make it today?” Scott
smiles, like we’re friends. Lily instinctively checks the camera. The red light
is on.

Scott already knows the answer to his question. GBA, the
network airing
Princesses of Philly
,
wanted more scenes with Lily and me, alone, so they planned a trip to the
museum with just us. And apparently Scott. I have a strong suspicion he’s just
tagging along to piss us off.

My eyes narrow in contempt, and Lily squeezes my hand to
help calm me.

Scott grins wider. “How’s sobriety, Loren? Are you doing
okay?”

My blood boils, my glare intensifying. “No, I’m not doing
great. I just feel sorry for you, man. For six months, you’re going to watch us
drive our expensive cars, attend our exclusive parties, and fly our private
jets. And when it’s all over, you’ll go home to your one-bedroom apartment in
LA and realize that you’ll never have our lifestyle. You’ll
never
amount to anything other than a
second-rate producer of a garbage reality show.” I touch my chest. “That just
makes me feel so fucking sad for you.”

Scott’s smile and pretenses vanish in an instant. “You’re a
dick.”

“You’re a slimy prick,” I refute. “Don’t ever ask me about
my sobriety again.”

Lily follows me as I storm off towards one of the exhibits
in the back, as far away from Scott as I can get.

“He’s trying to provoke us,” she reminds me.

A pressure weighs on my chest. My left hand shakes. “Well
it’s working,” I say under my breath. This rabid hate simmers underneath my
skin. I just want a sip of alcohol. Anything. God, drinking is so much better
than dealing with this bullshit.

“I love you,” she says, her eyes tracing my features
quickly.

I take a deep breath.
I
love you too.
The words stick to my throat. Instead of speaking, I rest an
arm along her back and hug her to my side.

She brings her hand up to her mouth, about to bite her
fingernails. But she drops it before she gets that far.

“I can’t stand here, Lil, and not fight back. He’s making
you nervous and he’s pissing me off. I can’t take that crap, not from anybody.”

A sliver of silence stretches where my lie resides. I take
shit from my dad all the time, but Lily chooses not to announce this fact.
Thankfully.

“I just don’t want you to come off as a villain when the
show starts airing in February,” she explains, “because you’re not.”

I’ve tried so hard not to be
that
guy—the one that terrorizes other people. The one that no one
else but Lily can possibly understand. It’s hard to walk away from this
instinct. It’s self-preservation. If I don’t attack first, I’m going to be
slaughtered by gut-wrenching pain.

I’m saving myself.

“Lo?” Lily says, her voice pitching in worry.

I turn to Lily and hold her delicate face between my hands.
I notice Brett filming us from a distance. “We’re going to be ourselves for
this show,” I say. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t like us. It doesn’t matter.”

She nods confidently and gives me an encouraging smile. I
drop my hands. Her eyes flit around the museum. “Out of all the places
production could pick, they chose something more up Rose’s alley.”

“Yeah, I know.” Paintings and sculptures sit against white
walls. People wander around with headsets on, quiet like we’re in a library.
“How boring is this going to be?”

“Maybe we can just go around and try to guess the names of
the paintings. Ohhh.” She points to a portrait of a woman in an oversized
Renaissance gown holding a cat. “Here’s one. I think it’s called
Lady with a Cat.
”

My lips rise. “Very creative.”

“It’s my best guess.”

I approach the painting nearest us and read the small plaque
underneath the frame. Jesus. “You were close.
Lady in the Blue Dress
.”

“Really?” She beams.

I’m about to reply when I spot Scott Van Wright sauntering
towards us. Why can’t he just stay the fuck away?

“I have to call my brother,” I tell her in a low voice. The
moment I say it, the moment I know it’s the best plan I’ve had all day. That
weight on my chest starts to lessen.

She whispers, “Are you okay?”

I don’t want her to worry about my addiction. “We need
someone to distract Scott from us.” Or else I’m going to do something I regret.

Lily’s face contorts in a multitude of emotions. She knows
I’m not doing well, and I’d rather have him here. But she hates perpetuating
tabloid rumors about three-ways and cheating.

“What about Rose or Daisy?” she asks.

“Rose is working in New York, and Daisy is at school right
now.” I omit Poppy since she wanted nothing to do with the reality show. “I’d
call them before Ryke if I could.” I add that, just for her. If I’m being
honest, I’d prefer my brother over her sisters.

Lily opens her mouth to reply, but Scott steps closer. In
hearing distance. He acts like he’s appraising the
Lady in the Blue Dress.
“I’m thoroughly surprised you two haven’t
jumped on each other yet,” he says, his gaze pinned to the painting. “It might
be a new record.”

“You don’t know us,” Lily combats.

“You’re a sex addict,” he says. “You want the short definition?”
He licks his lips. “You like to ride dick.”

I fume, my teeth aching from gritting them. Lily rests a
hand on my chest. Her face is flushed, red patches dotting her neck and cheeks.
I hate that he embarrassed her. I hate that he’s shaming her. More importantly,
I hate that
nothing
I say does any
fucking damage to him.

This is the point where I’d walk away and start fucking with
his life.

I’d ruin him from the inside out.

His career. His money. I’d utilize the tools my father gave
me to destroy a man. But I can’t.

I can’t do that this time.

We’re
barely
into
the reality show. What’s the alternative though? Stand here and eat shit?

I can’t.

My muscles burn. Each inhale is like trying to breathe
through black smoke.

“Look at me,” I sneer, so aggravated that Scott won’t tear
his eyes off the painting. He’s pathetic.

Finally he turns his head, but I can see it’s becoming
harder for him to keep up his self-satisfied smile when he’s facing me.

“Stay out of my goddamn face.” These are my only words before
I drag Lily to another side of the museum where antique furniture and silver
flatware are on display. Scott stays behind for now.

I unpocket my phone and start texting Ryke.

Stop climbing fake
rocks and come meet us at the museum.

“If he’s this mean to us,” Lily mutters, “I wonder what he’s
like to Rose and Connor.” Her eyebrows knot together in confusion. “Do you
think he says dirty things about her?” Concern plagues her face. I’m not used
to Lily being protective of Rose.

“She can take care of herself,” I remind her. “And if she
can’t, she has Connor.”

“Yeah,” Lily says softly, “you’re right.”

My phone vibrates in my palm. I read the text quickly.

I’m not invited.
–
Ryke

Really? That hasn’t stopped him before.

Do I need to extend
you a written invitation? Get your ass over here.

I hand Lily my phone and then say, “Want a ride around this
place?”

She nods with a smile.

I bend down and then lift her onto my back, my arms
underneath her legs. I can practically feel the heat of the camera on us.
Paparazzi had to stay outdoors. But the
Princesses
of Philly
cameras just go wherever we do.

I expected it, but it’s different when it actually becomes
your reality.

I carry Lily in a piggy-back over towards a painting of a
watering can.

“It’s criminal, you know,” she says, her voice faraway in
thought. “We didn’t even have communal showers our freshman year of college.”
She pauses. “Do you think this is cosmic payback?”

“They’re not bad.” I don’t want her to be afraid of them.
I’ve called her sex therapist to talk about the issue, and she said that I need
to find a way to motivate Lily.

I feel like I’ve tried everything. I repeat the same words
over and over, and she’s still scared shitless that someone will film us and
put it online. She said she has a “bad feeling” about them.

“That’s a nice watering can,” she says, dodging the issue.

“You’re not going to take a shower, are you?”

“That’s a strong phrase,” she breathes. “I’m going to
forgo
the shower for a bit and opt for
an alternative choice.”

I gently set her on her feet.

Her shoulders curve towards her thin body. She’s
disappointed.

But this is serious. “A bath?” I ask, hoping but
disbelieving she’d choose that option.

She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, the strands
already becoming greasy. “More like a washcloth bathing experience.”

I don’t blink. “Not for six months.” It’s not a question.

“People in the wilderness do it.”

“People in the wilderness jump into a river when they smell.
Are you going to jump into a river?”

She pales. “No.”

“Then take a shower.”

“Why are you being the hygiene police all of a sudden?” she
questions, her eyes welling up with tears. My stomach drops. “You never used to
care if I skipped for a week.”

I hate that I have to be a hardass. I lower my voice so Brett’s
filming equipment can’t pick up the sound. “This is six months, and we live
with other people now. You smelling like sex is not the way to go, Lil. They
may think we’re fucking more than usual and then they’ll be all over us.” Her
pleading, watery eyes try to sway me. “Skip tomorrow, fine, but I’m going to
have to start being careful when I come on you.”

She frowns. “You haven’t done that in…”

“A long time, I know.” Crazy sex has been out of the picture
for a while.

She glances at her boobs like she’s visualizing the event.

“Lily,” I snap. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking…” She turns red all over. “…about your
plans.”

I hug her close and kiss her lips lightly.

“Your phone just buzzed,” she tells me as we part. She hands
me the cell, and I open the text.

Is everything okay?
–
Ryke

I don’t know.
I
type the text and think of more to add, but so many phrases pop in my head. I
realize I’m just overwhelmed.

Not all days are easy.

Most of them make no fucking sense. A good handful tears me
apart, limb from limb. The best days are the ones I try to remember, but
sometimes, even those are swallowed by the bad.

I send the text as it is. Three words.

I’m on my way.
–
Ryke

I’m about to pocket my phone, but it vibrates again.

Don’t drink.
–
Ryke

He’s told me that a million times before, but it’s this one
time that affects me the most.
Don’t
drink.
I won’t turn this bad day into a terrible one. For me.