Thrive (15 page)

Lily sidles next to Rose and holds her hand. The fact that
Lily can even comfort someone after what’s happened to her tonight—it builds
something pure inside of me.

Rose nods, her neck straightened and shoulders pulled back.
But I catch her squeezing Lily’s hand. “I’m going to the bathroom. You guys can
meet us at the car.” Lily braces Rose around the waist, and they weave between
the scattering crowds.

I watch how Connor keeps his blue eyes locked on Rose. With
more and more concern.

He
is
in love with
her.

For once, in his life, Connor is blind.

When he meets my gaze, I say, “I just want you to know that
I lost some respect for you tonight. And you’re not going to get it back so
fucking easily.” I don’t want to play his games. I’m not an investor he needs
to slip in his back pocket. I’m his
friend.
I just want him to be real with me.

“Sure,” he says softly. “I understand.”

His gaze drifts to the carpet in deep thought. A faraway
look that I don’t often see from him. My stomach is in knots. I already want to
forgive him, to say
don’t worry about it.
He has that power over people. It’s insane, and I realize how much I love
the guy.

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.

“I know,” Ryke says tensely. “It’s a stupid theory.”

“Why?” I ask, the conversation the perfect distraction. But
my hand has yet to leave the band of Lo’s black jeans.

“Do you not see these fucking guys?” Ryke says to me.

I flush. “I’m not staring…why, did you think I was?” I
squint one eye at him.

Ryke shakes his head at me like
I can’t even
… “Are these models really turning you on right now?” I
grow even hotter than before. Technically Loren Hale is turning me on the most.

“Hey,” Lo cuts in. “You don’t know what she’s going
through.”

Ryke raises his hands in defense. “I just don’t see how
these guys wearing sweater vests and checkered shirts could arouse
any
girl, not just her.”

Lo thinks about it and nods. “Point taken.”

Whaaa
…I pinch his
arm.

He smiles, not even pretending that it hurt.

“Just tell me what they look like,” I say, focusing on Lo’s
kneecaps. If he could just move a little closer, I could swing my leg around
his—

No.

“Twenties,” Lo explains. “Nice hair.”

I wait for more, but that’s it. “Horrible description.”

“If I paint a vivid picture, you might as well just look at
them.”

And fantasize about someone else besides Lo? Not gonna
happen. My mind is in DEFCON mode. I have to take precautions, lock it down,
before it betrays me.

Lo motions to the runway and says to Ryke, “What if that’s
her boyfriend?”

“The blond shirtless one?” Ryke’s face completely darkens,
and his jaw hardens to stone.

“Don’t look so upset about it.”

“He’s probably twenty-eight,” Ryke retorts.

“No way, he’s most likely seventeen. Models usually look
older than they are.”

“Example A,” I chime in, “my sister.” Daisy has been
mistaken for a twenty-something college student as much as I’ve been mistaken
for a teenager.

“Exactly,” Lo adds.

“It’s probably that guy,” Ryke says, briefly pointing to
someone.

Curiosity compels my gaze that-a-way. The models aren’t
nearly as attractive as Lo, so I take a relaxed breath. I find the guy Ryke
picked out. He’s tall, lanky with large ears and a shaved head. I cannot see
him with Daisy. At all. It’d be so mismatched. Maybe that’s why Lo and I start
laughing at the same time.

From across the runway, I catch Rose rolling her eyes at us,
but her lips rise as she whispers to Connor again. Despite her usual cold
glare, she radiates happiness. Maybe because Lo and I are exuding some bright
sentiments rather than stormy ones.

And Scott has seemed to only push Rose and Connor closer
rather than tear them apart. For a brief second, the producer locks eyes with
me. He combs back his dirty blond locks, his smile just as greasy as his
hair.
 

He winks at me.

I shiver. My sex cravings begin to nosedive, and I gladly
focus back on my boyfriend.

“Right,” Lo says to his brother. “Out of all the models
here, Daisy is going to choose the oddest looking one.”

“I don’t have anything to go off of,” he growls, practically
sulking. “It’s not like I’ve met her old boyfriends.”

I look up at Lo. “Have you met her ex? His name was…Josh, I
think.” I hone in on Lo’s pink lips.

He thinks hard, and I watch his forehead wrinkle in
contemplation.

Kiss him.

Later. “He had an average build, brown hair,” Lo recalls. He
leans into us as he speaks to avoid disrupting the runway show.

Seriously though, everyone is talking.

That description doesn’t ring any bells for me. “Why haven’t
we even seen a picture of her new boyfriend?” I ask them. “Shouldn’t he be in
the tabloids?” I check them daily
still,
and nothing. No headlines with:
Daisy Has
a Hot Model Boyfriend!

“I’m with her when she’s around town,” Ryke explains, “and
she refuses to bring him for some reason. It’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe he doesn’t exist,” Lo theorizes.

“I thought about that,” Ryke says, “but she had…” He cringes
and gestures to his neck.

Lo groans. “God. Stop…she’s still thirteen to me.”

“What?” I perk up.
Hickies.
Must be hickies.
But I don’t want to be called a pervert in public, even
jokingly by Ryke, so I don’t offer my guess.

“Hickies,” he says.
Knew
it.
“You’ll probably see them on next week’s episode.”

Lo groans even more and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why
does she even have a boyfriend?”

“The sex,” I blurt out.

They both stare down at me like
what the fuck?
Their angered, dark scowls could kill, looking like
brothers. I realize that
sex
was the
wrong thing to say.

Now
I
raise my
hands in defense. Daisy has been trying to find the “right one” for a while.
But she’s always all over the place: picking up scuba diving, parkour, skateboarding,
etc. On occasion when the topic surrounds guys, she always shares the same,
unsatisfactory story.

“It’s a logical guess,” I whisper-hiss. “She’s trying to…you
know.”

“No, I don’t
know
.”
Ryke stares at me like I’m talking in another language. I know I’m speaking
English here.

I whisper really, really softly. “She’s trying to have…an
O.”

Lo covers his face with his hand. “This is more than I ever
wanted to hear.”

Ryke crosses his arms over his chest. “In Cancun, she said
that she had an orgasm during sex, remember?”

How can he say all of that without flinching? I’m in awe.
“Rose doesn’t think she did,” I whisper. I see Lo out of my peripheral, and a
naughty image flashes in my head: my lips around his cock. It’s like a memory
and a prospective future.

“Lily,” Lo says, grabbing my hand.

What’d I do? My heart lurches to my throat. He caught my
fingers sneaking to his zipper. Oh my God. Cameras
click, click
, this time, some of the lenses pointed more towards me
than the models.

Lo tries to distract me with more talk and less silence. The
quiet lets my mind wander, especially if it’s fueled with upbeat music and
fantasy-inducing backdrops (aka Loren Hale).