Hothouse Flower

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RYKE MEADOWS

I’m so fucking sick of taking cold showers, which is why I said fuck that yesterday. I need to start going to my apartment where I have the freedom to jerk off.

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.

I enter a gated street and slow my Ducati down as I pass each fucking mammoth colonial house. Four sedans trail my ass. They’ve been following me since I left my apartment in Philly. Two cross the double yellow lines to ride beside me, their windows rolled down, cameras snapping and flashing.

I should be used to this shit by now, but I’m not. I don’t think I can ever be, not after I watched a fearless girl go from being completely fucking fine to scared of the dark to traumatized. It’s not just the cameras and invasive media. It’s everything that comes with it—her fucked up old prep school friends being one of those.

I flip off an entire sedan. At least my helmet is tinted and they can’t capture a picture of my face. I speed up and weave in front of them. The four cars attempt to block me in, wedging me between their vehicles. I rev the throttle, switch gears, and fucking take off.

I lose sight of them as I approach a gated house, hedges concealing most of it. I punch in the code, and the iron grinds open.

Daisy probably had a harder fucking time getting to her sisters’ place than me. I should have left with her. She lives two floors below me in the same apartment complex. I could have distracted the paparazzi while she rode off in another direction, but I didn’t. I left late because I was researching about Ambien, cognitive fucking therapy, other sleeping medication—anything to solve Daisy’s problem.

And I’m still at a loss of how to help her sleep without medication.

I park my Ducati on its kickstand and look up at the white house with black shutters, a wraparound porch, rocking chairs, a flag pole on a newly mowed lawn. 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 have a ton, but I worry that if I lived with him for a long time, he’d break me down and I’d rip him apart.

I never want to hit Lo.

It’s a line that I fear crossing on a weekly basis.

I open the front door with my key. A yellow banner hangs low and crooked over the archway that connects the living room to the kitchen. It reads: BON VOYAGE, DAISY. The messy scrawl looks like Lily’s handwriting. I have to duck underneath it to enter the kitchen.

My brother stands by the oven, cracking eggs into a large bowl. Connor watches him, cupping a glass of water. Normally he’d have red wine, but since Lo relapsed, he won’t drink alcohol in front of him.

“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.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “Everyone left me nasty fucking text messages.”

I highly doubt you have the capability to read a clock, but you’re verging on forty-six minutes late. And here, I was going to reward you with a treat. – Connor

If you disappoint my little sister, I will personally snip off your balls and feed them to Connor’s cat. – Rose

Can you be here on time? Please?? – Lily

The girls are getting pissed. And I’m not too happy with you either. – Lo

“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.” I come up beside Lo and inspect the bacon frying in a pan and a tray of biscuits.

“She’s overused that threat,” Connor tells us.

I peek underneath a towel, a spinach quiche steaming. “I may not own a fucking watch,” I say, “but I do know it’s nighttime and I’m pretty sure none of us are nursing a fucking hangover. So what’s with the…” I tilt a bowl towards me. “Grits?”

“Daisy wanted breakfast for dinner,” Lo explains. “So we’re cooking.”

I look around the kitchen, the living room just as quiet. “Yeah? Where are the fucking girls anyway?”

“Daisy’s in the garage. Rose and Lily are in the bathroom,” Connor says casually.

“Why the fuck are they in the bathroom together?”

Lo shakes his head at me. “I tried to ask and Rose rebutted with female menstruation. And then she slammed the door in my face.”

Connor says, “I was smart enough not to question it.” He leans against the cupboards, wearing black slacks and a white button-down. He looks like how much he’s worth—over a billion fucking dollars from inheriting his mother’s Fortune 500 Company.

“You too much of a princess to help Lo?” I ask, stealing a slice of apple from a fruit tray.

“I offered to break the eggs, but Lo said I should beat them into submission,” Connor tells me.

Now I do roll my eyes.

“Might as well put your best skill to use,” Lo says, passing the bowl of eggs and whisk to Connor.

I go to the fridge and grab a jug of orange juice, and when I turn back, I catch Lo whispering quietly to Connor. They shut up when they see me watching.

“What?” I ask, unscrewing the cap to the juice. It’s not the first time they’ve gossiped like fucking girls. We all selectively choose who to share information with.

“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.”

I glare. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Lo. I can’t grasp what you’re saying with two words.”

“Sorry,” Lo says dryly. “I forgot you aren’t Connor.”

Connor smiles.

“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.

Connor interjects, “I don’t need validation that I’m smarter than all of you. I know it’s true.”

“Then why hang the certificate?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It matched the walls.”

I shake my head. “It’s a fucking miracle that I haven’t punched you yet, Cobalt.”

“Back to the situation,” Lo says, eyes locked on me.

I grab a glass from the cabinet. 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. “What is it?” I pour orange juice and listen.

“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.”

“You know,” I tell my brother, “there are reasons why I don’t fucking live with all of you anymore.” I hold up a finger. “One, I like my privacy, and that means not showing off the couple of women I date every month.” I raise another finger. “Two, you all like to blow shit out of proportion. And three…” I lower my first two fingers and hold up my middle one.

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. But I’m not my father, hurting his sons to protect his own reputation.

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.

So I can’t say, Yeah, man, I’ve stopped dating for four fucking months because I’ve been busy taking care of your girlfriend’s little sister, spending nights at her place, even sleeping in her bed just so she can stop being so fucking scared. And I don’t miss those other girls, but I do miss being laid.

I’m not used to jerking off every fucking day.

“Ryke,” Connor says, and I spin around to meet a face that studies mine with too much fucking knowledge and suspicion. “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.”

“What is this?” I say, looking between Connor and Lo. “Watson and Holmes? I hate to break it to both of you, but there’s no fucking mystery to be solved.”

“Cut the shit,” Lo says. “It’s weird, and you know—”

“I’m not with her,” I interject. “I’m not fucking Daisy. I’m not touching her. I told you, Lo, I wouldn’t.” 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. He grew up with the Calloway girls. Daisy has known him her whole fucking life. I’ve known Lo for three years. For fuck’s sake, I am the thing that can be tossed aside. Everything’s confusing. Nothing makes complete sense. My dick says one thing. My head says another. I have morals. I have Lo’s constant warnings. I have five kinds of wrong and no kinds of right.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

“Okay,” Lo says, watching me closely, seeing the anger pulse in my eyes.

I’m so fucking screwed. If he ever finds out that I sleep in Daisy’s bed, that I’m practically her fucking roommate, he’s going to kill me. Really, murder could be a fucking option in Loren Hale’s twisted mind, and I think I’d let him do it.

“Look,” I tell Lo and Connor, “I date girls for a week, sometimes a couple of fucking days if they don’t pan out. I’m not going to bring one of them to Princeton so you guys can meet her. It’s never serious. The strings that I tie down are the ones that mean something to me.” My eyes flicker to each of them. “I haven’t found a girl that I want to tie myself to, and I don’t know if I ever will.”

“You will,” Lo says certainly, nodding like he’s trying to convince himself of it.

“It’s okay if I don’t.” I’m surrounded by people I care about. That can be enough for me.

Lo’s sharp gaze meets mine. “You’re not going to be alone forever.”

He says it like a declaration. I think he wants the best for me, but I also think that side battles with his selfish feelings. The ones that say: I need one-hundred percent of you or else I’m going to drown.

“So what if I am?” I say. “Lo, I didn’t grow up with a Lily Calloway. I didn’t have a best friend turned girlfriend.” Lily was literally the girl next door, a family friend that he trusted with everything. Now they’re engaged. I’m not envious of their co-dependent relationship that has thankfully grown a little healthier throughout the years.

I just recognize that he’s different from me, even if we are alike in some ways.

“I’m fucking used to relying on myself,” I add.

Lo just shakes his head like I’m an idiot—to be satisfied with something less. But maybe I don’t deserve something more. Maybe the point of my fucking life is to help my brother get on his feet.

Connor passes Lo the bowl of whisked eggs, and my brother hesitates to pour them in the pan. “Let’s wait for the girls to come out.”

“How’s Lily doing?” I ask him.

He sets the bowl on the counter. “Better than me.” He rubs the back of his neck. “She tries to bring up my dad and alcohol, but honestly, it’s just fucking hard sometimes.” His amber eyes meet mine. “His lawyers said they can’t reach you for questioning. I told them that you don’t want to go on record.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Lo shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

I run my hand through my hair, feeling Connor watching us like a psychiatrist fucking would. There’s a lot there, okay? I don’t want to see our dad, and Lo is complying with that for now.

“I’m going to go check on Daisy in the garage,” I tell them, avoiding any plans they have to convince me to see Jonathan Hale. And plus, I want to know what she’s fucking doing alone in there.

“Tell her the food is almost ready,” Lo says.

I nod, heading to the back door.

We each have our roles, and I know mine is to keep an eye on this girl and that guy.

I just don’t ever want to be faced with the decision of having to choose between them.

If that day comes, then fuck me.