Thrive (16 page)

“Say she really does have a boyfriend,” Lo whispers between
us, “how the hell is
he
going to feel
about the reality show?” He pats Ryke’s back. “You’re in
every
scene with Daisy, you realize that?” I wonder if her
boyfriend already feels threatened by Ryke.

“The asshole couldn’t even show up to her seventeenth
birthday party,” Ryke retorts. “You really think he cares about
Princesses of Philly
? At this point, I
don’t even think he fucking cares about
her.
”

Sadly, I think I agree.

The men’s collection ends with the designer walking halfway
and bowing. He clasps his hands together in thanks, his polka-dot bowtie preppy
and eccentric like the rest of his clothes. Once he leaves, the whole room
softens, the music dying down.

Some women and men flip open notebooks and click pens to jot
down their thoughts. Most likely press for magazines or department store
owners. My importance as “Daisy’s sister” shrinks, and the intensity of this
fashion show dawns on me.

The lights dim on either side of the runway, the audience
cloaked in blackness while the long, wide lane glows white. Every lamp and
flash is directed to the middle of the modest-sized room. Black fabric rises
against the glass windows, encasing us, even darker and more intimate.

Rose has never had a fashion show of this caliber for
Calloway Couture.

This is the major leagues.

I recognize the song that starts the show: “
Sacrilege
” by Yeah Yeah
Yeahs.

The first model starts strutting down the runway in black
platform heels. How is she not face planting? She wears a thigh-length khaki
dress with a salmon-colored belt. Her brunette hair is perfectly straightened
and delicately curled at the ends.

Before the model reaches the end, another girl is sent out
onto the runway, keeping pace with the tempo of the music. I count one, two,
three, four models before my sister emerges.

Daisy. I smile—the kind of smile that I can’t restrain, that
hurts my cheeks a little bit. She’s outfitted in a gray dress with expensive,
elegant fabric and a yellow belt, more high fashion than commercial. Her long,
long blonde hair hangs to her waist, the ends wavy.

At seventeen, she walks like a mature, powerful woman with
poise beyond my capabilities. Her hips sway; each towering high heel steps in
front of the other.

Her gaze is dead-locked ahead of her, seduction blazing in
her red lips and focused eyes. The flashbulbs don’t cause her to blink or to
falter. My young sister moves like the world is being created beneath her feet.

The moment just steals my breath away. I’m filled with pride
for her.

She possesses the audience, even as she passes the other
model and briefly poses at the edge. On her way back, she’s closer to our
seats. I take a peek at Ryke beside me, and his tense muscles never loosen, his
hard jaw stays put like usual. But his breathing is heavier than it should be.

He watches her head down the runway, the song near its end.

And the corners of Daisy’s lips just subtly rise, as though
she can feel him, right there. When she moves along, I elbow Ryke in the side.

He glares at me. “What?” he whispers defensively.

“She has a boyfriend.” My sister deserves romance, the red
roses kind with chocolates and epic orgasms. Ryke will give her the best
one-night stand of her life and leave her with a broken heart. It’s one thing
that Lo and I mutually fear.

We’re around Ryke more than Connor and Rose. We know his
habits better, and screwing in the bathroom of the Lincoln Field isn’t that
romantic. I’ve done it four times, I should know.

“Lily,” he whispers, “she’s
seventeen
.”

We shouldn’t be talking, not during this particular show.
Everyone pays attention to the clothes the models wear, and I should too. I
just nod and let it go.

Only fifteen minutes later, the girls disappear off the
runway, gearing up for the final walk. And then the first body emerges.

Daisy leads the models, a coveted position. Her pale pink
baby doll dress blows with each sway of her hips, practically gliding in her
silver gladiator heels. About twenty women behind Daisy wear the same garment
in a different hue.

The audience begins to clap. I happily join in, but even as
we do, I start to see this normally-contained sadness eke out of Daisy’s eyes.
A numbness that padlocks her bright, erratic personality.

Lo whispers in my ear, “She seems upset.”

Clapping should cheer someone up. It’s basically like
shouting
I do believe in fairies!
but
it does the opposite for Daisy, her light flickering out like a withering
Tinker Bell.

When she turns, heading back down the runway and looping the
models to create two lanes of bodies, she passes us again.

This time, Ryke speaks.

“Just run, Calloway,” he tells her as she walks past.

She almost falters, nearly stopping dead in her tracks. I
swear it was like Ryke chiseled at something deep in her core, something hurting
her. I can’t make sense of it, and the fact that he can…everything just becomes
more complicated.

Ryke clenches the side of the chair like he’s restraining
himself from
not
standing up and
storming the runway. I imagine him walking backwards as he talks to her,
desperately trying to convince my sister to do something she loves and not what
our mom tells her to.

Modeling has never been her passion.

Even if she’s great at it.

Instead, Daisy keeps her course, staying as professional as
she can.

“You can’t force her to quit,” I remind him in a soft
whisper. “Her job means something to our mom.”

“She hates it,” Ryke says back to me. “Can’t you fucking see
that?”

“We’re supposed to do things we don’t like sometimes,” I
say, thinking about the reality show, my impending June wedding.

“What for?” Ryke asks.

“Our family.”

Maybe one day he’ll realize how far we’re all willing to go.
For the people we love most.

{ 22 }

0 years : 07 months

March

LOREN HALE

“I’m not asking you to help me.” Snow falls on the
back patio of my dad’s mansion. In a wealthy Philadelphia suburb. I brace the
cold with him, heaters blazing from silver machines. We both drink coffee. Only
difference: his has Irish liqueur.

“You don’t have to ask,” he reminds me, sitting back on an Adirondack
chair. “I’m your father—it’s in my job description to help you.” Before I
refute with
I’m not struggling
or
where were you when I was drowning in
alcohol and needed rehab
, he adds, “You’ll understand when you have kids.”

I clench my teeth. No matter how many times I tell him that
I won’t ever have children, he just doesn’t hear it. “I guess I won’t ever
understand then,” I snap.

He sips his coffee, watching me closely while I stare out at
the frozen duck pond. The grass is blanketed in snow, all white. “Ryke says
that I shouldn’t go after Scott.”

“Is Scott attacking Ryke?”

“Not really.”

“Then he has no fucking say in it.” He scowls, his face
unshaven. He looks more like Ryke right now, but I won’t tell him that. Their
relationship is still fractured, maybe even beyond repair.

“Yesterday,” I say, “Scott handed Lily a script that told
her to hump a pillow.” It hurts to breathe fully, emotions barreling into me.
“Who does that?”

“Men will do
anything
for
money, Loren. He’s just trying to profit off the two of you, and so far, he’s
doing well.” Right, the show is a success.

My stomach tightens. “Yeah?” I lean forward, my arms on my
legs, cupping the mug between my hands. I’m scared of Scott Van Wright.

I’m terrified of how far he’ll push us.

I try to bottle this fear, smothering it so low that I can’t
feel an ounce of it. I didn’t come here to plead for my father’s help. I don’t
want him involved. I just needed to hear someone agree with me.

“Hey,” he says forcefully.

I turn my head to meet his hard gaze.

“Don’t let any motherfucker come into your life and destroy
what belongs to you. Not your women, not your home, not your money or your
career. You protect all of that, you hear me?” He sets a firm hand on my
shoulder. He may offer backwards advice for me, but he’s always been there.

That’s more than any mother of mine can say.

“I only have
one
woman,”
I tell him with the raise of my brows.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

I digest
all
of
his words, even if I shouldn’t. “I never wanted to attack someone again.”
But I know I’m going to have to.
I admit
this to him, of all people. Not Connor, not Ryke or Lily.

“If you don’t want to ruin the reality show, like you told
me, then you’ve got to do something to
him
.
He’ll bulldoze you, son. And if you won’t stick your fucking neck out,
I
will. I don’t want him near Lily.
She’s like a daughter to me.” He takes a large gulp of his coffee.

It’s like there’s a war inside my body with no signs of
surrender. I attack Scott, I feel like shit. I do nothing, I feel like shit.
What the fuck is left for me?

“
Don’t
help me,” I
suddenly say to my dad. “I need to do this on my own.”

He nods. “Just make sure you fucking hit him where it hurts
most.”

I don’t even know where that is.

The worst part about being the underdog: I never win until
the last minute. So I dig and claw and scrape, struggling in hope that in the
final act, I’ll rise above.

But what happens if I never do?

{ 23 }

0 years : 07 months

March

LILY CALLOWAY

The middle of the afternoon in the middle of the
week has to be the most depressing time. Stuck directly in the center where no
one wants it. Lonely. When the house has emptied. People at work. People at
lunch. No one
here
. Not with me at
least.

I’m A. L. O. N. E.

Even the cameramen have all but scattered.

Right now would be the moment I’d beat myself up over
procrastinating on schoolwork. But I finished my online assignments two hours
ago.

Go me.

I thought I’d feel more accomplished, but celebrating by
myself isn’t nearly as fun as doing other things by myself.
Things
I’m no longer allowed to do.

Carefully, I crawl onto the bed with the latest edition of
Uncanny X-Men
. It’s not my comic, and Lo
has a strict “don’t read my comics before me” rule. Something about me creasing
the pages or smudging the pictures. But boredom calls for risks, and I’m
willing to risk his anger for Cyclops.

Five panels. That’s how long I make it before my mind
drifts. I picture Lo. His abs. His dimpled smile and sharp jawline. I have to
stop myself before my imagination leads to more nefarious places, ones with
nudity and gyrating bodies.

My bedroom door opens just as I look back at the comic. Lo
stands in the doorway like an apparition from my mind. Maybe he is.

I pinch myself.

Ouch…

Lo gives me a look. “I’m real, Lil.” He closes the door
behind him and sets his leather briefcase on the desk. A gift from his father.
It’s hard to pull my eyes from it. A year ago, that briefcase didn’t belong in
our picture. Now it has a specific spot it rests.

It doesn’t feel out of place. Not like I once thought it
would.

When I return my gaze to Lo, I realize he hasn’t moved. He
carefully watches me the way one would a lightning storm. With curiosity,
concern, and rapt attention.

“If you’re real,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Then why aren’t
you at work?”

“That’s the funny thing about working for yourself,” he says
with a wry smile. “I can set my own hours, take my work home, and spend the
afternoon making love to a girl.”

Oh…

Middle of the days and middle of the weeks don’t seem so
lonely anymore. He doesn’t move closer and my breathing has already betrayed
me. At least my body isn’t doing anything spastic…yet.

“Just
a
girl?” I
ask. “Not a specific one?”

His eyes flit from my head slowly down the length of my
body. I become so wet in response. Damn him.

He licks his lip and I have to grip the sheets not to jump
off the bed and rush him. I’m so not used to horny Loren Hale coming to seduce
me
. I’m always the overly aroused,
emotionally corrupt one. It’s a nice change, even if my body is screaming to
go go go
.

“I have a girl in mind,” he tells me. “But here’s the
thing…” He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I start a mantra in my head.
Focus on his words, Lily, not his abs.
Words. Not abs. Words. Not abs. Definitely not his cock.
“Last time I made
love to her, she ended up crying when we finished.”

My head whips up. “I didn’t cry,” I defend. “I had salt
sweat in my eye. That’s a thing, you know.”

“She cried,” he continues without missing a beat, his lips
curving. “She had these big tears in her eyes and she turned into this sappy
love monster, blubbering about how much she loved me.”

He starts moving this time, and I try hard not to smile.

“I did not.” I bite my lip and then give up, my grin
spreading. “If I remember correctly, I told you that I could feel your soul. It
was poetic.”

His knees knock into mine and his shirt slides open,
revealing his bare chest. But I don’t have to chant my mantra any longer. His
amber eyes and sharpened words have my undivided attention. The humor floats
away and his hand glides to my cheek. “It was beautiful,” he breathes.

Thoughts creep into my head, and I can’t stop my mouth. “Did
you come home just for a nooner?”

I internally groan.
Way
to go, Lily. Ruin the moment
.

He reads my embarrassment and breaks into a smile. “I’m not
being clear enough?”

“Ummm…” My mind has blanked. Flat-lined. I am brain dead.

He stirs me back to life by grabbing my hand and placing it
right over his pants. On his erection. “Do we have an understanding now?”

Oh yeah.

We’re fucking.

Or making love.

Both. Maybe both.

I’m dancing and hoola-hooping on the inside. He throws his
shirt on the floor and my eyes meet his. I’m not removing my hand. It’s just
going to stay right there. “You know what this means?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward, causing me to lie
back on the bed. His fingers find my jean’s buttons, not waiting any longer.
“You’re going to have to help me out with this one, Lil.”

I frown. “They’re normal buttons.”

He smiles again. I could get used to that. “Not the buttons.
Help me with your question.”

I flush. Right. “Well, you came to
me
for sex. You’re the one undressing me. You’re practically
begging
me to fuck you.”

“Am I?” Even with his lips together and flat, he’s still
smiling. I see it in his eyes.

I nod wildly. “Oh yeah. The tables have turned, Loren Hale.
This is a monumental day. You are aroused
before
me.” I grin.

He shimmies my jeans to the ground, and I’m too elated to
realize that my panties have gone with them. When his fingers enter me, I gasp
and drop my hand off his pants. His fingers pulse just slightly, and my head
collapses back on the mattress. “You feel aroused to me,” he says softly.

Fuck.

“Key word:
Before,
”
I reply in a staggered breath.

I’m about to lift myself on my elbows, but I don’t have
time. He doesn’t give me warning before he replaces his fingers with his
erection, entering me fully. I cry out in euphoric pleasure. Every inch of me
thrums, like an instrument vibrating in blistering joy.

He hikes my leg over his hip, deepening himself. He doesn’t
pull away, not yet. His lips find mine and he kisses me fervently, without
pause or hesitation. Ever since I started recovery, I could see the reluctance
in Lo’s eyes. Like a nightly passenger to our passion. I never thought he’d
gain enough confidence in himself, enough trust in me, and enough hope in our
relationship to let all those hesitations go. To make love to me so
unrestrained that every movement is an impulse and nothing takes a second
thought.

It’s just natural.

He thrusts and lets me move my hips to meet his. I moan
deeply, the noise catching in the back of my throat. He smiles and his
movements become harder, more aggressive. I no longer attempt to rock my body
into his, not when I’m white-knuckling his biceps and holding on for dear
fucking life.

His low grunts fill my ears and send my body over the edge.
I feel myself riding the steep mountain to my peak. “Lo,” I choke. “I
can’t…hold on…”

He stops moving all together and I let out an involuntary
whimper. At least, I think it’s involuntary. I would never make that noise on a
voluntary
basis.

Lo rubs the sweat off my forehead with his hand. “Come now,”
he tells me. He presses feather-light kisses to my neck.

Now?

“You stopped moving,” I remind him. I squirm underneath him,
and he pulls his lips away, his jaw clenched.

Oh. He’s having some trouble.

His hands brace my hips, settling me. “Please come now,” he
tells me, “because when I start moving and you have an orgasm, I’m finished.”

“So?” I frown. “We can do it again after. I’ll blow—” His
hand rises to my mouth, silencing my words.

“We won’t have time. Ry…” he pauses to catch himself. “
People
are coming home from the gym in a
half hour.”

He removes his hand. I’m grimacing. I can’t help it. “You
almost said his name. And now you want me to come?”

He moves his hips just slightly and the pressure of his cock
numbs my body and clears my head. “Ahhhhh….” I moan into my arm.

“
Come
,” Lo
commands, kind of meanly.

“You’re mean,” I mutter into my pillow, my cheek smashed
into it.

His lips brush my ear. “I said please first. You just didn’t
listen.” He combs my hair back out of my face, and my legs stay tightly wrapped
around his waist. And then his hands descend to my shirt. It’s ripped open
before I have any say in the matter.

Still no reluctance in his movements.

He stares at my bra like it accosted him.

“Looks like you’re not the Hulk,” I say into a smile.

His eyes flit to mine, humorless, and then he pulls the bra
up to my chin, my breasts popping out. Shit. I go to restrain them, partly just
to rile him, but he beats me to it. He grabs my wrists and hoists them over my
head, and as he does so, his pelvis moves and I crumble underneath him.

My moans are soft and sound more like whining than actual
noises of pleasure. Lo lets out a heavy breath and clenches his teeth like he’s
struggling to control himself.

Coming sounds very blissful right now. I’m not sure I could
do it without his help though. I think he knows this. His tongue grazes my
hardened nipple and I try to jerk forward, but his large, heavy body holds me
still to the bed.

 
It doesn’t take much
to get me off.

He sucks gently on the small bud and then lifts his head.
“Just think about my cock, love,” he says. “It’s waiting, very fucking
impatiently, for you. Can’t you feel it?”

Yes
. I feel very,
very full.

I repeat his words in my head and focus on his thickness. My
heat spasms, and I clench tightly. He takes one hand off my wrists and lowers
it to my clit, rubbing me so quickly that I cry out. The whole world rotates,
and I lie back, barely hanging onto his motionless body as I ride the waves of
pleasure that pound into me. One after the other. Over and over again. Until my
clit is too tender to the touch, causing me to shake when he brushes against it.

He pulls his hand away and leans in to kiss my neck, my
breathing too ragged for him to kiss my lips. He sucks gently, then forcibly,
and he begins to rock into me again, building up my arousal once more.

When I catch my breath, he presses his forehead to mine and
he thrusts. Strong, rhythmic movements that steal my oxygen every few seconds.
His lips are so close that we could kiss, but he keeps them apart. I can feel
his breath entering mine and mine his.

His hands cup the top of my head and he starts to pump
faster and harder, until we’re both on the same high, trying to reach the same
blistering climax together.