Becca Ritchie - Addicted for Now

He sounds more genuine than usual. I wonder if this is the real Connor Cobalt, a guy not saving face for investors or future contacts. Just him. “You knew Rose when she was a teenager?” I ask.

Connor sets down his empty wine glass. “Since she was fourteen. We’d both attend the circuit of academic conferences with our schools, Model UN, Beta Club, National Honor’s Society.” I feel like I hardly know him. We’ve been friends for months now. How could I not know this? “I’m a year older than her, by the way.”

“Wait, what?” I frown. “I thought you’re twenty-two.”

“Twenty-three.”

“Were you held back as a kid or something?”

“Fifth year senior,” he says. “I triple majored, so I had to stay an extra year at Penn to finish my courses.” He keeps his gaze on Rose.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“You never asked. And really, is it that important?” I’m beginning to think that Connor Cobalt only lets people into his life halfway. Maybe he’s more like us than I believed.

 We drop the subject as Ryke returns from the bathroom. Melissa rejoins the girls on the dance floor, which she wasn’t willing to do when we first arrived. She was clinging to Ryke pretty fiercely, so I assume Ryke went down on her in the toilet stall. She seems appeased at least.

I want to change the topic off of Rose’s sex life, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “What kind of a name is Ryke?”

He sinks into the seat beside mine, a can of Fizz Life in his hand that I’m pretty positive doesn’t have any alcohol in it.

“It’s a middle name,” he says like I don’t know. But last year at the Christmas Charity Gala, when he admitted to being my brother, I made him show me his driver’s license. Jonathan Ryke Meadows.

“What kind of a middle name is Ryke?” I clarify.

He lets out an aggravated noise. “What the fuck did Jonathan give you as a middle name?”

“I don’t have one. I think he realized sticking me with Loren was torture enough.” My name was the target for teasing in elementary school, despite the guy-version spelling.

“Ryke,” Connor muses. “From Middle English, a variant of the word would mean power or empire. Though, your spelling is a little off.”

“Yeah, my father is an egotistical douchebag,” he says roughly. “My name literally means Jonathan empire.”

I can’t help but laugh into my next sip of water. For the first time, mine doesn’t seem so bad.

“I don’t know why you’re fucking laughing. You have a girl’s name and no middle name.”

I flip him off.

“Speaking of names,” Connor says casually, and yet, I sense his mischief as his eyes set on Ryke. “You realize if you ever married one of the Calloways, she’d have a porn star name.”

“And which Calloway would that be?” I snap. “Poppy is married, I’m dating Lily, you’re dating Rose, and Daisy is sixteen.”

“Hypothetically.”

I don’t like hypothetically, but maybe this will deter Ryke from even thinking about a possible future. So I play into it. “Daisy Meadows,” I say, inwardly cringing at the idea. “Sounds like someone who knows her way around a—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Ryke glares.

“I was going to say camera. Why? What were you thinking?” My voice remains edged and cold.

The lights flicker as the show begins to start and we both sit back, trying to calm down. We know how to push each other’s buttons, and I wonder if that’s a brother-thing or just because we’re both products of Jonathan Hale.

The room darkens except for the stage and the servers—the latter of which walk around with flashlights to take drink orders. An Elvis impersonator struts on stage and starts singing with dancers gyrating beside him. The oldies song is remixed so it beats with the hypnotic atmosphere.

I sit a little straighter, watching Lily who dances in a small space with her sisters and Melissa. The lights flash brightly, illuminating the dance floor in a wave of colors.

It doesn’t take long for some guy to approach Lily from behind. I stiffen but stay in my seat, trusting her as I should. His hands slide along her hips, and all these memories of seeing her dance with strange guys flood me cold. I would settle at the bar, keeping a trained eye on Lil so she wouldn’t get hurt, watching as she led some half-witted man to the bathroom. And I’d drown my misery in Maker’s Mark.

As soon as his hands plant on her, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of her blouse and another falling to her skirt, she flinches and darts right into Daisy’s chest. I can’t help but smile. Some months ago, she would have played into his advances. Finally, she’s chosen me.

But my happiness is popped when the guy approaches her, not taking the clear hint. His half-lidded, droopy gaze drives worry into my gut. He is drunk and definitely prepared to dance right on Lily’s ass again.

I’m about to rise and descend to the dance floor, but Daisy shoves his arm hard and points a finger in his face—a Rose move that I wouldn’t think possible from the youngest Calloway.

I glance at Ryke, and he rubs his lips, curiosity swimming in his eyes. She intrigues him as much as her actions concern him. The mix is not good, and I don’t need to remind him of that. He’s heard me shout it in brutal warning.

Lily slinks behind Daisy’s body and then spins around, looking up and meeting my gaze. She gives me a small wave and then turns back to her sister. Daisy physically moves him out of their area. He has his hands up in peace, but he’s staring at her breasts that are pushed up in a short strapless dress. He licks his bottom lip.

“This is killing me,” Ryke says under his breath.

“You can’t play hero to her,” I remind him. “If she was in trouble, I’d go down there. You can’t.”

He runs his hands through his hair and sits forward with his hands on his legs, watching carefully.

Daisy thrusts the guy back again, and then she gestures to a group of girls in bandage dresses about ten feet away. She breaks from Rose and Lily’s side to bring him over to the girls who bounce up and down. He’s too obliterated to protest, and it’s not long before he’s mesmerized by four more sets of tits.

He forgets about Daisy, and she leaves him to return to her sisters easily.

Lily hugs Daisy in thanks and whispers something in her ear. Both girls smile wide before they laugh.

“Do you trust her?” Connor asks me. I’m sure I look ready to spring down there and glare at any guy who so much as hits on Lily. But I don’t want to be that guy, the one who is so insanely overprotective that he suffocates a woman. There’s a happy medium somewhere. And it does come with trusting her.

“She’s a sex addict,” I remind him.

“Does correlation warrant causation in this instance?” Connor asks.

“English.”

“Does being a sex addict automatically make her untrustworthy?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “but I’ve spent more time seeing her with other guys than being with her, so I guess I can understand how it might be natural—for her—to just fall back into that.”

“To cheat,” Ryke clarifies.

I give him a glare. “Yeah,” I snap, “but if it happens, it happens, right?” Even the thought, though, devastates me.

“I don’t think it will,” Ryke says.

I jerk back in shock. He’s never been an advocate for Lily. “And why is that?”

“Because I think she loves you more than she loves sex. And you love her more than you love alcohol, but you two just haven’t let yourselves believe it yet.”

Maybe he’s right, but allowing myself to process that is harder than it seems.

Female servers start carrying out blue glowing bottles on the dance floor, flashlights held underneath the bottom to add the luminosity effect. They offer willing guys and girls straight shots. One of the servers stands in front of Rose and Daisy.

“They aren’t…” I say with furrowed brows. Do they know what they’re about to drink? I thought they wanted to get crazy-fun wasted, not “holy shit, what’s that” wasted. But they have to know what they’re drinking. Rose probably has the highest IQ in the club—not counting Connor. If I recognize the alcohol, she would too.

 I watch Daisy nod excitedly, and my stomach tosses as she leans back against the bar. We’re going to have our work cut out for us tonight…

The server pours the liquid into her mouth, and Daisy spills not a drop. She licks her lips and motions to Rose. She goes next, without much prodding from Daisy. Maybe all the lights and music have warped her mind.

She finishes off the first shot, and surprisingly, she leans back for another.

One of my short-term goals is coming true. Rose Calloway is definitely going to be drunk tonight.

I’m not as happy about it as I thought I’d be.

“What kind of liquor is that?” Connor asks. My whole face falls. Wait, if Connor can’t tell…

“Look who doesn’t know something,” Ryke pipes in, capitalizing on Connor’s question.

“Types of liquor aren’t high on my priority list. But that’s sweet of you, Ryke, to think I know everything in the world.”

“Absinthe,” I tell Connor. “It’s blue absinthe.” How could he not know? If he doesn’t, then what’s the probability that Rose does?

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Connor is on his feet, and he can’t hide the concern on his face this time.

“You worried, Cobalt?” Ryke calls, but I can tell Connor’s sudden ruffled composure is making Ryke equally alarmed. Because Daisy is the other girl downing the liquor—and she doesn’t have a boyfriend here to look out for her. But she does have me.

Even so, my eyes latch onto Lily more, hoping she doesn’t join her sisters if she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

“Absinthe contains thujone,” Connor tells him.

“So you don’t know what it looks like, but you know what chemicals are in it,” Ryke says.

“It’s usually green, and it’s also banned in the United States because thujone has hallucinogenic properties.”

“Yeah,” I say, rising to grab his arm to stop him. Rose has to know, I keep telling myself. She wouldn’t drink something foreign to her. “I’m sure Rose knows what’s in it.”

His concern doesn’t waver. “The bottle isn’t labeled.”

What? I look back down to the girls, where Daisy is taking another shot of absinthe. The bottle glows from the light underneath it, and sure enough—there’s no label on the slender glass.

They don’t know it’s absinthe.

Shit.

Daisy steps forward for another shot, and she stumbles a little. I do not want her to be sick tonight. I put my hand on her shoulder and wave no to the server. “We’re good here.”

Daisy doesn’t fight me on the decision. When the server saunters away, I snatch Rose’s arm, and she wobbles in her four-inch heels.

My eyes bug.

I’ve only seen Rose break her stride once. Her heel caught in a metal grate in New York, and she burned those shoes afterwards to rid herself of bad joojoo. I think if Connor knew that she’s truly superstitious, he’d tease her for a solid century.

Melissa sidles next to me, and I must be giving off a distressed look because she says, “Your sisters are sloshed.” Announcing the obvious does not help.

The music changes into the theme song from Superman and it totally disorients me. I whip around, and impersonators on the stage are now dressed as various superheroes. Superman and Captain America stand on the tall balcony, a spotlight shining on them.

People start trying to edge closer to the stage, and someone bumps me from behind, almost losing my grip on Rose. “Watch it, buddy,” I snap at him, but it really loses its effect when my focus is on the superheroes. It’s my catnip.

The tempo starts to rise, and as the crescendo hits, Superman and Captain America leap from the balcony and fly to the square bar only feet from us.

Bullshit.

Cap cannot fly.

I’m so angry that they made Captain America have a superpower he really doesn’t possess that I don’t see the incoming body from my right. His arm rams my side so hard that I teeter, and Rose’s heels slide out from under her. She completely falls, dragging me with her. We’re both on the ground before I can make sense of anything else.