“Out of curiosity,” she says, not fixing her unkempt hair, “where do you pick up girls?”
Ryke glances at his brother, just recognizing that we’re in the room with him. I know what it feels like to be so magnetized by someone that you forget about your surroundings.
My lips part at a sudden realization.
Ryke may be actually falling for my sister.
A girl who turns seventeen next month.
It’s a feeling, but one I sense deep in my bones like I did Connor and Rose.
I can’t tell Lo about my suspicions. Nothing good will come of that.
“You’re always curious,” Ryke answers vaguely. Still, he has trouble censoring himself. “I meet people at the gym or really anywhere I f**king go out.”
“Have you dated a fan?” she asks.
Lo interjects, “Yeah he has. Twice so far. And they were his age.”
Ryke stares at the ground, not saying a word. I can’t read his dark expression either.
“Cool,” Daisy says, nodding a couple times. “I bet they were sweet. I’ve considered dating a fan, but most of mine are too old.”
“Like twenty-three?” Lo wonders, his voice biting. I wince. That’s Ryke’s age.
“No, more like thirty-five.”
I’m pretty sure Daisy is picking up all the hints. She’s just dismissing them with ease.
I hold onto Lo’s arm. He’s at such a good place with Ryke. I don’t want that to change because of my little sister. Maybe, one day, it’ll have to, but not now.
“You should consider dating someone around your age, Dais,” Ryke says pointblank.
“I have,” she says, heading towards the door. “It hasn’t been anything special.” With this, she leaves. My eyes meet the camera lens that remains pointed at me. Jeez.
“She likes you way too much,” Lo says.
“Look, I’m trying to shut her down without hurting her f**king feelings,” Ryke retorts. “But she’s my friend. I’m not going to push her away completely.”
“Here’s a tip: maybe you shouldn’t talk about jacking off in front of her.” Lo crosses his arms. “Is it that f**king hard?”
“For me, it is.”
Lo stares at him for a long minute. I anticipate something really nasty. He says, “I bet your teachers hated you in high school.” That wasn’t so bad.
Ryke lets out a laugh. “I got detention almost every day for saying f**k. So yeah, they weren’t too fond of me.”
I peek past Lo’s shoulder to scrutinize the showers again. “They’re huge.”
“It’ll be okay,” Lo reassures me, his hands lowering to my hips.
I hope so, but everything the production company has setup feels like drama bait.
We’re bound to feed into it.
14
0 years : 05 months
January
LOREN HALE
“This is ridiculous.” I flip through a five page script in disbelief. As soon as we arrived at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Scott handed me what I thought was a museum pamphlet. Turns out production wants Lily to talk and act a certain way. Most of which is crude.
Lily leans over my arm and gasps as she reads a line. “I can’t say that.”
I skim the paper and see where she’s concerned.
Lily stares into Loren’s eyes with longing and carnal desire.
Lily: I remember how you tasted last night. I can’t wait to taste you again.
“Jesus Christ,” I curse. “This is like a bad p**n o.” I scan the small crowd, hoping it won’t grow into a larger one later today. Quickly, I find Scott speaking in hushed tones to Brett, who has a camera attached to his chest.
I take Lily’s hand and lead her over to the twenty-eight-year-old dipshit. As soon as we approach, he turns and I chuck his five-page script at his body. It hits his chest with barely a sound and then flops to the floor. “We’re not reading off a script,” I snap.
Scott Van Wright has found every way to grate on me in the shortest amount of time. First off—he lives with us. No one f**king invited him to permanently crash upstairs. Secondly, I can’t stand to look at his dirty blond hair, his smug face, and those douchebag tailored pants. He’s like the anti-Connor. An arrogant prick who one-ups you and screams about it at the top of his lungs.
Thirdly (and most importantly) he antagonizes my girlfriend.
Yesterday he tried to corner Lily to ask her questions about her old hookups. We’re not even a month in with the cameras. That’s not f**king okay. I’m trying to stay positive, but shit like this is why I opt for a quiet bar and a bottle of Macallan.
“Then tell your girlfriend to speak up,” Scott replies smoothly, not even breaking a sweat. “She’s so quiet that she literally disappears in the background. We’re making a show around a sex addict, not a wallflower.”
“I’m standing right here,” Lily says before I can chew him out. “You can talk to me.”
His eyes never waver from mine. I could seriously deck him in the face, but I rarely fight with my fists.
“While the cameras are rolling, you both need to stop acting like I’m the producer of the show,” he says, completely ignoring the issue.
“Right,” I say. “You’re Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” It’s nothing but a lie. Just scripted drama. Scott’s creating a fake love triangle between himself, Connor and Rose. His motives are all over the place.
“Exactly,” he says, unbuttoning one button on his white shirt. So what—viewers can see his muscles? This guy—
“Do you think Rose and Connor will make it today?” Scott smiles, like we’re friends. Lily instinctively checks the camera. The red light is on.
Scott already knows the answer to his question. GBA, the network airing Princesses of Philly, wanted more scenes with Lily and me, alone, so they planned a trip to the museum with just us. And apparently Scott. I have a strong suspicion he’s just tagging along to piss us off.
My eyes narrow in contempt, and Lily squeezes my hand to help calm me.
Scott grins wider. “How’s sobriety, Loren? Are you doing okay?”
My blood boils, my glare intensifying. “No, I’m not doing great. I just feel sorry for you, man. For six months, you’re going to watch us drive our expensive cars, attend our exclusive parties, and fly our private jets. And when it’s all over, you’ll go home to your one-bedroom apartment in LA and realize that you’ll never have our lifestyle. You’ll never amount to anything other than a second-rate producer of a garbage reality show.” I touch my chest. “That just makes me feel so f**king sad for you.”
Scott’s smile and pretenses vanish in an instant. “You’re a dick.”
“You’re a slimy prick,” I refute. “Don’t ever ask me about my sobriety again.”
Lily follows me as I storm off towards one of the exhibits in the back, as far away from Scott as I can get.
“He’s trying to provoke us,” she reminds me.
A pressure weighs on my chest. My left hand shakes. “Well it’s working,” I say under my breath. This rabid hate simmers underneath my skin. I just want a sip of alcohol. Anything. God, drinking is so much better than dealing with this bullshit.
“I love you,” she says, her eyes tracing my features quickly.
I take a deep breath. I love you too. The words stick to my throat. Instead of speaking, I rest an arm along her back and hug her to my side.