Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters #2)

by Krista Ritchie

“Daisy…” My long legs touch his strong ones. My hip bones press into his pelvis, a little shorter than him since he’s six-three to my five-eleven. I become keenly aware of his flexed muscles and dark eyes that set on me. It’s an R-rated hug, if there can be one. And yet, he’s not hard. He’s just tense, like he’s waiting for me to draw away.

Instead of hugging me back, he sets a single hand on my head, hesitating. I sigh. Well t...

His dark eyes dance over my features. He stays quiet for a long time, both of us unmoving from this position. It’s dangerous to be like this after the garage incident, but I think we’re equally attracted to that danger.

“You don’t fucking nap,” he says. “I shut my eyes this afternoon. What do you call that?” “Shutting your fucking eyes,” he deadpans. A smile breaks through my face.

I laugh, and then I lean forward and rest my cheek against his chest. I close my eyes, and his body stiffens again. He’s warm. I listen to the faint sound of his heart for a second, and I swear it speeds. But maybe that’s just me hoping that I have some sort of effect on Ryke Meadows.

“Sleeping,” I say with a smile. “When did I become your fucking pillow?” he asks lightly. “Shhh,” I whisper, “it’s safe here.”

Just when I anticipate Ryke drawing away from me, he surprises me and kisses the top of my head. But it lasts only a second before his hands fall.

we all know it’s a load of—” “Shit,” I finish. “Bullshit.” I mock gasp. “Fucking bullshit.” He stares at me with harshness that would intimidate most people. But I don’t back down. My eyes stay locked on his piercing ones, and then his lips slowly rise. “When did your mouth get so fucking dirty, Calloway?” he asks. “The moment I became friends with you.”

“You’re supposed to be my pillow, not my bodyguard,” I remind him.

“Watch me,” I tell Daisy as I stand by her bedroom door. I jiggle the handle. “Locked.” She yawns, sitting on her bed, her legs tucked to her chest. Her eyes are deceivingly at ease, but her tense shoulders say otherwise. I do the same fucking thing every night.

“Dais,” I say, coming around to her side of the bed. “I just fucking checked there.”

Maybe it’s a good thing we’ll be separated. Connor and my brother think it’s fucking weird that we both haven’t dated in four months, and I guess we’ll finally have the opportunity to change that.

We’re no longer a fucking inch or so apart. Her legs intertwine with mine like it’s the most natural position. She turns, her back against my chest, my arm around her waist, my cock pressing on her ass, but she probably doesn’t hone in on this last fact as much as me.

Do you want to know the kind of restraint it takes to be in this fucking position with this fucking girl almost every fucking night without doing one fucking thing? More control than I even realized I had.

Daisy didn’t look mortified when she found out. I forgot that she’s not Lily. She’s a lot less ashamed and a lot more brazen and probably five times as crazy. She just told me that if she does it again, I need to leave her bed immediately so she doesn’t accidentally rape me.

Fucking Christ. I wish I was so deep inside of her right now. Her back arches. “Ryke!” At least she thinks I am.

I climb off the bed, my erection trying to burst through my fucking pants.

“I…can’t…” she moans. See, even in her fucking sleep, she knows it’s wrong. So there we go. “Ryke…Ryke…” She cries again, feminine, high-pitched, and I lose it for a second time. “Ryke, ahhh!” I have to enter the fucking bathroom before I come right here.

I used to make fun of Connor for masturbating like crazy when Rose wouldn’t give up her virginity, and here I am, going through the same thing. The difference: there’s no endgame for me. I don’t have the girl at the finish. I’m not chasing after her. I’m just helping her, and when that’s done, we’re both supposed to move on.

I lick my lips and glare at the wall. Why the fuck do you have to picture her? Anyone else. Goddammit, anyone fucking else.

I keep flipping, and then I land on a seven-page spread. Of Daisy. In black-laced lingerie.

Her smoky-shadowed eyes only say come fuck me, which isn’t helping. “Fucking A.” Is the world against me tonight or what?

It’s an image that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let go. I am so wound up, needing this release fucking hours prior to now. I hear her cries in my ears.

All of it drives me to a new, intense place, giving me the biggest head rush of my life. I come. If a simple fucking image is this good, it makes me wonder what the real fucking thing would be like. Can’t happen. Yeah, I know.

Check flight departure. Call my sisters to say goodbye. Have Mikey take me to the airport. Then I’m gone. I can do this.

“You’re too fucking slow for me,” he says. “Is that a Ryke Meadows test?” I ask. “You only like the ones who can swallow quickly?” I break into a grin, and his brows rise. “What do you know about swallowing?” I shrug. “I know I don’t mind it.”

“I think we should both start dating again,” he suddenly says. I move a little faster, collecting a pile of clothes and trying to shove them into a drawer at the same time. I think we should both start dating again. What did I expect to happen? This wasn’t going to end with us holding hands.

“Stop fucking moving for a second,” he says roughly. I slow down and concentrate on folding a sweater with block letters that reads: Forever Young. “If that’s what you want.” I shrug. “I can start dating again, I guess.”

“No, I get it,” I say with a nod. “We both used to date a lot, and you’ve stopped because of me. It’s not fair to you.” All because I’ve been an emotional train wreck at night. Now that he has a month apart from me—no longer sleeping in my bed—it makes sense that he’d want to have sex. He finally has the chance to do it.

“So I should find a number seven then?” I ask him. “Maybe he’ll last longer than five minutes.” I try to put on a smile, but it disappears pretty quickly. I can’t tell what Ryke is thinking. His features are hard as a rock. Brooding like normal. He stands up and takes a couple steps towards me.

I shouldn’t say it, but it leaves my lips before I can take back the words, “You could be my number seven.” “Daisy…” He shoots me a look.

My stomach twists. “You’re really okay with me fucking another guy?” I imagine him with someone else, and it makes me physically ill. I don’t want him to date another girl, and I know it’s wrong of me to feel that way, but how do I change these emotions? How do I let them go? Maybe he’s right. Maybe we do have to date other people to get over this.

“It doesn’t matter what I fucking feel,” he says. “I’m seven years older than you.” “You just turned twenty-five a week and a half ago.” He has literally only been seven years older for four months. But once my birthday arrives in February, he’s going to be all, I’m six years older than you with the same I’m a fucking...

“Really? I should file a complaint to the woman who made me seven years younger than you. What a horrible, horrible thing.” He almost smiles.

He abruptly reaches out and draws me to his chest. He’s hugging me. Willingly. But this feels more like a goodbye than anything else. A pain ripples through my body.

My free time. I feel it slipping between my fingers. I feel the exhaustion pummeling me tenfold. I needed a break. I haven’t had one in months. I dreamed of that leisure time in a beautiful country. This was supposed to be it. Glorified independence with a cherry on top.

“Daisy,” Ryke says, coming to my side. He gives me a look like speak the fuck up.

Since her going away party, I’ve been on the same rocky fucking road with my brother whenever her name is mentioned. It’s not different. It’s the fucking same shit over and over again. I’m used to it by now.

“Just get your ass to the pull-up bar.” Lo stretches his arms. “Hey, don’t talk about his ass like that.” “You’re making my first love jealous,” Connor banters, heading to the bar with me. I’ve become used to their flirty fucking banter. They’re best friends. They’ve lived together for almost two years. They have a much better relationship with each other than I do with either of them individually. Am I fucking jealous? Maybe a little.

“The entire world doesn’t have to love me,” he says, picking up his water again. “Only the ones that matter.” “That’s cute. Did you write that in your diary this morning?” “No, I read it from yours,” he banters.

“When were you thinking of leaving for rehab?” Lo shrugs. “Maybe this week since Ryke is going to California. It just seemed like a good time.” A lump lodges in my fucking throat. It’s not a good time. I want to be around him while he’s in rehab. I don’t like knowing that he’ll be separated for that long from Lily, from me and Connor, from the ones that truly love him.

“There are solutions to everything. You just have to think to find them. Such hard work.”

Connor’s a big peacemaker in our circle of friends. He may like to irritate me on purpose, but when everyone starts fighting, he’s the one who calms people down. So I can understand Lo wanting him to come along.

Connor looks pissed. Rose has been putting a serious fucking wall up between them lately. But they have a strange relationship already, filled with mind games that I can’t keep up with.

There’s no way I wouldn’t bring Connor and Lo with me. That’s his wife and his fiancée. I’m just the manual fucking labor.

This causes her to smile again. It’s cute. All of it. But it’s also annoying the hell out of me because I think of Daisy. Normally she’d be here too. Normally she’d be standing over my shoulder, peering at the car and helping me out.

The couples are paired off, and I’m left alone this time.

We’re all just strange pieces in the world. And the half that usually connects with me is thousands of miles away, in Paris.

I wonder if that’s how we are together—mismatched, uneven. Or maybe he’s the mustard to my ketchup. Lame but maybe perfect for us.

The look he’s giving her—it’s filled with I want you and you’re beautiful. If that’s not a sign that he’s moved on, I don’t know what is.