Addicted to You (26 page)

Instead everything has trickled into the gutter. Lo drinks. I screw. And our schedules overlap and bypass too often, becoming more destructive than healthy.

No one told me you can love someone and still be miserable. How is that possible? And yet, the thought of walking away from Loren Hale collapses my lungs. We’ve been friends, allies, for so long that I don’t know who I am without him. Our lives intersect at every possible junction, and separating sounds like a fatal, irreparable cut.

But something is so wrong.

My wrist aches by the late morning, but I still pop in another DVD. The buzzer rings as I plop on my mattress.
No.
I am in no mood to entertain Connor. Also, I may jump his bones. My body stays riled, and I desperately need Lo. But his actions last night deserve little reward. Even if withholding hurts me more than him, he isn’t getting
any
anytime soon.

The buzzer lets out another aggravated wail. Great. Lo is still passed out.

I crawl from my sheets, throw on a T-shirt and sweat pants before I slam my thumb on the speaker button. “Hello?”

“Miss Calloway, I have
a Mr
. Cobalt here.”

“Send him up.”

I make coffee, hoping caffeine will make Connor look like an ugly hobbit that’s too ghastly to pounce on. Though, Frodo is kind of cute.

“Was that the buzzer?”

I nearly drop the cream.

Lo rubs his eyes, walking wearily to the cabinets, scavenging for saltines and bloody mary mix. His hair looks wet from a shower, and he only wears a pair of running pants that hang very low on his hips.

My body tightens, and I turn away just as his eyes meet mine.

“Hey.” He puts a hand on the bareness of my neck, brushing back my hair.

“Stop,” I choke. I lengthen the distance between us.

I watch familiar remorse cloud his features. He looks me up and down, from my sweaty legs to my clothes that stick to my body, and my hair that’s tangled and damp.

It must look like I’ve been having sex.

He places a hand on the counter to keep his body upright, like the wind knocks out of him. “Lily—”

A fist bangs on the door. “Loren Hale!” Connor calls. “You better wake up. You promised me gym. I want gym.”

Lo reluctantly leaves my side and lets him in. “You’re on time,” he says flatly, going back to the kitchen.

“Always am.” He watches Lo grab a bottle of vodka from the freezer. “You know, it’s barely noon. Brain cells generally don’t respond well to alcohol this early. Gatorade is the better option.”

“He’s making a bloody mary for his hangover.” My defense spurted out before I could stop it.

“What she said,” Lo adds, not making me feel any better about covering his problem.
Don’t think about it.
He pops open a V8 and starts fixing the drink. Connor says something about electrolytes.

I stare off and imagine hands pressing to the countertops on either side of me, caging me in. The faceless, nameless guy touches his warm lips to my neck, sucking. Fingers slip underneath my tee, and then they head to the hem of my sweats, edging closer, tingling—

“Lily, sound like a plan?” Lo asks, worry creasing his forehead.

I blink. “Huh?” I rub the back of my neck, trying to cool off but my thoughts set me ablaze.

Lo clenches a blue Gatorade. What happened to his bloody mary? Did Connor really convince him to switch? He sets it down and comes to me, noticing my shaky hands. “You okay?” He reaches out to touch my face, but I turn my head and separate. His whole body tenses at the rejection.

“Fine,” I say. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Are you coming to the gym with us?” He sounds worried.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Each step away from Lo makes my body throb. My willpower starts dying out. I need him. I want him. I am seconds from crumbling and taking him for myself.

Swiftly, he catches my sides in two hands. He leans down to my ear. “Please come.” His husky voice sends me to bad places. I hold in a noise. “I’ll make it up to you there.” He whispers exactly what he wants to do to me at the gym. I can’t say no to this. I can barely say no to anything. He’s buying his forgiveness through my weakness. It’s like me screwing up and sending him a gift basket full of expensive whiskey.

I nod and mumble something about a shower first. My feet carry me to my bathroom, and I wash my hair and the sweat.

Lo knocks on the door. “Do you need me?”

Yes.
But I think I can hold out until the gym. I hope I can. “No.”

I sense him lingering by the door. He won’t apologize for last night, even though he must know he fucked up. I wait for him to ask if I slept with some other guy, but he never does. And then I hear his footsteps pad away. After showering, I change into a pair of nylon pants and a baggy shirt.

When we arrive at the gym, Connor chooses to spend his time at the lower body machines next to a series of flat-screen televisions. He pushes weight down with his feet, using his thigh muscles for strength.

Across the open room, I sink on the floor beside the Pec Deck machine. Lo grips two handles attached to weights and brings them to his chest and back out.

I am through trying to avoid Lo’s touch. In the car, I spent the entire time hugging the door to make a point, and the divots in the road practically vibrated the seats, killing me. “Can we do it now?” I ask, rolling my high socks that awkwardly rise above my ankles.

“Isn’t the anticipation a part of the fun?”

“Sometimes.” I pull my knees to my chest and catch Connor
pausing
his workout to argue with another guy over the television remote. “We should ditch him.” It’s the easiest solution to our problems. He’s the interloper, the guy forcing us to confront our problems, to truly stare and see them for what they are. I don’t want to think about any of it. I also blame Ryke for planting guilt-ridden seeds in my head.

“He’s okay,” Lo says, bringing the handles to his chest again. He lets out a long breath and releases. “He’s probably the biggest prick I’ve ever met, but he’s not perfect, even if he thinks he is.”

“And he’s asexual.”

“That too.”

I pick up a couple of dumbbells, avoiding the stink-eye from two girls on stair masters. I guess accompanying your boyfriend to the gym and watching him work out is considered lame. I crunch them in my arms, which happen to be the weakest of my four limbs. Minutes pass and I let them drop in my hands.

I take another seat. “Are we ever going to talk about last night?”

He grimaces as he brings the weight to his chest one more time. Then he takes his fingers off the handles and wipes his forehead with a towel. I see the wheels spinning in his head. “What is there to say?”

“You drank that guy’s liquor.”

Lo rolls his eyes dramatically and rises from the bench to add more weight. “I’ve done that before. What makes now so different, Lil?”

“You’re not in high school anymore,” I say. “And…and you’re with me.”

The weight clinks together and he sits back down. “Do you want me to stop drinking?” he asks seriously. I do. Why would I want him to continue his descent towards something horrible? He can die from this. He can pass out and never wake up. Before I muster the courage to say the words, he adds, “Do you want to stop having sex?”

No.
Why does that have to be a stipulation? I guess because it’s not fair that I pour my thoughts and energy and time into sex while he has to withdraw from alcohol.

“Look,” he says, realizing I can’t answer. “I drank a lot. You masturbated all night. I mean, I assume you didn’t cheat on me.” He waits for me to refute and I shake my head, telling him I didn’t. He nods and looks a little relieved. “It was a bad night. We’ve had plenty of those. Okay?” He returns to the handles.

I stare dazedly at the ground. “Sometimes I think we’re a better fake couple.”

He stiffens. “Why do you believe that? Is the sex bad?”

“No…I just think it’s easier.” We should go back to the way things were. We didn’t fight as much. We allowed our schedules to be different and to cross occasionally. For the most part, we separated our addictions, and now they intertwine too much to juggle.

“No one said being in a relationship is easy.” He doesn’t go back to the handles.

My body aches. I wish I had the fire in my heart to stand up, to walk over to him. To put my hands on his chest and wrap a leg around his waist, straddling him on the bench seat. His breath falls short and he asks, “Lily?” But he doesn’t stop me. He lets me lean in, my hips sinking into his. I kiss the base of his neck while his restraint lessens, and he groans. He becomes excited underneath me and throatily tells me to meet him in the locker room.

A damp towel hits my face, and I jolt back to the living. Lo raises his eyes accusingly. “Dream of me?”

My arms flush. “Maybe.” Hopefully I’m only transparent with Lo.

“You’re supposed to say
yes
.” His eyes twinkle in amusement.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “Can we do it now?”

He swings his legs off the bench and grabs his Gatorade. Excitement swells inside my body and instantly extinguishes when he stays seated. “It’ll be better if it’s spontaneous, Lil.”

I frown. “Are you…are you scared to do it in public? We won’t get caught. I’ll make sure of it and—”

“I’m not scared,” he assures me. Just to prove his point, he kneads his hand in my hair and then kisses me aggressively, full of eagerness and promise of something more. His tongue slips into my mouth, and a small noise escapes me.

He pulls away with a satisfied grin. “Soon.”
Yes.

He walks towards the lower body machines near Connor but stops when he notices me permanently frozen to the floor. His kiss has turned me to stone.

“Are you coming?”
Soon apparently.

“Shouldn’t I let you have boy time?” I’m the intruder, the needy girlfriend who hangs around. It’s hard to know the proper protocol for moments like this since we’ve always been each other’s only friend.

Lo considers this for about two seconds before he grimaces. “Fuck that. Come on.” He motions for me with two fingers. I don’t think he’s being overtly sexual, but
good God
, he can’t do that to me right now.

I look up, just as he spins around, and glimpse a fragment of a smile.

Lo takes a machine next to Connor, and I grab a yoga mat and spread it on the ground near them but far enough away that I’m not smothering Lo.

I’m not a complete idiot. I notice the way he’s dragging out having sex with me, and a part of me wonders whether it’s to heighten the tension or to limit me, to try to see if I can have less sex throughout the day, to help me fight my addiction.

I have no idea which, but I lean towards the latter.

The guys in the gym are transfixed by a soccer game on the flat-screens. I vaguely pay attention to it, but boredom sinks in. My gaze drifts to a golden skinned man on a forty-five degree machine. He holds a bar above his head and brings his legs up in a “crunch” position.

I lie on the yoga mat, staring at the ceiling and shut my eyes. He rests a hand beside my head, hovering. His body weight suspends above me. He peels down my pants
with
my panties and kneels between my legs. His hands creep towards my thigh and he cups the place between…

My body shudders and my eyes snap open. Oh my God.

“YESSSS!” The whoops and hollers cause my face to flame, even if it’s because a soccer team scored another goal.

Connor’s gaze transfixes to Bloomberg Television, a business channel. At least he missed me zoning out like a freak. But Lo has his eyes set on my body. How long has he been staring? Does he know I’m not dreaming about him anymore?

I spring to my feet, unable to wait any longer. He’ll either have to follow me into the locker room or I’ll find a way to appease myself
without
cheating.

“I’ll be back,” Lo tells Connor. He races after me.

I relax. Maybe this isn’t easy, but we’ll have to make it work.

It’s inhuman to require a general science credit for all majors. In two years, I’ll forget everything I learn anyway, and my plans don’t involve going into business for some pharmaceutical company. When will I ever need to know about mitosis? And if I have to read one more case study about Drosophila—the fancy word for fruit flies—I may seriously consider switching to Fungi, Foes, and Friends.

But
the ingeniously named course has a horrible rating on RateMyProfessors.com. A student review called the instructor a hard ass for making everyone memorize the scientific names of
all
fungi discussed in class. And my brain can barely retain the names of my neighbors. Now I’m stuck in another ring of hell: Biology 1103 for Non-Bio Majors, meaning the scientifically challenged. It doesn’t make the class any easier; it just allows more students to share misery.

Library lights dull as time ticks on, tugging my eyelids down and down and down. I yawn, about to employ Connor’s study technique and buy a Red Bull. Maybe I should make flashcards.

So far I’ve only been distracted once, and it wasn’t even to fantasize about the cute guy with glasses two tables away. Some student beat a Fizzle machine to death when it refused to deposit his Cherry Fizz. He gave up after realizing the big plastic box is indestructible—at least against a pair of Vans.

Lo texted me twice. The first to ask if I’m going to be home to drive him to the liquor store. The second to tell me to pick up condoms. I almost choked on my Diet Fizz with that comment, never believing we’d be so intimate and comfortable about it.

At the end of my long table, a girl in a navy Penn sweatshirt leans across to whisper to her friend.

“Do you see him?” she hisses. “He’s walking this way. Oh my God.”

The tiny, muscular blonde with a Gymnastics hoodie cranes her neck, trying to look past the eight foot bookshelves.

“Don’t be so obvious, Katie,” the girl hyperventilates.

Who the hell could be good looking enough to incite such dramatics? Now I’m curious. I bite the end of my pencil and glance around, not seeing what they do. Damn. Less subtly, I lift my butt from the uncomfortable wooden chair and angle my body to peek
around
the bookshelf. Unless this guy is a ghost, he’s acquired my favorite superpower and literally vanished from thin air.