He’s right of course. My mind seems to calm, but my body doesn’t follow just yet. My legs feel gooey, and my shoulders shake a little, on edge.
The words leave my lips before I can stop them, “Can I give you a blow job?”
“No,” he deadpans.
I raise my hands. “You’re right. You’re so right. Blow jobs are so ‘89.”
“Let’s not go that far.” He smiles softly, and I don’t know why, but tears prick my eyes. I’m such a sap. And there goes that smile, fading away. “Lil…”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I shouldn’t have asked. Can we do take-backs?”
“Sure,” he says. “And how about we wait in here for a while, see if we piss off Brett enough that he’ll ditch us for Ryke or Rose?”
“I like that idea.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “And maybe a virus will infect everyone, turning them into zombies, and when we leave the bathroom, the bookstore will be completely deserted.”
“Nice,” he says, “but I’d rather not be inserted into the plot of 28 Days Later.”
Damn. He’s good.
“I love you,” I suddenly say. I mean it. Because who else would stay in a bookstore bathroom with me, just to hide out for a little while.
Definitely not Rose. Maybe Daisy. Ryke would rather die, I’m sure. And Connor can never be added into any equation without hurting my head.
So that leaves Lo. Just Lo.
{ 27 }
0 years : 08 months
April
LILY CALLOWAY
“Did it hurt? Did you like it? Have you done it again?” My questions pour forth like a broken dam. This isn’t the first time I’ve asked Rose, but she never provides details, so I’ve waited until we could talk alone. But we haven’t had much of a chance since the Alps vacation, a trip planned by production. I thought I’d squeeze some conversations in on the plane ride home, but she sat with Connor.
The biggest event of the trip, in my opinion, was Rose losing her virginity.
Rose hisses at me, “Lower your voice.”
Okay, so we’re technically not alone. Production wanted another group segment, so we’ve gathered everyone together for an evening of bowling. When Rose went to pick her bowling ball, I followed her to the rack.
The others congregate behind our lane in the plastic swivel chairs, out of earshot. But Savannah hovers beside the rack, pointing her camera right at us. Even so, Scott has refused to air anything about Rose and Connor sleeping together. At first I thought he didn’t want to come across like the loser on television, but Rose said that they just want to perpetuate her “virgin” label for marketing.
“Do you not want to talk to me about it?” I ask.
“It’s not that.” Her lips purse while she scans the colorful bowling balls. “I just hate that Scott is taking advantage of a throwaway comment I made in an interview about being repulsed by bowling.”
Germs. Rose grew out of the obsessive compulsive trait when we were little, but the intensity of the cameras and lack of privacy has reignited some of her old habits. She has a strict policy on hygiene, and sticking her fingers in three holes that were once occupied by sweaty, unidentified hands kind of breaks it.
“Daisy will probably roll the ball granny-style,” I say.
“Just copy her technique.”
She ponders this for a second, and her expression softens a fraction. “Connor and I have had sex again.”
I grin, and I swear she tries so hard not to. “Was it everything you thought it would be?” I ask.
“Better…different, but better.” She stares faraway, a smile playing at her lips. I try to imprint the image. My sister—swooning. Her glow flashes away all at once, replaced by ice. “Since when do you want to talk about sex?”
True. I’m usually tight-lipped and rosy red about the subject. “I’m trying to be better about it,” I admit, “and shockingly, it’s easier talking about someone else’s sex life.”
“Not shocking,” she refutes and squats like a lady to grab the bowling ball on the middle rack. Her blouse shifts, and I notice a red bite mark on her shoulder.
“Ohmygod,” I slur.
“What?” She straightens up quickly in alarm. “What is it?”
“He bites you,” I whisper, my surprise filling my face. She immediately presses her hand to my mouth, silencing me. I never pegged Connor to be rough. I thought he was the sweet, gentle type. Like a friendly giant.