Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
[ 40 ]
CONNOR COBALT
1 month and 20 days – Mom
I read the text on Rose’s phone after it buzzes on the desk. She’s downstairs cleaning the kitchen with Daisy. It was taco night, which meant the entire place exploded in cheese and chips, only adding to Rose’s neurotic hysteria.
I’d be helping if it wasn’t for this damn term paper. I can almost see the finish line for the first semester, but papers and finals stand in my way. I doubled my Adderall dosage last week just to concentrate.
The door swings open, and I swivel my chair to watch Rose walk into the bedroom. She glares at Brett who stands in the hallway. “I’m in the no film zone. Run along, now,” she waves him off and then shuts the door. She’d never be as rude to Ben or Savannah, but Brett and Rose get along about as well as her and Lo.
When she turns to face me, I notice a…bulge where her breasts are. No wonder Brett followed her up here.
Curiosity compels me to my feet, and I cross the room to Rose. “Something’s a little off about you,” I say and my eyes drift up to her hair as if I’m focusing on her nonexistent bangs.
I reach towards her breasts, and she slaps my hand away.
“I’m a lady,” she chides. “I don’t let boys touch me there.”
Fuck. My cock stirs at her words. I grab her waist and pull her body against mine in one swift motion. She sucks in a sharp breath when her hips knock into me. She’s still in her five-inch-fucking-heels. Almost the same height as me, a few inches off.
“What about men? Do you let them touch you?” I ask, holding her tight.
“Definitely not.” Her eyes drift to my mouth.
I lick my bottom lip, moving my tongue slowly, as I watch her chest inflate with the motion. I slide my hand up her leg, her thigh, between them—her lace fabric already wet to my touch.
“And here?” I ask.
“Never,” she says in a whisper.
When she’s sufficiently distracted with my hand, I take the opportunity and reach down the top of her dress, grabbing whatever’s hidden in her bra.
“Hey!”
I already have the baggy in my possession, and I hold it above her head.
She doesn’t make a pass to retrieve it, just pushes me in the chest for tricking her. I’m too fixated on her contraband to respond.
“Why do you have a bag of marijuana?” And where did she get it? Four messily rolled joints fill the plastic. The papers don’t have neat creases, which means that Rose didn’t roll them. It takes her two hours just to meticulously fold her panties and place them in her drawer.
My eyes fall to her with interest.
She stays quiet, twisting her diamond necklace in her fingers.
“Care to explain?”
“I thought we could do something different tonight…” she says. “I usually don’t try new things, and with you…” she trails off, lost for words. This must annoy her because she rolls her eyes.
“I accept,” I say instantly.
Her eyes brighten in surprise. “Really?”
I nod, willing to try anything with her. I want her to experience as many firsts with me as she possibly can. I’ve smoked only once—my first and only foray into illegal drugs. It was strategic. Boarding school. Trying to gain a connection I needed for Student Council.
“On one condition,” I reply. “You tell me who gave these to you.”
“Daisy.” She doesn’t even hesitate. “If I have the drugs, then she doesn’t have them. They’re much safer in my position.” She grins.
Devious and intelligent. I like this side of her.
My face suddenly falls as I remember something important.
I’m on Adderall.
And I’m not a hundred percent positive it’s safe to smoke pot on the stimulant. The small percentage of doubt is not something I’m willing to live with. I’ll never forgive myself for impairing my brain or my body over something so stupid.
“What’s wrong?” She touches my arm in concern.
The one question makes me frown even deeper. I’m getting worse at hiding my emotions from her. Or maybe…maybe I just don’t care if she’s sees this part of me anymore.
For the first time, I really want to be honest with her.
Not just my half-assed attempt at honesty. I want her to know me as well as I know myself. So I prepare to admit the one thing that could cause her to storm out, pack her bags, sleep in Daisy’s room and maybe even sling my clothes out the window.
“I’m on Adderall,” I let it go. One sentence. One breath.
She drops her hand from my arm, and her I’m-going-to-rip-your-dick-off glare heats her eyes. “Bullshit,” she says. “You would never take Adderall.”
“I wouldn’t,” I agree. “But I was losing sleep, and I wasn’t putting a hundred percent into Wharton or Cobalt Inc., so I decided to start taking it.”
“For how long?” Her collarbones sharpen as she holds in a breath. I remember what Frederick once told me when I was only eighteen and I thought I was finished discovering who I was and what I wanted to be. He said, “Lies tear at relationships until they’re nothing but unwound threads.”
I hate that my own has begun to unravel.
I hate that, in this moment, I am ordinary.
“The end of January.”
“Almost four months,” she says, dumbfounded. But she doesn’t attack me, doesn’t throw up her hands and call it quits. Her eyes are on the ground as she thinks it over.
“You would’ve given up something if you didn’t, right?” she asks, her eyes flitting to mine, so many questions swimming in them.
“Not you,” I tell her. “I would have never given up you.”
“Wharton?”
I nod, and she shakes her head in dismay. “I don’t want you to choose me over your dream,” she says. “But I can’t stand here and be okay with you choosing me over your health.”
It’s not fair for me to put her in a position, to trap her into giving me an ultimatum. I know what I have to do. Even if the semester is almost over, I still have a year and a half left. I’m not even close to graduating and earning this final degree.
I notice the space between us. Five feet away. Five feet too much. I imagine that space so much further if I make the wrong decision right now.
Frederick is right.
My mother is right.
I can’t have everything. So I’m going to have to fucking choose.
“I’m withdrawing from Wharton,” I deliver the lines with finality. It hardly topples me backwards. It doesn’t even make me sway. In fact, a weight rises off my shoulders—a heaviness that I didn’t even know was there before. Dragging me down.
It’s not as earth-shattering as I once believed it would be. Sometimes the dreams you construct for yourself at ten, twelve-years-old aren’t the same ones you thought they would be at twenty-four. And it just takes a while to finally make peace with that.
I think I just have.
“Connor—”
“I’m going to quit taking Adderall.” I step towards her and place my hands on her shoulders.
“Your MBA—”
“I don’t need it.”
“You never needed it,” she reminds me. “That’s not why you were trying to get one.” I see the guilt in her eyes. I’ve chosen her over my dream, and I told her never to do that for me.
I cup her face with my hand, skimming her bottom lip with my thumb, her lipstick a dark red that makes her look as fierce as she is. I want to be with her every day of my life. I want to be here, not in class. And I have the means to do so.
“My dreams have changed,” I say. The future I once imagined is gone. Where I proudly accept my diploma, where I prove to myself that I’m the best because I can be. The longer I’ve been with this girl, the faster it’s flitted away.
I kiss her deeply, and she reciprocates in reply, silently telling me that she’s accepting my decision.
“That was easy,” I say as we part, holding her around the waist while I stare down at her smooth skin, her cheeks reddened with blush and heat from the kiss. “I thought you would fight me harder.”
She shakes her head. “You should see the look in your eyes.”
I frown.
And she smiles. “You’re wearing your emotions, Richard.” She runs her hands over my chest, smoothing down my navy-blue shirt. “I can tell you don’t care about Wharton as much as you used to, and I want you, my sisters, their boyfriends and Lo’s brother to do whatever makes them happy. Isn’t that the goal?”
It is for me now, but I’m not so sure it’s always been that way. “Your sisters’ boyfriends?”
Rose’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Daisy is still with Julian.”
“And I’m not happy about that,” I tell her. “What were we saying about happiness?” I feign forgetfulness. “We…do what makes us happy.” I keep her in my arms, one hand lowering to her ass, glad that five feet no longer separates us. “I’d happily like to remove him from your sister’s life.” I see the gangbanging text he sent Ryke, which worries me the most. I don’t want him with her for longer than he has to be.
Rose says, “I’d happily cut off his dick and toss it into a tank of flesh-eating piranhas.” She flashes a cold smile that would shrivel his balls too.
“Creative,” I grin.
Rose saw the text like the entire nation did. On television. Production aired my conversation with Julian in the hallway. I thought people disliked me, but I learned it’s more of a love-hate after the intense backlash Julian has received.
No one has started an online petition to have me thrown in jail.
He definitely beat me on that account.
Julian should be fired from the Marco Jeans campaign that he booked with Daisy. But the designer won’t let him go. He likes the media attention, even if it’s negative. So Daisy has to work with him.
I try to not think about Rose’s little sister whose life is more complicated than any seventeen-year-old’s should be. And I glance down at the joints in the plastic baggy, still in my hand. I step back from Rose and pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Who are you calling?” she asks curiously.
“Frederick. I need to know if I can mix Adderall and marijuana.” I put the phone to my ear.
Her face fills with surprise. “You still want to do that?”
“Yes, darling.” I rub her bottom lip and kiss her once more, right before the line clicks.
[ 41 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
Connor won’t feel the mental sluggishness of pot, but he’ll still feel the body high. At least those were Frederick’s words. He wasn’t pleased about the drug-mixing, but Connor put me on speaker phone, and I softened Frederick’s worries, explaining how Connor just threw away his Adderall. I didn’t mention dropping out of Wharton, or the fact that he took a giant immeasurable leap for me.
I’m sure they’ll discuss that on Monday.
I cough into my third drag since I never learned how to smoke properly. I was too focused on my company, grades, and extracurricular activities (which did not include pot) to dive into any sort of illegal paraphernalia. But I’m twenty-three. It’s not too late to experiment and try new things. If I told my seventeen-year-old self that I’d be choked and spanked by my number one academia rival (and I would like it) and I’d pass a joint with him six years later—I would have never believed me.
But I think my seventeen-year-old self would be so damn tempted towards that image. I think she would want it to be true.
I watch Connor blow a line of gray smoke from his lips, not hacking up a lung like me.
I attempt to glower at him, but it loses its potency when I’m choking on air.
“Here…” Connor tosses a throw-blanket over our heads, caging us in a man-made tent. He pinches the joint between his fingers, places it between his lips, and sucks deeply. His eyes stay on mine, and I wonder if he wants me to study him, so I can do it right next time. But he would have uttered a smartass remark about “tutoring” me.
Even so, I scrutinize the way he inhales deeply, the smoke sucking down his throat. I’ve never found smoking sexy—not until now, when my overly intelligent, cocky boyfriend exhales like a champion, a god, some immortal being with a grin that could light the world and create an eighth great wonder.
And I would NEVER say this to him. Just so we have this clear. I narrow my eyes so he can’t read the high praises and exaggerations on my face. But he’s near laughter, so I must be doing something wrong then. I reach for the joint, and he shakes his head. He takes another long drag, but this time, he keeps his mouth closed, holding in the smoke.
Then he grabs the back of my head with one authoritative hand. Before I blink, my lips touch his and part on command. Smoke rushes into my mouth and tickles the back of my throat. An incoming cough threatens to ruin my high once more. But Connor stifles it with a kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth, easing the sensations. I breathe in his intoxicated air, and he takes on mine, the most intimate kissing experience I’ve ever been swept into. Breath for breath. Inhale, exhale.
His fingers run through my soft hair, and with his other hand, he urges me onto his lap. I straddle his waist, and yet, it feels like he’s more in control of the moment than me.
It spikes my pulse with pleasure, and I swoop my arms around his neck. When our lips finally break apart, we both blow a small puff of smoke up in the air. Our grins are unmistakable.
“Let’s do it again,” I say, excited to finally inhale without my throat burning in refute. I sincerely thought my body wouldn’t allow poison to flow through it. Good job, body.
“Every junkie’s favorite words,” he says with a playful smile.
“Weed isn’t that bad,” I rebut.
He takes a small hit and then blows the smoke away from my face. Our tent has filled with the thick smoke and pungent smell, hotboxing our little area. We’re going to reek.
“You’re right,” Connor says dryly and appraises the joint. “It doesn’t fry brain cells. Only kills ambition. How can that be worse?”
Anything that makes a person into a lesser version of themselves is malevolent. At least in Connor Cobalt’s mind.
I’m not going to ruin this by arguing with him. “I do have one problem with it,” I admit.
He raises his brows in curiosity.
“The smell,” I say. “It’s disgusting. Worse than cigarettes. I’m going to have to bathe in bleach.”
He smiles and kisses me deeply. I love that. Drawing a man in with my opinions and words. It feels headier than enticing him with my body—though I enjoy that too.
When we part, I say, “Someone would make a lot of money if they invented odorless weed. Oh! Or perfumed marijuana!” I giggle. Giggle. That high-frequency girly noise is so unfamiliar. This hotbox is definitely working.
He kisses me again, silencing my laughter and filling my lungs with smoke and delight.
We stay under the blanket for a while. When I try touching my face, my hands move in slow motion, and my leg seems to take forever to shift, too sluggish to really go anywhere. So I stay positioned on Connor’s lap. But when I turn my head, it speeds faster than the rest of me, like it’s not attached to my body. It’s a weird combination that has me in a fit for two minutes. Was it two minutes?
Connor watches me, drinking water, and when he tries to pass the bottle in my direction, I reach out and hit his elbow. I laugh again.
“Here,” he says. He puts the rim to my lips and tilts the bottle up, helping me drink. The water feels good against my sandpapered throat. After wiping my lips, I become suddenly entranced by the buttons on his shirt. My fingers play with them. Wow. The buttons fit perfectly into that little hole. Such simple mathematics, and yet someone, somewhere discovered it first.
Connor says very little. I like the silence. It makes all the feelings stronger. Like how he brushes his fingers through my hair. Each part of me becomes more sensitive than the next.
“I’m hungry,” I suddenly say.
“I know the solution.” He scoops me up quickly, tossing the blanket aside. My heart races faster than before. He nuzzles his nose into my neck. “Time to feed you.”
I laugh, his skin tickling mine as we exit the room. I don’t care that we’re venturing into the camera-filled house. It’s not like we’re smoking on camera. No one has proof of anything.
And plus, it’s past Savannah, Brett, and Ben’s hours. They’re probably fast asleep in their own homes, leaving the cameras on the walls and in the rafters to film us.
Connor descends the stairs with me in his arms. Once we reach the main level, he sets my feet on the ground. The living room is right there. But Lily and Lo have their backs to us on the couch, staring at the television above the fireplace mantel. They stayed barricaded in their room for a full week before Scott apologized. Which Lo said was “half-assed and insincere,” but it was enough for them to finally venture downstairs.
I open my mouth to speak.
“Shh,” Connor whispers softly, pressing his fingers to my lips. We both smile. Why is that so funny?
We stay hidden by…nothing really. They can see us in the open space if they just turn around, but they’re both absorbed by the movie.
“Why are we watching this?” Loren asks.
“Because you need to know why I think you’re Peter Pan incarnate,” Lily replies.
I’m about to laugh again. I really don’t know why, but Connor covers my mouth with his hand to suppress my noises. How is he keeping me standing with just one arm?
He’s strong, Rose, don’t be stupid. Oh my God. Does weed make you stupid?
“And if I’m Peter Pan, who would you be? Wendy?”
“No,” Lily says. “Wendy chooses mortality over the boy she loves. I would be…” There’s a long pause, and I run my tongue against Connor’s palm.
He presses his lips together, trying so hard not to laugh.
“Tinkerbell,” Lily concludes. “She never leaves Pan. She loves him more than anything.”
“So you’re like my little fairy?” Lo asks, but I sense the adoration behind his words.
And yet, as cute as it is, Connor and I can’t keep our laughter in. It bursts forth and crushes our secrecy.
Their heads spin over their shoulders, catching us beside the staircase with crinkled brows.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Lo asks with the tilt of his head, scrutinizing our positions and faces and—what else is there to look at?
“My feet,” I say.
Connor has to bury his mouth into my neck to smother his next bout of laughter. Mine comes out full-force, no stopping that.
“What?” Lily squints at us in confusion.
Connor hunches over to rest his chin on my shoulder before he says, “We’re eating.”
Lily gasps. “Are you stoned?” She’s up off the couch before I can throw out an excuse. She’s not even ten feet near us and she stumbles back and pinches her nose. “Ugh.” She gags. “I hate that smell.”
Loren wears a supreme grin. “You two…” He shakes his head as he sidles next to his girlfriend. “Who would have thought the most responsible people in this house are the ones who get baked? Congratulations, you officially fit in our group.”
“Our friendship circle,” Connor clarifies.
I erupt into another fit of laughter. Connor picks me up in his arms again, carrying me towards the kitchen and setting me right on the counter.
“Can we stay and watch?” Lily asks excitedly.
“We’ll be seeing this on the next episode,” Loren reminds her.
“I want the unedited version though.”
Connor touches my leg. “You okay?” he asks, concerned even when he’s stoned.
“I’m not paranoid. Maybe it’s good weed.” But as long as I have Connor, I know I could ride out a bad trip.
What a weird version of love.
And it’s all mine.
[ 42 ]
CONNOR COBALT
The living room has been cleared out. Soft padded mats line the floor. Daisy is already jumping up and down, preparing for the self-defense lessons that Ryke, Loren, and I have promised the girls. I offered to hire a real instructor, but Ryke told me he was practically licensed.
I reminded him that being able to beat someone up doesn’t make him a good teacher. And then he said, “Stop fucking annoying me and go light a joint.”
I’ve been insulted far better.
Scott Van Wright aired the small segment of Rose and I giggling stupidly and devouring the leftover tacos. Since there wasn’t actual footage of us smoking, the backlash from the episode was minimal. There’ve been too many reality stars lying in their own vomit to be shocked by two young adults in unintelligible fits of laughter.
The only downside, I looked stupid for the first time in my life.
And I don’t care. It took twenty-four years to obtain this type of apathy. In college, if someone saw me as less than smart, at the bottom of the class, it felt life-ending. If they thought I was a prick, fine. If they thought I was a social climber, fine. Weird, whatever.
Stupid was the word that sliced me cold. Failure was the act that would leave me dead.
In one day, I had failed Wharton. Failed my “supposed” dream. And then I did something that made me into a stupider version of myself.
And today, I can say “I don’t care” and mean it.
I’m twenty-four-years-old. I always thought I was done growing up. But being with Rose has made me grow into the version of myself that I love the most.
My fears are no longer so selfish and so pretentiously vain.
Rose tells me, “If I’m being attacked, I’m taking out my pepper spray and Taser. I won’t use my fists first. That’s a last resort.”
“What if you don’t have time for all of that?” I ask her. I can’t help but smile every time I eye her clothes. No tennis shoes. No yoga pants or T-shirt. She chose wedges, leather shorts and a white cotton top, tucked in like she’s about to attend a lunch meeting. Loren told her to go change, and she looked like she wanted to rip off his face.
I know better.
“Not all paparazzi are despicable,” she says. “I’m sure someone would have a moral bone and help me against angry hecklers.”
“What if the paparazzi aren’t around?”
She holds up her finger. “One time,” she tells me. “Only one time in the past four months have I been alone in public. And that was when Lily drove down five wrong streets in a row.”
“Hey!” Lily speaks up. She’s on the ground in proper workout clothes like Daisy. Only she wears her furry white cap that’s more suited for the snow than warm, mid-May weather. It has tusks and apparently it’s something called a Wampa from Star Wars. The only reason I can see her wearing it is Loren. Every time he glances her way, his breathing deepens and his amber eyes glaze in desire, looking ready to mount her.
Lily stands to her feet, abandoning whatever move Loren was trying to show her. “I only drove down the wrong streets because the GPS was in French.”
Rose gives her a look. “You were the one who put it in French.”
“Only because I’m trying to learn the language,” Lily explains, “so that I can know what the hell you two talk about behind our backs.”
Last episode was the first time they aired us speaking French to each other. Production included subtitles.
Our conversation revolved around Lily and went something like this on TV.
ROSE: She’s losing weight. I can see her ribs.
ME: That’s a shadow.
ROSE: It’s not a shadow. It’s her skeleton.
ME: I have a physics book upstairs. I’m sure it talks about light and shadows. Do you want it?
ROSE: Why would you have a physics book? You’re a business student.
ME: For moments like these.
It was one of our more calm exchanges in French, but Lily wasn’t amused by the fact that we were discussing her weight—right in front of her.
Apparently they all thought that we just argue about “smart people” things (Lily’s words) and that we have a rule to not talk about them in French.
I do have a rule.
If you want to understand me, learn my language.
Ryke and Daisy don’t seem to care that we could have talked about them, but Lily and Loren are aggravated.
“And just so you know,” Lily says, “I can say five whole words in French already. So at this rate, I will be fluent in no time.”
Daisy walks over after jumping up and down. “Didn’t you fail Spanish and Latin in prep school?” she asks with a smile.
“That’s a mute point,” Lily defends. “Those aren’t even the same languages.”
Rose gives me another look, but I can’t stop myself. “Moot point,” I correct her.
Lily stares at me, dumbfounded. “What?” Loren wraps his arms around her waist as she explains, “It’s mute. Like it doesn’t make a sound, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s moot,” I repeat. “I assure you.”
Rose elbows me, and Lily’s eyebrows bunch in even more confusion.
“No one likes the fucking grammar police,” Ryke tells me.
“That’s scary coming from a guy who used to write for the city’s newspaper in college,” I say. “Did your editor hate you?”
He flips me off.
“Wait.” Lily holds up her hands. “What’s a moot then? That’s not a word.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rose says quickly and waves me off.
“It does,” I refute. “I want to educate your sister.”
Rose punches me in the arm and then points. “That’s for your indirect insult. She’s not stupid.” I open my mouth to speak and she punches my arm again. “And apparently you need self-defense lessons. You don’t seem to be doing a lot of defending.”
She goes to punch me again and I grab her fist in my hand.
Her lips purse. “Fine.”
I just notice Ben, Brett, and Savannah circling us when they start to flock Ryke. I look around for Scott, but I realize he must be locked in his room. Working. He’s shifted his tactics once again. No longer annoying the Calloway girls as much as he used to. He’s been almost absent for the past two weeks. I don’t know if this house is making me more paranoid, but I keep thinking he’s up to something. I just haven’t determined what he could possibly do to me without physically taking Rose. He’s already failed at that. So what’s left in his arsenal?
Rose and I look over as Ryke tosses his shirt to his side. He has better lean and defined muscles than both Lo and me. We’ll both admit that because we’re not the ones ascending mountains with our bare hands every other day.
“I didn’t know this was naked self-defense class,” I quip.
Lo laughs. “Damn, you beat me to that one.”
Ryke glares. “No one fucking hit my right shoulder. It’s off-limits.” That’s all he says in reply. But we know what he’s talking about. He’s spent over a month getting an intricate tattoo. One of the most popular episodes was when Daisy went with him for company. It was one of her few free days, and Rose and I both noticed she chose to spend it with Ryke of all people.
Princesses of Philly aired about fifteen minutes of “did Daisy get a tattoo with Ryke or didn’t she?” until they revealed the answer at the end.
She’s tattoo-free.
Her mother would have killed her if she marked her body, which is pivotal in furthering her modeling career. And Samantha would have also found a way to destroy Ryke, probably by throwing him in jail for some ridiculous charge. I have no doubt about this, which is why I’ve been cautioning Ryke to stay away from Daisy until she’s older.
But he’s a masochist; I swear he does things he knows will hurt him in the end.
We all stare at his finished tattoo. A phoenix with wings in shades of red, orange and yellow engulfs his right shoulder and chest, the feet near his abs. A gray and black chain is wrapped around the ankles of the bird, and it descends down his side, an anchor inked at his hip.
Lo shakes his head. “At least you didn’t get a tribal tattoo.”
“Fuck off,” Ryke says. He stretches an arm behind his head and ignores our stares and the three cameras.
I tilt my head. “You did make sure the needle was wrapped and sterile?”
“I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“Well, when you say it like that, I believe you more,” I deadpan.
“I think it’s hot,” Daisy chimes in. She grins impishly while everyone (except me) groans. “What?” she laughs.
“That’s my brother, and you’re like my little sister,” Lo says with a disgusted look. “Just, no.”
Ryke’s jaw hardens, not saying a word. He just grabs his shirt off the floor and puts it back on.
“Thanks for that strip tease, bro,” Lo says.
Ryke shoots him the middle finger.
But I watch his eyes meet Daisy. Her bright grin has already completely vanished. I didn’t catch the moment when the humor left her, but maybe Lo’s comment did the trick.
Ryke and Daisy stare at each other for a long moment that’s filled with words I can’t hear and things I can’t read. I almost look away, irritated by this lack of knowledge.
Then Daisy mouths, Sorry, to Ryke.
“Just don’t hit my arm, okay?” he tells her. “It still fucking hurts.”
Her lips slowly rise.
“I know how to defend myself,” Lily suddenly makes a giant proclamation. She’s been in Lo’s arms, but she steps out and raises her hand at him, giving him the Vulcan salute from Star Trek. When we went to a comic book convention, Rose didn’t know what it was named, and Lo chastised her when she called it the “Spock thing.”
While Lily continues to part her fingers in a V shape, Lo looks at Lily like he wants to kiss her and block the rest of us out.
No one says a thing, we have our brows raised, standing still like what the hell?
“See,” Lily says. “Everyone’s too confused to attack.”
And then Lo playfully grabs her wrist. He leans down and sticks his tongue through the gap between her fingers, making a crude gesture. With her hand and his mouth.
The cameras veer off Ryke and pin on Lily and Lo.
Lily gasps and punches him in the shoulder. “You just desecrated the Vulcan salute!”
He wraps his arms around her hips with a grin. “Yeah? Who does the Vulcan salute while wearing a Star Wars hat? You ruined it first.” He rubs her head with the furry white cap. And then she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses him. He grins as he kisses her back.
“Shall we get started?” I ask. Daisy just came home thirty minutes ago, and it’s already one in the morning. And she arrived earlier than usual.
“Shhh!” Rose yells, extending her arm over my chest hysterically, her eyes ablaze as she whips her head from side to side.
Everyone frowns and goes quiet for a second.
What is she…
And then I hear a jiggling sound, like bells clinking together on her collar. Sadie emerges from the bottom level stairs, not hesitating to enter the main floor like she owns this part of the house too.
Rose reaches for her pepper spray on the ground, her eyes narrowed at Sadie like she only has bad intentions.
But the worst reaction comes from Lily, who apparently was “haunted” by Sadie last week in her bedroom. She said she’d wake up and Sadie would just be sitting there, watching her sleep. It was so ridiculous that I started crying in laughter when she told me.
“Ohmygodohmygod,” Lily says. I think I heard her say demon once or twice, but she slurs her words together in a frantic state. She starts running in circles around the living room, looking for a place to hide, but we pushed all the couches and chairs against the wall. The space is open for Sadie to find her.
