Kiss the Sky (11 page)

What Rose and
Ryke
don’t
understand is that if you say something over and over again, you can become
desensitized to it. Andy Warhol used the theory in his painting of the electric
chair. He repeated the image until you could no longer see it as something
heinous.

It lost its meaning.

I don’t repeat what’s already been said. I want my words to
mean something.

So I gave him my selfish reason.

I’m the
asshat
who only cares
about himself.

I am what he needs me to be.

He stares at the ground for a long moment, processing. “I’ll
be better about it,” he mutters under his breath.

Noise from the crawl space ends our conversation.
Ryke
must knock into three pipes at once. He coughs and
says, “There’s so much fucking mold down here. No one should be fucking living
on this floor until we hire someone to clean it.”

Lo bends down to the door again. “If this is your way of
getting Daisy to room with you, you can
forget
it. I’m just barely tolerating your friendship.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Ryke
retorts. “There were rats in
her
room,
she’s living near mold, and your first assumption is that I want to fuck her?”

Loren’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t say anything about fucking
her.”

Ryke
groans.

Daisy is a sore subject between them, clearly. Since
Ryke
and Loren have a new relationship—just meeting a year
and a half ago—there’s tension involving the Calloway girls. Loren grew up with
them.
Ryke
did not. Naturally, Lo would be protective
of Daisy, but the problem I have is that he’s constantly consumed by Lily,
always taking care of her, that he has no room to do so for another girl, not
even one he sees as a little sister.

So while Lo believes he’s protecting Daisy from his
half-brother, he’s really creating a barrier between Daisy and the only person
here who’ll look out for her first rather than last.

And yet, I can’t say a word about it. I have to let these
things play naturally. My interference won’t do any good. My words wouldn’t
resonate with Lo the way I’d want them to. So I stay silent on the matter.

“I’ll fucking room with Scott,”
Ryke
says, speaking loudly so we can hear him from the hallway. “Daisy can take my
room. Or I’ll stay down here and switch with her. I don’t give a shit. None of
the girls should be around this.”

“And what if she hears Lily and me fucking through the
walls? There’s a reason she’s on the lowest level.”
 

Ryke
says nothing, but I can
practically feel him fume from far away. Lo looks over his shoulder at me,
asking with hard eyes whether he’s right or wrong.

“You can’t censor a girl who’s nearly seventeen, especially
not a high fashion model,” I tell him, my words not harsh like his or rough
like his brother’s. I’m one-hundred percent even-tempered, calm. At ease. It
gets him off the defensive. “She’s heard and seen everything you have, if not
more. I’ll call someone to look at the crawl space, but until it happens, Rose
would want her sister somewhere clean.”

After a minute digesting my words, Lo sighs and lets go of
the argument. “
Ryke
, you’ll room with Scott?”

“I said I would.”

“Fine. More eyes on that prick, the better, right?”

Ryke
says something in
affirmation, but I can’t quite hear. He thumps around too much. “Fucking A,” he
curses, his voice much louder. He tries to pull his body out of the tiny space.

Lo grabs
Ryke
underneath his arm
as he squeezes through the door.

When he’s on his feet, he holds up the trap with the dead rat,
the tail mangled like it dragged the weight from its backend.
 

“Have we found you a new profession?” I ask, my lips rising.

“At least I can get my hands dirty, princess.” He waves the
trap (and dangling rat) at my face.

I don’t even flinch.

Ryke
rolls his eyes and goes to
toss it into the garbage bag.

“Wait,” Lo calls. “Maybe we can do something with this
thing.”

“No,”
Ryke
and I say together. I
contain my grimace. Even though
Ryke
may be one of
the smarter people living in the apartment, I don’t enjoy agreeing with him.
It’s like siding with a guard dog instead of a human.

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Loren says angrily.

“You want to use it against Scott,” I reply.

“He’s the fucking producer,”
Ryke
reminds him. “You start a war with Scott and he could turn you into a psycho on
the show. Just fucking relax.”

“He made Lily bawl!” Lo yells. “I’m not going to sit here
for six months and ignore all the shit he says. This is different than social
media and gossip blogs. We’re living with this bastard.”

Footsteps sound on the staircase, and all of us go
suspiciously quiet. When the body rounds the corner, Brett emerges, breathing
heavily with the
steadicam
attached to his chest, and
he only sprinted down one flight of stairs.

“Scott wants…you all in the living room…for the lap dance,”
he pants.

Scott Van Wright is dictating everything. When. How. Where.

I fucking
hate
him.

Lo looks to me, waiting for me to nod in approval of his
methods to fuck with Scott.

I may hate Scott, but I’m not to that point yet. I won’t do
something malicious or cruel that’ll have him checking into a psychiatric
hospital, mentally torn to shreds.

I fight my battles much differently than Loren Hale. And
while it may not be as quick or effective—I have to trust that I have the power
to keep my friends from falling tragically apart.
 

[ 9 ]

CONNOR COBALT

When we climb up the stairs to the main level, I
find Rose and Daisy talking in hushed tones near the fireplace mantel. Daisy
shifts her body to block the camera, sidestepping every single time Ben tries
to get a shot of Rose.
 

I rub my lips as I study my girlfriend. She holds in a
breath, her neck stiff as she listens to her sister.

And she actually wears pants, dressed in a Calloway Couture
black sweater and a different brand’s skinny jeans. She’s afraid of flashing
the cameras, and she’s expressed, more than once, that the only dances she
knows are from cotillion. The waltz and foxtrot.

Grinding is out of her repertoire.

Lily suddenly appears and slams her fist into
Lo’s
shoulder.

He mock cringes. “
Ow
, what the
hell was that for?”

“For making this stupid bet,” Lily hisses, lowering her
voice as Brett zooms in on her, a boom
mic
attached
to his
steadicam
. But it doesn’t matter if he
captures her words or not. We’re all wearing microphones that’ll pick up her
voice. And the house is littered with sound equipment.
 

Scott sits on the leather couch. His eyes meet mine, and he
plasters on a smug smile.

I hide everything in my features—especially the anger that
threatens to surface.

“What is Daisy doing?”
Ryke
asks.

Lily holds onto Loren’s hand. “Giving Rose advice.”

Ryke’s
brows furrow. “You’re the
fucking sex addict. Shouldn’t you be giving the advice?”

“Hey,” Lo warns with a glare.

He extends his arms. “It’s an honest question.”

“It’s also rude.”

“I’ll ask nicely then.” He looks back at Lily. “You’re
clearly more experienced than your little sister. So why the fuck aren’t you
instructing Rose?”

Lo shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

“That’s the best I have.”

Lily touches her chest. “I like club dancing, but I’ve never
personally given a lap dance.”

“And Daisy has?”
Ryke
asks in
disbelief.

“She said she did it once.” Lily relaxes against
Lo’s
chest, and he holds her close.

Ryke
lets out an angry breath.
“You do realize that ninety-percent of a lap dance is basically the same thing
as when a girl fucks on top? You know,
riding
the guy.”

“I don’t think Rose wants to take the lap dance to that
level on camera.”

Our talk is cut off by a scraping noise. I watch Scott drag
a dining chair into the living room, the legs scratching the hardwood.

When he places it in the center, he taps the frame of the
chair. “Take a seat, Connor.”

I don’t take kindly to orders unless there’s a greater
benefit for me. And in this instance, there’s none.

All eyes and cameras hit me, waiting for my reaction,
wondering, quietly, if I’ll adhere to Scott Van Wright’s simple request. Rose
stands impeccably straight, her bones hardened and stiff. All I see is fear,
something that I desperately want to take away.

I stare right at Scott and break the strained silence with a
few words. “Take a seat, Rose.” My gaze never leaves Scott, not even as the
humor abandons his eyes.

“That wasn’t the bet,” Scott says.

“I’m amending the terms.”

Rose’s heels clap against the hardwood as she struts to the
chair. She sits down with her shoulders pulled back and her ankles crossed as
if she just took her fucking throne.

My body heats just watching her.

I redirect my attention to Lo, who has his arms splayed over
Lily’s shoulders. “You’re still going to see a lap dance. You okay with that?”

“That’s all I want.”

“Wait.” Daisy holds up her hands and then points at me. “
You’re
giving Rose a lap dance?”

“Yes.” I
untuck
my black
button-down from my slacks.

She smiles brightly. “Okay, we have to record this.” She
turns as if she’s going to get a camera, and her elbow knocks into Savannah’s
Canon Rebel. “Oh…right…never mind.” Only Daisy, a girl who’s swarmed by
photographers for her job, would momentarily forget that we’re all being filmed.

“This I have to fucking see,”
Ryke
says, settling on the couch next to Scott. Everyone takes seats, ready for the
show.

But I lock eyes only with Rose as I approach her. She
white-knuckles the side of the wooden chair, afraid and anxious and aroused.

She trails my body as I unbutton my shirt, and her breathing
deepens.

The unknown is frightening for her.

But it can be the wildest, most tempestuous out-of-body
experience she’ll ever have.

Get ready, darling.
This may spin your head.

[ 10 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

Oh.

My.

God.

Connor slowly pushes the last button through his black
shirt, club music blaring in the background from a pair of speakers. He stands
confident, tall and domineering, like a perfect marbled statue, never once
looking away from me.

I refuse to cower and crumple into a frightened ball. So I
sit stiffly, waiting for him to near me. Waiting for—I don’t know what. I have
no idea what Connor Cobalt plans to do after that.

“Shake your ass, sweetheart!” Loren yells over the bass.

Connor doesn’t give in to
Lo’s
wish, and I feel Scott’s penetrative gaze on me as he watches from the couch.

The moment Connor’s legs brush against my knees, all the air
tightens in my chest, chained deep inside my ribcage. He places his feet on
either side of my chair, still standing and towering above me. I absorb his
position, and my heart has decided to dance on its own, clenching and flipping
and fluttering. Basically
spasming
. My heart is doing
an idiot dance, the equivalent of shaking stupidly on the floor.

And then he tilts my chin so I look into his bottomless blue
eyes.

Power radiates in his motionless stance.

My neck grows hot, and he pries my hands off the chair,
guiding them to his ripped abs. I feel him in ways I haven’t before, the lines
and hardness of his muscles. I warm the longer I run my hands along his body.
I’ve thought about this so much. About what it would be like to be beneath
someone as strong as him. I just never allowed myself to give him that victory,
in fear that he’d run off with it and leave me behind.

I realize I’m practically eyelevel with his crotch. My
ankles hurt as I cross them tighter together, forcing my legs shut.

My panties are soaked. That’s all it took—him standing above
me.
Really, Rose?

I wait for him to shake his ass in my face or do some silly
dance moves on my lap. But he doesn’t perform either.

Scott clears his throat and lets out a laugh. “Connor, are
you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Connor stares right into my eyes and says, “Je sais
toujours
ce
que
je
fais
.”
I
always know what I’m doing.

He unbuckles the belt to his slacks. And my heart pitches
wildly. Really, my heart needs to go sit on the bleachers and take a serious
timeout.
 

“You’re not going to like me very much if you move. So stay fucking
still.”

It’s not possible to move anyway. I am frozen to this chair.

He slips off his leather belt, and I fixate on it as he
lowers to me. But instead of sitting on my lap, he rests his hands on my knees,
breaking them apart, spreading my legs open. It allows him room to sit on the
seat with me. The music still thumps loudly in the background, unraveling my
senses.

My eyes widen in alarm, and I clutch his biceps. I try to
breathe normally, but my lips are sealed shut, afraid, mostly, of any noises escaping.
Pleasurable, fearful—all of the above.