Kiss the Sky

Loren is a recovering alcoholic. Lily is working on her sex addiction. They’re at a good stasis, but they can’t live alone since isolation is what amplified their addictions in the first place. So they’re here. With us.

And it’s about as awkward as it seems

With the cameras around I thought they might be more discreet, but the opposite has happened. Loren has taken PDA to a whole new level.

Some tabloids believe Loren and Lily are only engaged to repair my sister’s tarnished image as a sex addict, so Loren sticks his tongue down her throat (on camera), to give the world the middle finger for doubting their love. He really doesn’t care what the public thinks at this point.

But I do.

It’s why I have the cameras around in the first place.

Before Lily escapes Loren’s hold completely, he draws her back to his chest and playfully bites her shoulder. She fidgets with a goofy smile and slaps him on the bicep. His bites turn into kisses.

And both cameras spin off me and zoom in on them.

I don’t mind at all. Lily is wearing a signature Calloway Couture piece that viewers at home may like—a plum lacy skirt with a champagne blouse (untucked thanks to Lo’s fondling). She’s usually in leggings and Loren’s baggy shirts without a bra, so she looks slightly uncomfortable in the outfit, but I know she’s trying hard to make things right.

I tap on the faucet with my wrist, and Loren tears his gaze from Lily to see the red sauce that washes off my palms.

“Whose heart did you rip out this time?”

Scott Van Wright. I wish. “Co

Co

My eyes narrow. Oh, he wishes.

 “When is the psychic coming?” Lily perks up, combing her fingers anxiously through her hair, and she shifts as if her body doesn’t fit her quite right. From behind her, Loren tangles his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. She immediately relaxes into him.

His presence is a kind of reassurance that brightens her whole being. If she didn’t have Loren, I’d imagine she’d be on street corners, sleeping with random guys to satisfy her sexual compulsions. I’m more grateful that he’s here, helping her, than I’ll ever let on.

“She should be arriving soon.” I use extra hand soap and scrub beneath my nails.

Co

“It’s two hours,” I remind him, “and you don’t have to believe in it to enjoy a reading.”

He watches me so intently that my heart starts to pound. My eyes skim his lips and rise back to his intense gaze. “No,” he says after a long moment, “I just have to listen to some crock stir up shit between us.”

I squirt more soap in my palm. “That won’t be happening.”

“I can tell the future better than whoever walks through that door—and I bet you a thousand dollars that she’s going to make someone cry tonight.”

“Fine,” I say. “If you want to lose a thousand dollars, then I’ll take your bet.” Who would cry? Not any of the guys. Not me. That leaves Lily and Daisy, and I do not see my youngest sister shedding a tear. And Lily—she’s a wild card. But I would bet on her strength.

“No way,” Loren cuts in. He has Lily swaddled in his arms. “That’s not a good bet. You need real stakes.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Co

“For who?” Loren asks. “You’re the heir of a multi-billion dollar company, as is Rose. All of our parents shit gold bricks.”

“That’s disgusting,” I say flatly.

“A lap dance,” Loren suddenly says. “If Rose loses, she should give Co

My chest constricts, and I glare so hard at Loren that my eyes feel like they’re being serrated.

“You don’t have to do that,” Co

I am not my sister.

When it comes to intimacy, I am a chicken. I’ll fully admit that. I’m more likely to run out of a pair of arms than in them.

And Loren is aware of my hesitance. A part of me wonders if he feels badly for Co

Which everyone is about to see.

“You don’t think I would do it?” I ask Co

And I have none.

So I have a feeling that once I do have sex with Co

So far he has never pressured me to have sex, but I wait for the moment when he walks out—when he’s had enough of my high-octane personality and my obsessive compulsive behavior.

Hell, I want to walk away from me sometimes. My therapist even hates me. She’s prescribed me Alprazolam, Paroxetine, Fluvoxamine, and Clomipramine, drugs that I have taken and then disposed. On them, I feel so high I could be floating through life or I’m so heavy I could be sinking into mortal hell.

I am not the girl you want to sleep with every week. I’m the chase. The one you catch and then release. And once Co

I know this. It’s how all men work with me.

And I never, ever let them win.

But Co

He watches me scrub my skin harder, my whole body tense and unmoving except for the bristle brush in between my fingers.

“Don’t answer her,” Loren warns him. “It’s a trick.”

Co

I turn it back on. “I’m not finished.” There’s a thin layer of sauce underneath my nails still.

“We both know you won’t give me a lap dance. So let’s stick to the thousand dollar bet.” His voice is unreadable. If there’s disappointment, he won’t ever let me hear it.

I feel defeated in some huge way. “I can do it,” I retort.

“I’m not trying to use reverse psychology on you, Rose. I really don’t think you should.” He shuts the faucet off again, and when I go to turn it back on, he slips in front of me, blocking the sink, and he wraps a towel around my hands.

“They’re clean,” he says.

I glance down at my romper, which is still stained. “I need to change.”

Loren cuts in, “So have we established whether or not we’ll be seeing a lap dance tonight?”

“Only if I lose,” I say.

Co

I’m not frightened. Yet. “And if you lose,” I say, “what do I get in return?”

Co

My heart pounds. I want to be great in bed. I want to please him better than he pleases me. I want to beat him.

But I know when it comes to sex, I’m never going to win. I’m at such a disadvantage. So I say, “If you lose, I don’t have to give you a lap dance.”

“Boo,” Lily says.

Loren nods. “Boring.

But the only one who matters says, “Deal.” Co

“Whose idea was it to hire a fortuneteller anyway?” Loren asks.