Thrive (2 page)

{ 2 }

0 years : 00 months

August

LILY CALLOWAY

We enter the unisex bathroom, the single kind
without stalls. As soon as the door shuts, he flips the lock.

When he faces me, his eyes cloak with unmistakable concern.
“What’s wrong?”

Great. I’m so transparent that he’s pulled me away for a
powwow in the bathroom—over hot dogs. It’s slightly pathetic, which is why I
blurt out, “Nothing.”

He grinds his teeth. “Lily.”

“Lo.”

“Don’t
Lo
me.
You’re upset and not telling me why.” He crosses his arms over his chest and
blocks the door, maybe realizing I’d be darting out of it right about now.
“We’re not leaving until you explain.”

“You’re making a dramatic scene over nothing,” I
whisper-hiss. “Seriously, you’re gonna feel awfully stupid.”

“Why are you whispering?” he asks. “And let me decide if
it’s stupid or not, Lil.”

I let out a defeated sigh. “Hot dogs,” I confess. “I wanted
a hot dog for lunch.” I wait for laughter and the
seriously, Lily?
but it never comes. He stares at me for a long
moment, processing, and his brows begin to bunch together in this frustrated
manner.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

I shake my head. “Sorry should be saved for rejections to
colleges, breakups and funerals. Not for a girl who can’t eat phallic foods in
public.”

“You know this is more than that.”

I suppose my life has been changing a lot these past few
months. I was never normal, but the fact that this scandal has taken away the
option
of being normal—that hurts. I
contemplate everything for a second.

Then I mutter, “I just don’t want to feel sorry for myself
anymore.” I don’t deserve to wallow in self-pity. Like my mom has said numerous
times, this is my bed, and I’m going to have to sleep in it, dirty sheets and
all.

He walks forward, closer, and my heart thumps with each inch
squashed between us. When his arms wrap around my neck, it takes all of my
energy to stay flat on my feet and not jump him right here.

I stay grounded and channel my inner-statue, probably the
least sexy posture I can muster.

“I’m proud of you,” he tells me. “As long as ‘not feeling
sorry for yourself’ doesn’t connote holing up at home.”

“Maybe a little. Like half. Half-connotes,” I admit.

He tries really hard not to smile, so I suppose I win. Or
half-win. Or would that be a draw?

His heady amber eyes fall to my lips, and my heart bashes
against my ribcage, as if telling me
now
now now.
But I don’t say a word.

His hand slowly rises up my neck, clutching the back of my
head while his gaze devours me whole. Any chance to breathe has been thwarted
by the desire fueled in his eyes, the one that I’m sure I share. My lips part,
and he watches me closely, his chest rising and falling in sync with mine.

He teases me first, kissing my cheek so lightly.

I whimper, “Lo.”

And then his lips meet mine with carnal desperation, stealing
the oxygen from my lungs. He lifts me up around his waist, his hand lost in my
hair, his other keeping me firm against him. My palms disappear beneath his
black crew-neck, dying at the ridges of his abs, at his closeness. I don’t
unbutton him.

Not yet anyway.

But the spot between my legs pulses, and I tighten my thighs
around his waist so hard that he groans in arousal. He stares at me while we
both catch our breath for a second.

My lower back digs into the porcelain sink, and Lo never
removes his narrowed, intense gaze from mine, the one that unravels me
completely, that soaks my panties and leaves me bare.

 
He skillfully
unbuttons my jean shorts and adjusts me so they slide off both legs. His slow
pace speeds my heart, fearful that it’ll end at any second.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, practically panting for oxygen.

“I’m not going anywhere.” And then he leans closer to me,
one hand braced underneath my leg so I don’t fall, the other gripping the
porcelain sink behind me. He pulls my panties to the side. I didn’t notice him
unzipping his pants—not until his erection slowly (so, so slowly) eases into
me.

I gasp, my eyes almost rolling back in my head. I clutch
onto his biceps while he begins to thrust deep inside of me. I am so full of
Loren Hale, in a
public
bathroom,
where his needs match mine. And he’s feeding into them.

For us.

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, his breath shallow as he rocks
into me. “Lil.”

I didn’t realize they were closed. I meet his gaze, and I
nearly lose it at the way he’s looking at me. Lo kisses me deeply while I
struggle to hold onto him without coming right there. His parted lips brush my
forehead while he quickens his pace, while the intensity in his gaze matches
the one in our bodies. My nerves light on fire, and with one last thrust, we
both come together.

I breathe heavily while I descend off this giant cliff of
bliss.

“I love you,” he whispers, his mouth near my ear.

My lips rise into a small smile. “I love you too.” Everything
right then felt too good for words. And as he stays inside of me a little too
long, I wonder if it can happen again.

Don’t go there, Lily.

A strangled sound latches in my throat. Like a dying hyena.
What the hell was that?
I think it’s my
body wanting something it can’t have and being angry at my brain.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Lo says. “Lil.” He pulls out of me and
lifts up his boxer-briefs and jeans around his waist quickly. Then he holds me
entirely, his hand cupping my face.

I shut my eyes.
You
don’t want anymore. You don’t want anymore. You’re done.
I try to repeat
the mantra, but I already crave that climax again, one of equal intensity. The
horrible thing: I know it won’t match it. I know that the second time won’t
beat the first, so I’ll keep wanting to try again and again to reach what I
just had.

And it won’t come. Not until I wait longer. Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe the next day.

“Look at me,” Lo says forcefully, his voice no longer as
sweet-natured.

Just as I comply, someone knocks on the door.

“Someone’s in here!” Lo yells. And then he whispers to me,
“I want this to work because if it doesn’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want
to have another Wednesday like that.”

I remember back to the beginning of the week, where Lo
proposed, where I declared how much I wanted to follow the blacklist—the perimeters
my therapist created: no public sex, stick to morning and nights, no nooners in
sight. I’d never seen the list.

Until Wednesday.

We had possibly one of the worst fights in the history of
our fights. It was about our fears. Like a revolving door, we were slammed with
the same exact issues we’ve been dealing with for months.

I worry
his
needs
aren’t being satiated.

He worries that I’ll turn to another guy to obtain what he
denies me.

I remember his words so clearly. “This isn’t working, Lily,”
he said, his eyes bloodshot. We wanted all of each other, but we were
purposefully distancing ourselves so I wouldn’t become a crazy, compulsive
beast.

The silent, excruciating statement clung to the air:
We should break up.

We were both crying at that point, and I felt like it was
the end, like someone gutted me. We were both on the carpet, and his arms were
wrapped around me. Yet, neither of us could come up with a better solution.

Two hours later, sunken with this immeasurable grief that
can’t be justly explained, he whispered, “Be with me.”

My heart clenched. “What?” My eyes burned all over again.

He held my cheeks with his two hands, his face full of pain
and love, a twisted mix that reminded me of how wrong we are for each other but
how right it felt. “No more rules. Fuck the list. You’re strong enough to
handle sex when I’m aroused and maybe even in public too.” He wiped my silent
tears that fell.

“How do you know that I’m strong enough?”

“Because you’re better now,” he said, almost convincing me.
“And you have me—sober me. I’ll make sure you don’t spiral out of control.” His
voice lowered, and his forehead touched mine. “I don’t want to live if you’re
not living with me.”

I didn’t either.

And since Wednesday, our new system has actually worked,
despite me struggling a few times—which I think is to be expected. But Lo
hasn’t fed into my compulsions. Not once.

“I’m okay now,” I say, more assuredly.
I can do this.
Sex starts to drift in the back of my mind. I hear
the phrase:
I don’t want to live if you’re
not living with me.

I can’t lose Lo. I just can’t.

He scans my features and then kisses my forehead before
helping me step into my shorts. Another knock beats against the door. This
time, it’s way angrier. “Someone’s in here!” Lo yells back.

The person calls through the wood, the rough voice too
familiar, “Your food is getting cold.” I thought Ryke would say something like:
You better not be screwing in there.
But
I remember that there are
hoards
of
people outside, and he doesn’t want to air our dirty laundry.

“I’m still talking to my girlfriend,” Lo shoots back. “Start
eating without us,
bro
.”

I imagine Ryke rolling his eyes. “Is that all you’re doing
in there?”

“
Yes
,” Lo growls.
“Fucking Christ, leave us alone for a goddamn minute.”

“I’ve left you alone for twenty minutes,” Ryke retorts,
jiggling the knob. “Are you going to let me in?”

“No,” Lo snaps, now facing the door like he’s battling with
it and not Ryke on the other side. “I’ll be out in a second.”

I finish dressing, and then I comb my hands through my
post-sex hair.

“You have thirty seconds,” Ryke says. “And I’m actually
fucking timing you.”

Lo clenches his teeth so hard, restraining from spouting off
a string of insults. His hands ball into fists by his side, and it looks
painful for him to just slowly turn around and face me, trying to be a better
person and leave a fight behind.

My cheeks start to heat with anxiety. “You think they’ll
ever find out?” I whisper.

With tension still constricting his muscles, he draws me to
his body and wraps his arm around my bony shoulder. “We’re good at keeping
secrets,” he murmurs. “How is this one any different?”

Right. I exhale deeply, wiping some of the wetness by my
eyes. Curse Wednesday. That moment still feels fresh, even remembering brings
waterworks.

“It helps that you look upset,” Lo tells me under his
breath. “He’ll believe we were just talking.”

Good.
 

No one knows we’re having more sex.

Not my sisters.

Not his brother.

Not Connor or even our therapist.

We don’t think they’ll understand, and we’re both exhausted
from all the voices in our lives. For once, we just want to do this together.
Alone.

Lily and Lo.

Like it was before.

Only better this time.

We’re stronger now.

Lo unlocks the door, but Ryke is the one to open it. The
chatter from the crowded diner almost blasts me backwards, but Lo keeps me
close. I realize that they’re both glaring at each other—that is until Ryke
scrutinizes me, trying to spot the stain of debauchery on my clothes.

My jeans are zipped and my shirt is straight and
wrinkle-free, thank you very much.

“We were just talking,” Lo snaps.

Either Ryke trusts Lo enough to believe him or Ryke has very
bad sleuthing skills. He could never be a private investigator. Maybe ditching
journalism was a good idea.

His concern shifts off his younger brother and pins to me.
“You okay?” He even takes a step closer, and at the nearness, the girls in the
room shriek uncontrollably and start clapping.

Someone yells, “Love triangle!”

Oh my God.
No, no,
no. I push Ryke back with two firm palms, and he raises his hands in defense.

Ryke sighs heavily, almost growling, and agitation hardens
his jaw. “So now I can’t even be concerned about you?”

“I’m
not
cheating
on Lo with you.” I hope
everyone
in
Lucky’s heard that. I almost want to stand on a chair and scream it. That’s
something my little sister, Daisy, would definitely do. But while the idea
sounds awesome, I can’t bring myself to execute the task.

What if someone throws a hamburger patty at me? Oh my
God—what if they chucked a hot dog at my face? That would be my luck.

“Lily!” Lo shouts. He shakes my shoulder. “Calm down.”

“I…I am calm.” Am I not calm?

“You’re panting like you’re being chased.”

I glance between the two guys who’ve blocked my view of the
diner with their bodies, literally creating a manly wall right in front of me.
I’d find it sexy if I didn’t know what was behind them.

And then someone else shouts, “Three-way!”

Oh my God.
No.
I
start, “I am not having sex with—”

“Let it go,” Lo tells me with a dark gaze, matching his
brother’s. “You can scream and shout but those tabloids are going to run a fake
story tomorrow and the next day. I want to fucking eat.” He turns to Ryke. “Do
you?”

Ryke nods. “Yeah I’m fucking starved.”

Lo looks to me again. “I’m not letting anyone run us out.”

They’ve teamed up against me.

I think I like when they’re united more than when they’re
against each other. It gives me the confidence I need to trek over to the
booth, sit down, and order the food I want.

A hot dog.

{ 3 }

0 years : 01 month

September

LOREN HALE

Lying to everyone we love, it’s not as difficult
as it seems. Maybe because we’ve spent more time lying than we have telling the
truth. Or because I love her more than anyone else in my life.

I’m tired of having third-party opinions about Lily’s sex
life. She’s fucking me. The only opinions that should matter are mine and hers.

And so that’s how it’s going to be.

Fuck everyone who thinks I’m the same self-indulgent kid who
begged her to date me without letting go of my booze.

That guy is dead.

I try to ignore the comics that litter my desk in
unorganized piles. Connor Cobalt would shit his pants if he sauntered into my
office right now. Last week, he spent an entire hour helping me file my work,
but it arrives faster than I can manage.

Halway Comics, a
small
indie publishing company, exploded on the internet with the headline:
Loren Hale Starts a New Business Venture.
Now
I’m flooded with proposals from aspiring artists—and no matter how hard I try,
I can never keep up.

Maybe if I gave one-hundred percent of myself to the
business it’d be easier. But I’m giving maybe forty percent. I happily give the
rest to Lily.
 

“What kind of buckle is this?” Lily fumbles with my belt,
her knees on the carpet in front of my desk. The leather chair squeaks as I
roll back and push her hands away.

“You’re out of practice,” I tease.

She gasps. “Am not.” She points to my belt buckle that I
slowly undo. “You’re either wearing a chastity belt or you put a spell on it so
it won’t open from outside forces…
Alohomora
.”

I freeze and give her a look. Did she…she did. She just
tried to unlock it with a fucking spell. Her cheeks redden.

“I was there when you
didn’t
receive your Hogwarts letter,” I remind her. She cried on her eleventh
birthday, and to make her feel better I got her drunk off my dad’s expensive
scotch.

I was a fucking idiot.
 

“Oh whatever, I know you try out spells when no one’s
around.”

I don’t deny it.

I unhook my belt and she points. “Look, it worked,” she says
with a smile.

“Ha ha,” I say dryly, but I’m staring at her grin. That
happens so rarely now with the press bearing down on us.

She concentrates solely on my pants, making them her
mission. She tugs the jeans to my thighs, and her eyes grow big at the sight of
my erection, pressing against my dark red boxer-briefs. I watch her inhale more
sporadically than before.

Even if this arouses her, she’s learning how to be less
compulsive and insatiable. She hasn’t looked at porn, masturbated or gone off
the deep end in a while. That’s a fucking success, especially after her rapid
decline when her addiction was first publicized.

I relax back against my leather chair, and she licks her
lips. My blood heats when she reaches for my cock underneath the fabric. I
brush her hair away from her face, bunching her brunette strands in my fist.

Her hand works my cock just right—not too hard, not too
soft. I let out a harsh breath when it springs from my boxer-briefs and her
tongue barely touches the head. I reach out on my desk with my free hand and
turn up the music on my iPod dock, electronic, heavy bass. I think it’s
Skrillex, but my mind isn’t focused enough to know for sure.

Her eyes glimmer with nothing but desire, and it takes my
entire energy not to fit all of me inside her mouth. She lightly squeezes my
shaft, and a groan penetrates my throat, even as I try to stifle the noise. Her
lips rise, and she plants a delicate kiss on my dick before slowly taking it in
her mouth.
Jesus Christ.
I grip the
chair with one hand, my other still holding back her hair.

She begins skillfully sucking me off. “Right there, Lil,” I
encourage.

My nerves light up, and I clutch her hair harder. Before I
can drown in this pleasure, my door swings open. No knock. No anything. I keep
my hand on her head, alarm clenching my jaw, and she quickly stops giving me a
grade-A blow job.

Her mouth is permanently open in panic, and she scuttles
further underneath my desk.

I have just enough time to roll my chair closer to the desk,
pull up my boxer-briefs, and prepare a verbal onslaught for whatever stupid
fuck just barged in here.

“You need a goddamn assistant,” my father tells me, walking
straight into my office without pause.

I suddenly question the attack I’d planned. Jonathan Hale
would swallow my insults like he does his bourbon. Unflinchingly. Always ready
for more.

“I’m sorry, did we have an appointment?” I ask roughly, not
able to hold back right now, even if I wanted to.

Lily punches my shin, silently telling me to be nice. But
it’s my father’s scowl, the one hardened and cold, that does more damage.

“Don’t be a little shit,” he sneers. “How are you supposed
to take meetings if you don’t have a waiting room with an actual living,
breathing soul outside these doors?” He scans my office, appraising my
bookshelves with scorn. As if they’re not organized correctly.

“Maybe I’m not planning on taking any meetings,” I retort.
“Therefore, I don’t need a waiting room.”

“Sometimes I wonder if one of my fucking nannies dropped you
on your head when you were a kid,” he says.

My childhood “nannies” that he claims he’s banged. All
ten
of them. “No,” I say, “I’m just this
way because of you, Dad.” I flash a bitter smile that my father matches
quickly.

“I came here to discuss your business.” He drags a chair
from the wall over to my desk, positioning it in front of me.

I go rigid, and my eyes flicker to Lily who’s hiding right
below. Her eyes bug, and she holds her legs to her chest. She mouths,
he’s right there?

I don’t affirm her suspicions because it’ll freak her out
more. Instead I watch my dad pick up a plastic
X-Men
action figure that sits beside an array of other characters.
I could laugh at this moment, especially as he moves Sunspot’s arm, but his
curiosity is layered with a dark frown and narrowed eyes. I sense the biting
disapproval even before he speaks.

“You’re a little old for this shit, don’t you think?”
Surprisingly, he sets Sunspot back where he found him.

“I run a comic book business,” I remind him. “I like this
shit.
”

“That doesn’t mean your office should look like an
eleven-year-old’s bedroom.” He shakes his head at the rest of the superhero
paraphernalia. “Your new assistant can redecorate for you.”

“I don’t have the energy to deal with an assistant,” I
refute. I can’t handle interlopers. I’d shred them apart. According to Brian,
my therapist, I drive people away before they have the chance to hurt me.

If I think about how many lies I’ve been fed in my life and
the abandonment of
two
moms, I start
believing he’s right. I have trust issues. But I accepted Connor, a complete
stranger. I welcomed a half-brother who had lied outright to me.

Isn’t that enough?

Why do I need to add more people into my fucking circle?

“Is that it?” I ask my dad. “Because you’re irritating me,
if you haven’t noticed.”

Lily shifts uneasily and tugs my pants. She wants me to calm
down. I’m not going to go drink after this. I may throw something at my dad on
the way out, like a pen. Or at least imagine it. But I won’t drink.

“The assistant is at the bottom of the list,” he says, his
breath smelling of bourbon. “What about this store downstairs?”

Shit. “Superheroes & Scones,” I clarify. “Lily’s running
it.”

“And I’m financing it,” he reminds me. “When is it opening?”
His gaze drifts to the pile of papers on my desk. He grabs the nearest
manuscript, toppling over a mug that’s branded with the
Halway Comics
logo. I lean forward and put it back.

My father’s face literally hardens to fucking stone the
longer he flips through the comic book.

My head spins, trying to think five steps ahead of where
he’s at. But this is a chess game that I’ll always lose. “Lily wants to take
things slow, so we’ll probably open it after she graduates.” Which could be in
a few more years.

And I like that she can hang out downstairs without crowds.
I’m afraid that once we open the store, it’ll be too crazy for her. Like how
it’s been at Lucky’s. Only worse.

Because it’s ours.

My dad scoffs and tosses the comic back on the table.
“That’s a terrible fucking business plan. You’re in the press
now.
You need to capitalize on the
exposure as quickly as you can.”

“She’s a sex addict. It’s not going to be good exposure,” I
say, frustrated. I glance down at Lily, who no longer tugs on my jeans. She
stares faraway at the carpet, her neck red like anxiety is creeping in.

I’m about to tell my dad to get out, but his brutal glare
silences me. “Loren.” He says my name like I’m a complete fucking moron. “When
you’re making something out of nothing, bad press is good press. But when you’ve
already established a reputation, bad press can kill you.” He points at me.
“You have nothing right now. Bad press is what you need. Use it. Don’t be
stupid.”

I just don’t want Lily to feel like she lost out on
something else because of the media. We didn’t expect the attention to last for
this long and to just keep on escalating. At this point, I don’t think it’ll
ever die down. There’s just too much interest in my relationship with her and
my half-brother.

It’s like a tabloid’s wet dream.

“I need more time,” I tell him, trying to find a fucking
excuse. “It’s not ready yet. We still have inventory that needs to arrive—”

“I was just down there. If it’s not already stocked, then
you’re overstocked.” He stands up. “It opens by the end of this month, and if
you don’t set a date then I’ll put an ad in the paper myself, and you’ll just
have to fucking deal with the line outside this building.”

I grip the edge of the table, my teeth aching as I shut my
mouth.
You’re okay.
It’s a dumb pep
talk considering all I want to do is explode…and yeah, a bottle of Jameson
sounds great.

He stops by the door to adjust his tie. “Also, word of
advice. If you want to have blow jobs in your office, you really do need an
assistant.”

What the fuck?

My face falls.

My dad looks at the desk like he can see right through it.
He can’t. “Lily, try not to breathe so heavily next time. You give yourself
away.” With that, he saunters out of my office and out of fucking sight.

Just like my dad to have an exit as dramatic as his
entrance.

“Oh my God,” Lily says with wide eyes, not crawling out yet.
I look down at her splotchy red face. She’s way more embarrassed than me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “We’ve both seen him
come home after a one-night stand before.” If a woman wasn’t leaving with
smudged makeup in the morning, then he was coming inside the house at 10
a.m.—fully clothed in his suit from the previous night.

No shame.

Ever.

My father doesn’t work
that
late unless he’s getting laid.

She doesn’t say anything.

I roll my chair back and dip my head down to meet her gaze.
“Come out.”

She’s immobile. I think I may have to pull her out. Which,
oddly, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to retrieve my girlfriend from under
a desk.

I go to raise my jeans up to my waist, and this stirs her
from her hiding place. “No, I’ll finish you,” she tells me, crawling towards my
lap.

 
My stomach suddenly
sinks. I know I have to reject her. She’s too anxious—and sex shouldn’t be used
to demolish those hard-hitting feelings. She has to deal. When she places her
palms on my knees, I say, “No, not this time, Lil.” I scoop her hands and tuck
them back to her chest. Then I pull up my jeans, zipped and buttoned to
solidify my choice.

Still on her knees, her shoulders sag. She looks lost. I
lift her onto my lap, and she places a leg on either side of the chair,
straddling me.
Christ.
I don’t want
to keep rejecting her, but I also selfishly don’t want to move my girlfriend.

Instead of bringing up sex, she surprisingly veers into
another direction. “About Superheroes & Scones…” she trails off, not able
to find the words. She places her hand on my chest, no happier than she was on
the ground.

The store has been a safe place for Lily away from the
house, and we both know if it opens, that safe place ends.

“We can wait,” I offer. Her despondent gaze is really
fucking scaring me. “I can convince—”

“No,” she interrupts, but my muscles keep tightening. “He’s
right. We should open it soon.” I know she doesn’t believe that. “I’ll hire a
general manager and just keep in contact through phone and texts, so I know
what’s going on…”

“Lily,” I say her name but I can’t say anything else. My
lungs constrict, and when I look at her, all I see is a girl trapped in her own
world.

Hell, she’s trapped in her own fucking body. She just needs
time, but no one seems to be giving it to her.

She actually turns her head to look at the space underneath
the desk, like she’s contemplating returning.
Don’t you fucking dare crawl back there, Lil
.

Slowly, she climbs off my lap. “I’m going to go count the
inventory,” she says in this really soft voice, all her humor gone. My biggest
fear barrels into me. Losing her.

“No you’re not,” I snap. “You’re going to stay here and help
me with this pile of shit.” I wave at my desk, motioning to the comics. She
considers this like it’s a suggestion. It’s not. I don’t trust her to be alone
right now.