A couple seconds pass, the silent, awkwardness in the room disturbs me. I still lie on the couch, afraid to uncross my legs at the current moment.
“Can you talk?” I ask, tempted to just burrow in this couch like a naked mole rat and never return to see daylight.
“Sure,” he says roughly, which makes me a little scared of what comes next. “We should talk about how I now have to wait for your boyfriend to jerk off before we can go to the gym.”
I cringe and let my other hand fall from my face. “Doesn’t it skeeve you out that you’re talking about your brother jerking off?”
He rolls his eyes and throws another pillow at me. Seriously annoying. Mood killer. I brighten. It’s working, and I don’t even think Ryke meant to be my sexual repellant.
“Who instigated that?” He gestures to the couch. “You or him?”
“It was mutual,” I reply defensively.
He opens his mouth and then closes it quickly, as though trying to choose the right words. That doesn’t happen that often. Ryke speaks on impulse with me. Finally he lands on this: “Are you okay?”
My lips part, not able to say anything, half out of shock.
“Don’t look so fucking surprised,” he says. “I care about you. It’s just…Lo has been in a bad place. All my concern has been directed towards him for a while.”
“Mine too.” Slowly, I sit up and hug one of the pillows to my chest, able to sit Indian style well enough. It’s not so bad. “I’m really worried about him.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “He told me that he’s going out west with you and Connor, on a road trip, instead of going to rehab.” When he uttered those words, I started to cry. Anytime we’re separated it feels like someone has ripped a piece of me away, but this time, the tears were more from the shock of the situation. The longer we sat and discussed it, the more it felt right.
I hope that when he returns he’ll be in a much better place, enough to handle more news. I’m not even sure if keeping this secret will be easier or harder with him absent.
“I didn’t think rehab was a smart choice,” Ryke says. “Not with the press. I don’t think he can deal with more attention from the media.”
“I know,” I say, remembering every headline about his hospital trip. It’s bad enough that he broke his sobriety and landed there, but to have the whole nation in on it—it’s ten times worse. It made his recovery harder, and it was one reason why he drank again afterwards. He even told me so. “Thanks for that.” I look to Ryke. “For offering an alternative.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. I saw the relief in Lo’s eyes when he told me about this pseudo-rehab away from cameras and the press.
Ryke takes a seat beside my feet, and he runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “Do you miss public sex or something?”
“Huh?” I frown at the quick subject change and tense at the actual topic.
“You were practically fucking in the living room,” he says, keeping eye contact with me. Which makes the awkwardness amplify by about ten notches. “Is it because you miss it? The public sex, I mean.”
I sometimes forget that Ryke is comfortable by most things. “Yeah…I miss it a lot,” I lie. The truth: Lo and I had sex in the pool a few weeks ago while Connor and Rose spent a long weekend in London.
“You know that you shouldn’t be ashamed of liking it. It’s not wrong,” he tells me. This is definitely a Ryke Meadows ploy to make me comfortable.
My cheeks heat. Half out of embarrassment and the other half out of fear. This is not how I want Ryke to discover my “extra sex” secret. He can learn the same way as Rose, when I eventually tell him that I’m pregnant.
“Not that this makes me a sex addict,” he prefaces, “but I prefer to have sex in places besides a bed.”
I perk up, more interested. I knew it. All of those bathroom breaks with Melissa during a Cancun trip years ago suddenly make more sense. He even did it on the plane. It’s very rare for me to find someone who enjoys these things. Maybe because I just don’t talk about sex all that much.
“Like where?” I ask.
“I’ve fucked all over,” he says conversationally. I must admit, he has a gift in speaking without restraint or shame. It’s like he owns who he is to the fullest degree.
I wish I could be like that about sex. But I think it’s a little different being a girl.