Kiss the Sky (21 page)

Connor chokes on his wine. I rub his back with a mechanical
hand. I really want to smack
Ryke’s
head, but I’m
restraining myself—something
Ryke
clearly cannot do.

“I gave you way too much credit,” Connor tells him. “I
thought you were smart enough not to do that on camera.”

“On camera?” Lo interjects. “How about
not at all.
”

Daisy waves her hand from the ground, still texting. “Right
here, guys.”

Ryke
extends his arms. “What do
you want from me? She just told me she got mauled by some fucking angry idiot
on the street, and she wouldn’t tell me how bad it was.”

“For the record, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was fucking bad.”
Ryke
glares
at her. “Your whole side was fucked up.”

“What is
fucked up?
”
I say in worry. “Do you need to go to the doctor, Daisy?”

“I already went,” she says. “I’m fine. No internal
bleeding—”

“I’m going to strangle you,” I tell
Ryke
.
I step towards him, and Connor clutches my arm, pulling me back to his chest.
My sister was
that
hurt and no one
thought to inform me?!

“Why are you fucking yelling at me?”
Ryke
shouts. “I’m not the one who tossed her to the ground.”

“You should have told me!”

“Daisy didn’t want you to know,”
Ryke
retorts. “Is it that hard of a concept? You freak the fuck out, Rose. You’re
about to hyperventilate right now.”

I’m not.

And then I realize that my chest rises and falls in a
strange, uneven rhythm. Okay, maybe I’m not all there. But I hate that Daisy
was hurt and I was purposefully left out of the secret. I should have
remembered they were keeping something from me. I should have been by her side
while she was at the doctor’s. This is my fault. If we didn’t have the reality
show, she wouldn’t have met such a hostile pedestrian
without
a bodyguard.

“Were you alone at the doctor’s?” I ask Daisy.

“
Ryke
went with me.”

At least she wasn’t alone. But Lo glares at him, hardly
thinking he’s a good replacement. He’s better than no one.

I glance back at the big screen.
Ryke
and Daisy stop fighting each other. He holds her arms while she stares
up into his brown eyes.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“The more you keep
saying that, Calloway, the less I believe you. What’d he do, body slam a
hundred-twenty-pound girl on the f**king ground?”

“No, we wrestled. In
the mud. There were cheerleaders in attendance too.”

“Shut the f**k up.”

She grins. “It’s
funny.”

“You being hurt is the
least funny thing in the entire f**king world.”

“And that’s the
biggest exaggeration I’ve heard all day.”

They just stare at
each other for three long
seconds.
Ryke
tries to cut the tension by looking away first. He
says, “I’ll take your bike to the shop. You can ride mine if you need to go to
a modeling gig.”

People mutter again, and my mother’s bony collar juts out as
she inhales, her frame too skinny. With the scandal, she’s eaten less and less.
And it’s not long before her hateful gaze finds her target, landing on
Ryke
. Direct hit.

“Momma Calloway is going to ream your ass,” Lo tells him. He
slaps his back and squeezes his shoulder hard. “Good luck,
bro.
” He smiles.

“You’re enjoying my distress way too fucking much.”

“It keeps my life bright.”

The commercial break airs, and I’m surprised my mother has
the balls to stay here. She could cave in embarrassment at her daughters’
impropriety and bluntness and their boyfriends’ habit to tell it like it is.
But she smiles and waves at her stereotypical WASP friends without carrying a
morsel of shame. Either she’s a terrific actress or she’s grown to look past
our unbecoming natures.

I’d love to think better of my mother, but people don’t
change that quickly, especially not stubborn middle-aged women who’ve been
rooted in their beliefs for so long.

But maybe this reality show could help her forgive and
accept rather than hate.

By the time the show starts again, my head spins with a
decent buzz. I grab another glass of champagne, and Connor stands behind me,
his hands on my waist. He gathers my hair onto one shoulder, and the cold nips
my bare neck.

We’re both suddenly distracted by the montage that
plays—moments at the house when only Lily was home.

Lily squirms on the
leather couch. She adjusts her feet underneath, her forehead wrinkled in
distress. Her hand starts to descend towards her jeans. She retracts almost
instantly, her cheeks heating. She looks around the room to see if anyone saw.
And when her eyes hit the camera, looking directly at us, the viewers, she
presses a pillow to her face in humiliation.

It doesn’t end there. Her internet privileges have been
restored only because she’s taking online classes. And we’ve all trusted her to
stay off dirty sites.

She lies on the couch,
her laptop on her legs. She glances over her shoulder and then she immediately
shuts her computer, fighting a dangerous compulsion. Her hand descends towards
her jeans, but she stays above the fabric and touches the spot between her
legs.

“How can they air this?” I ask angrily.

“The PTC will bitch tomorrow,” Connor says calmly. “Just let
it play out.” The Parent’s Television Council—I’m sure they’ll wave pitchforks
at the network and producers, but it’ll be all over entertainment news and
blogs, just stoking the fire and causing more people to watch the footage.

Lily covers her eyes with her hands, and Lo has his lips to
her ear, whispering to her rapidly while silent tears start to fall.

The clips keep coming in quick succession.

Lily rubs against a
kitchen chair, unconsciously. When she catches herself, she reddens.

Lily rubs against the
corner of the kitchen counter.

Lily’s hand
descends—three different times. But she always stops before she gets too far.

I don’t get embarrassed about many things, but I sense the
judgment, the weird stares pinning on Lily in the party room. I can practically
feel my sister crumpling before I even look at her.

Lily turns into
Lo’s
chest and she
grabs at his black crew-neck. She stuffs her head underneath, literally hiding
inside his shirt while he’s still wearing it. “I’m not coming out,” she says.
“Don’t make me come out, Lo.”

Loren touches her head. “Stay there as long as you want,
love.” When he looks up, he sends shriveling glares to anyone who so much as
glances at him. His glares aren’t necessarily like mine or like
Ryke’s
. They’re the kind that make you feel like he’s about
to go get a chainsaw and murder your whole fucking family. It’s a sadistic,
I have nothing to lose
, type of look
that his father taught him well.

And it’s enough to cause everyone to face the big screens
again.

The footage has changed to a compilation of interviews with
Daisy, Lily, and me. I remember the questions being focused on sex. No
surprise. Lily’s addiction is what’s drawing the viewers to
Princesses of Philly
in the first place
.

Since we shot everything separately, they cut to each of our
answers.

“Who’s your celebrity
crush?” Savannah asks.

Daisy smiles wide.
“James Dean.”

My eyes pierce the
camera. “Audrey Hepburn.”

Lily stares off in
thought. “
Uhhh
…” She flushes. “Loren Hale.”

Lo laughs and stares down at Lily who’s still hidden in his
shirt. “Right answer, love.”

She sniffs, and her arms wrap around his waist underneath
his clothes.

“Have you read Fifty
Shades of Grey?”

“Yep,” Daisy says,
“one handed.” She wags her eyebrows deviously.

I say, “Any
patriarchal c*
cks
*
cker
who
makes a woman ashamed to read it should be slapped across the face with his—”
 

Lily blushes. “
Uhhh
…”

“Top or bottom?”

“My mother’s going to
kill me,” Daisy says. “Both. Sorry Mom!”

The people in the party room laugh, and my mother even
cracks a smile. I think we all forget how young Daisy is because she looks
older than Lily…and she’s incredibly endearing.

But every time we cut to my answer, I look like a royal
bitch compared to her, cursing the entire audience to hell.
 

“I’m a virgin,” I say.
“Why ask me that inane question?”

“
Uhhh
…”
Lily’s eyes widen.

“Back door or front
door?”

“No c*
cks
have been near my a**h*le, sorry.” Daisy shrugs after
answering crudely.

Lo gives her a look. “You’re spending too much time with my
brother.”

She just laughs.

I tilt my head to the
side. “Really?”

“
Uhhh
…”
Lily’s eyes grow bigger with each question.

“What do you wear to
bed?”

“I sleep in the nude,”
Daisy answers.

“A nightgown,” I
retort, not elaborating whether it’s silk or ankle-length cotton.

“
Uhhh
…”
Lily turns her head to look at the door. “Lo!”

“Whips or handcuffs?”

“
Oooh
,”
Daisy grins. “I like the idea of whips. But you know, me dodging the whips.
Make it into a game.” She laughs.

I swear the men in this room grunt in audible desire.

I must wear a look of pure disgust because Connor squeezes
my hip and whispers, “We’re not all pigs, Rose.”

He’s right. I know I shouldn’t generalize the entire male
species as vile, gross things that’ll get off to my sixteen-year-old sister’s
image.

And just when I’m feeling apologetic, I spot a guy with a
clear
bulge in his suit pants. “What do
you call that?” I whisper in detest.

“A boner.”

I shake my head. “You’re such a…” I trail off and then
smile. “
Smartass
.”

He touches his chest mockingly. “
Ça
fait mal.”
That hurts
.

“
Je suis content
.”
I’m glad.

His grin only grows. “They could have chosen anything else
to label me, you know. Genius would have been my number one pick.”

“Pretentious,” I argue.

“Or popular…”

“Conceited,” I continue.

He flashes another smile. “Handsome.”

My eyes flit from his white button-down that fits him
perfectly to his deep blue eyes. “Maybe.”

He takes a sip of his wine and waves me to keep going. “I
have you
almost
giving me a
compliment, why stop now?”

 
Our banter sets a
fire underneath my heart. I could kiss him. But I regretfully turn towards the
big screen. I realize I missed my response to the
whips
or
handcuffs
question,
which was evasive anyway. And Lily most likely gave her perfunctory
uhhhh
.

Now the guys are being asked a series of questions, cut
together like our interviews.

Loren glares, waiting
impatiently for Savannah to ask him something.

“Blondes or
brunettes?”

Lo stares harshly.
“Brunettes.”

“I don’t give a
sh
*t about hair color,”
Ryke
says, his forearms on his thighs as he sits on the leather chair.

Connor is seated with
his ankle on his knee, leaning back like a CEO of a multi-billion dollar
company. He has his fingers to his jaw in mock contemplation. “What happened to
redheads?”

Savannah clears her
throat.
She has red hair.
“Or
redheads.”

“What about gray
hair?” His eyes flicker up a little. He’s staring at Scott, who stands off
screen. “You’re forgetting black hair too. And purple, blue, orange—”

Lo is back, glaring.

“Wow,” Lo says, his hand on Lily’s head, still concealed in
his shirt. “They cut off your little rant, Connor. How’d that feel?”

“Chapped,” Connor says easily.

“Come here, I’ll rub your ass for you.”

Connor smiles into his sip of wine. But it must be annoying
that Scott has the power to shut him up with a simple edit. I can see his
irritation in the tight muscles of his jaw.

“Who’s the messiest?”

“
Ryke
.”

“Me.”

“
Ryke
.”

“Have you ever been
with a man before?”

Lo cocks his head to
the side. And he flashes a bitter, dry smile, not giving anyone anything they
want to hear.

“No,”
Ryke
says.

Connor wears an
unreadable expression. “Many people want to be with me. I may give them all my
attention, but I’ll only be with a handful, and of those, I’ll only really like
a few.”

“Who has the best
legs?”

“Lily,” Loren says.
“But she won’t believe me if I say it.”

Ryke
rubs his lips in thought.

Loren glares at him like “you better not have fucking said
her name”—but I think we all hear Daisy in his head anyway.

“Rose,”
Ryke
grimaces.

I laugh into my sip of champagne.

“Rose,” Connor says.
“And then me, of course.”

“Top or bottom?”

Lo glares. “Top.”