I shake my head repeatedly, so much my neck hurts. “No, no. I have no idea what you’re talking about.Did someone drop you on your head?”That seems kind of likely right now.
And then she hops off.
Onto the gravel.
I breathe. She picks her Solo cup on her way to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s possible that one of the nannies did. Maybe that explains why I’m not as smart as Rose.”
“No one is as smart as Rose.” Except maybe Connor Cobalt.
“True,” she says with a laugh and turns to the door. “Now let’s see if we can find you a hot guy.”
Yeah, this isn’t going to be good.
CHAPTER TWO
Daisy triesto leave me with a scarily attractive blond model. Can a face like his really exist without Photoshop? Perfect bone structure, the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dear God, I’m in trouble.
“I’m going to go get some punch. You two stay here and chat,” Daisy says. I try to grab her elbow before she disappears from me.
“Daisy…” I’m going to kill her.
She spins around and mouths,mingleand tops it with another smile.
I look back. He towers over me and sips from a Solo cup. He bends to my ear, his hand sinking to my waist. And lowering. I swallow.
“You’re like a little hidden gem,” he tells me with a small laugh. I avoid those intense blue eyes that begin to rake my body, heating up places that should not, in no way, be hot by anyone except Loren Hale.
I brush off his hands so frantically that I end up looking like I’m swatting flies. And then I mutter something unintelligent that sounds likeI have to peeor maybethere’s a bee.Either way, I disentangle myself from him and the mobs of models in the dance area. I find a safe spot on the couch by the floor-length window, the glittery city lit up and awake with cabs and pedestrians.
Daisy is in a discussion with a guy who seems to be around her age. It’s hard to tell in this group. He has black hair and European features, skinny like he could front an indie rock band. She’s unaware that I’ve ditched her handsy friend.
Next to me sits a half-conscious, drug-induced boy, staring up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze, not finding what looks so damn interesting besides white plaster.
I take an impulsive glance at the oak table by the wall—decorated with a spread of cheap liquor. People serve themselves, and I subconsciously look for Lo behind a curly brunette. After she plops a couple ice cubes in her drink and passes to the kitchen, I see him.
Leaning against the beige wall, cupping a Reidel glass with amber liquid.
His cheeks cut sharply, and his expression flickers between slightly annoyed and amused. He takes a small sip and meets my gaze,knowingI’m watching—as though we share a secret beyond every person here. The corner of his lip rises as he takes another swig, and I pin to my seat.
He brings the glass down and puts his head to the wall, his chin raised a little. He stares. I stare back. And my whole chest inflates with helium.
I want him.
I need him.
To hold me. To wrap my arms around his body. For him to whisper in my ear that everything will be okay. That we’ll be better for each other. Will we? Will we still love each other if he’s sober and I’m wading through the things that torment me? Will he fit into my life if I’m struggling with my addiction while he’s healthy and absolved from his?
I want to fit into his life. I just hope when he returns, he’ll want me too.
And I blink. He’s gone. Somewhere. No one will tell me what rehab he checked into, and so I’m left with these distressing fantasies, wishing for him to return. At least I managed to claw a few answers from Ryke. He said that for the first month of rehab, Lo isn’t supposed to have any sort of outside communication. I’m not sure if that pertains toonlyme, but I have a feeling Ryke has been in touch with Lo since he dropped him off.
So maybe I’m the only one who’s being shunned and kicked out of Lo’s life like dirty garbage.
Still, I wait in anticipation for February. Email privileges will be restored. And then March, he’ll upgrade to the telephone. If I can just make it through January, I’ll be okay. Or at least, that’s what I keep reminding myself.
My phone buzzes, and I retrieve it from my pocket, wiping my eyes with my wrist while I read the text.
I left my wallet at your place. I need you to open the gates– Ryke
