Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters #2)

by Krista Ritchie

I wanted to get out of there. I couldn’t stand talking about Loren. I always knew I had a half-brother. It wasn’t fucking hard to deduce that the kid of Jonathan Hale would also be related to me. We shared a fucking father. But my dad and mom never said it outright until I was fifteen. After my mom bitched about that “bastard” kid, I asked my dad to elaborate.

“Why choose him?” I asked. “Why isn’t Loren the one being hidden?” You love him more.

He’s not running towards shit. My brother—he’s always running away.

His nose flares, and his cheekbones cut brutally sharp. I remember meeting him for the very first time. It was about three years ago.

“You can’t go easy on me just once?” Lo asks, pushing the longer strands of his light brown hair off his forehead. The sides are trimmed short. “If I slowed down, we would have been walking.” Lo rolls his eyes and scowls. He’s been in a bad place for a few months, and this run was supposed to release some of the tension. But it’s not helping.

“What do you need?” I ask him seriously. “A fucking glass of whiskey. One ice cube. Think you can do that for me, big bro?” I glare. I hate the way he calls me bro. It’s with fucking scorn. I can count on my hand the amount of times he’s called me “brother” with affection or admiration. But he usually acts like I don’t deserve the title yet. Maybe I don’t.

“I’ll keep saying it then, just to irritate the fuck out of you.” What else are big brothers for?

I internally cringe. I was selfish for so many fucking years. I didn’t give a fuck about him. I don’t want to be that guy again.

little brother.” I don’t say it with scorn. I never do. And I never will.

“Bad news, I don’t give a fuck about your packing,” he says roughly. “I just give a fuck about you.” He reaches across my chest to grab a pill bottle off my nightstand. His muscles constrict as he accidentally brushes against my boobs. Neither of us announces the brief touch, but the tension has turned a corner, down onto Don’t Go There Lane.

You know that theory I have about friends not being forever...or even for a while? Well, every theory has an exception. Ryke is mine.

As I watched each friend call me a sex-addict-in-training and a media whore, stabbing me routinely in the heart, Ryke was the one who pulled out the blades. He even shielded me from them.

He’s like my wolf—dangerous, alluring and protective—but I can never get close enou...

He’s my last real friend. But I know that’s not entirely true. He’s the only ...

“Hyperactive, fearless, crazy, and probably the happiest unhappy girl I’ve ever met.”

I bounce a little, about to jostle the mattress, but he side-swipes my calves quickly. I fall on my back, smiling big as I turn on my side towards him. It fades the moment he tosses the pill bottle at my face. It hits me square in the forehead and thuds to the comforter. He’s also an asshole.

Ryke glares. “Not sleeping isn’t the fucking solution, Daisy.” “What’s a better one?” I ask seriously. I am tired, and I realize today, like most days, will be fueled by energy drinks and endorphin boosts in the form of diet pills. Yippee.

“For us to have any kind of friendship, you can’t pretend with me. I’ve been involved in lies most of my fucking life, and it’s not something I’m particularly fond of. So you can cut the I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m little and naïve bullshit. I don’t play that game. I never will.”

In order to be his friend, I couldn’t save face. I had to be me.

So far, I’ve kept my word. No lies. And in turn, I’ve opened up more to Ryke than I have to anyone else. Plus, he’s been the only one here long enough to listen.

“Are you worried about going to Paris alone?” he asks me. “You haven’t slept by yourself in four months.” “I can’t keep you forever, can I? Like a miniature Ryke Meadows carry-on or pocket-sized version?” I try hard not to smile at this. “I’m not a fucking teddy bear.” I gasp. “Really? I thought you were.” He chucks a pillow at my face. I smile so hard. He loves throwing things.

I trace his features quickly. He’s unshaven, so he looks a little older than twenty-five, his actual age. And his brows do this thing where they furrow hard, like he’s in a bad mood. But really, he’s just brooding.

It’s his normal expression, one that’s insanely attractive in this possessive—I will protect you even if it fucking kills me—quality that I didn’t think I would like until I met him.

A friendship built from three years of non-fucking. Of talking and laughing and yes, maybe a little bit of flirting. And below that. There is only need.

I didn’t realize it was there—that need—until the nightmares of my dreams became the nightmares of my life. And he’s the kind of guy who wants to slay all those monsters for me. Too bad he can’t get to the ones in my head. Even if he tries.

He looks kinda like someone you’d dream about waking up next to but never really think you would.

Despite this darkness that often swirls in his eyes, there’s a hardness along his jaw that’s dangerous, unapproachable, something that instantly hypnotizes me.

I can’t look away. Even thoug...

His eyes narrow with each ticking second. “Don’t look at me like that, Daisy.” “I’m not looking at you like anything.” “I can tell when someone’s attract...

“How?” I want that power that he has. I want to know if he finds me desirable. But maybe he never will. His gaze falls to my shirt that reveals a little bit of my stomach. He inhales deeply, and something switches in his eyes, a look that says you’re fucking beautiful. I want to touch you. ...

And then his eyes return to mine again, and they’re hard once more. “That’s the look you were giving me, sweetheart.”

His lips twitch into an almost-smile. And almost-smiles from Ryke are practically grins. I’ll take ‘em.

So his warm skin heats my cheeks, and I feel his muscles constrict. I look up and he stares down. One of us has to step back first, but we both stay rooted.

“My mom almost caught you,” I tell him. “Good,” he says. “Then she can call me a ‘disrespectful degenerate’ to my face.” Yeah, she said that the last time she was here. Ryke was hiding in the bathroom then too, and he heard every insult.

“Hey, I stuck up for you then and before that, and before that.” “No offense,” he says, “but your mom really doesn’t fucking care about your opinions on anything.”

I take it gratefully, and we both brush our teeth at the same time, pretending not to look at each other through the mirror, even when we do. It’s like we’re a couple. But we’re not. And we never can be.

Every morning is about the same. Wake up in Daisy’s bed. Try to suppress a horrible fucking boner. Take a shower. Run with my brother. Take another shower. Try my absolute fucking best to stroke my cock without thinking of her long legs and that gorgeous fucking smile. Usually I succeed. Sometimes I don’t. I’m only fucking human.

It’s cute—all of them living together. My brother, his girlfriend, Rose and her husband. I’ve shared a house with them before, and it’s not something I’d repeat. For however much I love my brother, I fucking need space from him sometimes. He likes to test my tolerance.

I never want to hit Lo. It’s a line that I fear crossing on a weekly basis.

“Hey, Betty Crocker,” I say, setting my helmet on the breakfast table. “Where’s your apron?” Lo flashes a dry smile. “Wherever your watch is.” His eyes flicker back to the eggs. “You’re an hour late.”

“My text was the best, wasn’t it?” Connor asks as he smiles into his sip of water. I restrain the urge to roll my fucking eyes. “Your wife’s was better.” “Impossible.” “She said she was going to feed my balls to Sadie.”

“We were talking,” Lo says, motioning from his chest to Connor. Connor innocently beats the eggs. “You were talking?” I repeat, staring between them. “Well fuck me then. I didn’t know either of you could talk.” Lo ignores my sarcasm and cocks his head. “We just think it’s weird.”

“Why compliment his intelligence?” I ask my brother. “Isn’t it enough that everyone has to stare at his framed Mensa certificate in the living room?” It’s also next to his wife’s. Both of them are annoyingly intelligent.

Fuck, he can’t know, can he? My heart starts pounding. How would he find out that I’m sleeping in Daisy’s bed? He wouldn’t. I’m being fucking paranoid. This is information that I never want to share with him.

“We think it’s weird that you haven’t brought a girl around in a long time.” I frown. That’s what this is about? “So?” Lo shifts his weight, confusion blanketing him. “So…you used to date someone new every week.”

And then I turn my back to them and cap the orange juice slowly. I’m lying to my brother right now. It feels like I’m walking over burning coals. I hate lying to him, and I’ve done it before. Each time never gets easier. I can see the thick fog I’ve created, the one that clouds my relationship with Lo.

I lie to protect Daisy. To protect Lo. I lie because it’s going to hurt less than the truth. And when the truth does come out, I want to make sure that Lo is strong enough to bear it. Right now, he’s not even fucking close.

“It’s just odd. You’re what I would call a serial dater, as is Daisy, and since she graduated and moved into your apartment complex, no one has seen either of you with someone else.”

We’ve been through this for over two years. And he still looks at me like I’m one second from betraying him, like I’m going to choose a girl over him, like I’m going to cross a big fucking line that will destroy the relationships that matter to me.

I wouldn’t. I fucking won’t. Because at the end of the day, if Daisy and I got together, if something happened and we broke up, I’d lose my brother. She’s like his little sister.