Ryke always tries to drive the Audi when he’s with Lo. Really, his love and obsession with the two-door car is grounds for cheating on his silver Infinity.
This time, instead of asking Lo to drive, Ryke climbs in the backseat with Daisy, ahead of us. He’d rather take care of his girlfriend than drive a cool car. If I was allowed on social media, I’d document this moment and upload it, literal cute proof that Raisy is meant to be.
Say that was me in Daisy’s position, Ryke wouldn’t crawl in the backseat on my account. In fact, he’d beg Lo to drive so he didn’t have to withstand my moaning and groaning. Our families’ publicists can’t see how useful this evidence is against the three-way rumors.
Lo lets out a short, amused laugh. “Ryke has to be dying.”
I have a feeling this isn’t about the car. Since Daisy is on her period, Ryke probably hasn’t had any action in a while. “He went four months without sex,” I remind Lo. “This has to be easy.”
“So easy that he’s most likely jerking off, counting the days until he can get laid again.”
I don’t know.
Ryke is a guy, but for some reason, I got the impression that he’d rather Daisy have periods than none at all.
“You know that I can’t have sex for weeks after I give birth, right?” I suddenly blurt out. I never thought it’d be an issue with him, but I forgot that he has needs—ones I’ve built to extreme levels. Ryke even said it: Lo fucks the most out of all the guys.
And I’m going to take that away from him.
Lo says quickly, “I know, Lil.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and guides me towards the Audi. And then his lips nestle against my neck and he groans, a not so good one. “Your hair smells like Rose.”
“I think it’s the stuff in the basket she gave me.”
He kisses my temple. “I’m burning that shit.”
“It was a present.”
He grimaces. “Fine, whatever. It can stay as decoration.”
I crane my neck over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, and I notice his muscles have unwound a lot more.
“Lily.”
“Yeah?”
“Move faster.” He pats my ass, and my breath hitches. I’ve stopped about ten feet from his car. With this incentive, I quicken my pace. And the reality of where we’re headed sets in.
To Jonathan Hale’s we go.
*
“He changed the location to the country club,” Lo tells us as he drives out of our gated neighborhood. Oh. So to Jonathan Hale’s we don’t go?
Lo passes me his iPod that’s connected to the stereo system. This is the best part of being the side passenger. I have complete control over the music. That and I’m in touching distance of Loren Hale.
I cross my legs on the black leather seat and glance back at Daisy, her head on Ryke’s lap while she curls in a ball. “Theories?” she asks everyone about what’s going to happen with Jonathan.
I scroll through the iPod. “I think he’s just lonely.”
Lo taps the steering wheel. “He says it’s important.”
“He thinks brunch and golf is fucking important,” Ryke says roughly, his arm stretches along the black leather seat. It looks like he’s giving the Audi a little hug. His eyes suddenly land on me. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Can’t a person smile at you?” I say.
“No,” he deadpans.
I flip my hair at him as I turn around, feeling cooler than I know I look, and I find my favorite song in the whole wide universe of brilliant tunes. The moment the electronic beats start blaring through the speakers, I turn the volume way up. It’s the only way to listen to Skrillex’s “Bangarang.”
Lo’s lips rise the moment he hears the song, as though memories and sentiments flood him. We’ve had good bedroom dance parties to this one. And epic sex against the wall.
Ryke groans while I start head-bobbing and shoulder dancing. If I wasn’t in a car, I’d be grinding up on Lo. This song deserves some body contact.
“This song fucking sucks,” Ryke declares.
I immediately freeze, and my jaw drops.
With one hand on the wheel, Lo uses his free one to shoot Ryke the middle finger. Ha! I stick my tongue out at him, a very immature slight, but I feel younger again with Lo. Like when we were teenagers, drowning out everything else.
Daisy is laughing so hard, her medicine probably kicking in.
Ryke says, “If your kid inherits your musical taste, I’m going to fucking rip my hair out.”