Read Online Addicted After All by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie
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He pats my ass, and my breath hitches. I’ve stopped about ten feet from his car. With this incentive, I quicken my pace. And the reality of where we’re headed sets in.
To Jonathan Hale’s we go.
* * *
“He changed the location to the country club,” Lo tells us as he drives out of our gated neighborhood. Oh. So to Jonathan Hale’s we don’t go?
Lo passes me his iPod that’s connected to the stereo system. This is the best part of being the side passenger. I have complete control over the music. That and I’m in touching distance of Loren Hale.
I cross my legs on the black leather seat and glance back at Daisy, her head on Ryke’s lap while she curls in a ball. “Theories?” she asks everyone about what’s going to happen with Jonathan.
I scroll through the iPod. “I think he’s just lonely.”
Lo taps the steering wheel. “He says it’s important.”
“He thinks brunch and golf is fucking important,” Ryke says roughly, his arm stretches along the black leather seat. It looks like he’s giving the Audi a little hug. His eyes suddenly land on me. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Can’t a person smile at you?” I say.
“No,” he deadpans.
I flip my hair at him as I turn around, feeling cooler than I know I look, and I find my favorite song in the whole wide universe of brilliant tunes. The moment the electronic beats start blaring through the speakers, I turn the volume way up. It’s the only way to listen to Skrillex’s “ Bangarang .”
Lo’s lips rise the moment he hears the song, as though memories and sentiments flood him. We’ve had good bedroom dance parties to this one. And epic sex against the wall.
Ryke groans while I start head-bobbing and shoulder dancing. If I wasn’t in a car, I’d be grinding up on Lo. This song deserves some body contact.
“This song fucking sucks,” Ryke declares.
I immediately freeze, and my jaw drops.
With one hand on the wheel, Lo uses his free one to shoot Ryke the middle finger. Ha! I stick my tongue out at him, a very immature slight, but I feel younger again with Lo. Like when we were teenagers, drowning out everything else.
Daisy is laughing so hard, her medicine probably kicking in.
Ryke says, “If your kid inherits your musical taste, I’m going to fucking rip my hair out.”
I smile. I kind of hope Maximoff does.
“Shit,” Lo curses, his jaw muscles twitching. Through his window, I notice a tan mini-van in the next lane, matching the Audi’s speed. I highly doubt the van is full of preteens and a soccer mom.
The paparazzi must’ve either seen us leave the neighborhood or they were tipped on our whereabouts. I have battled a lot of my “going out in public” phobias, but having a van tucked so close to Lo makes me nervous.
I bite my nails, and I shift so my heel is pressed to the spot between my legs.
“Try speeding up,” Ryke suggests while Daisy lifts her head off his lap to peek at the paparazzi. The van window rolls down and a cameraman points the lens at the Audi’s tinted glass. I doubt he’ll have any good shots, but he snaps photos anyway, flashes blinking.
Lo shifts the manual car into another gear, going about twenty over the speed limit on an uncongested two-lane road.
I lower the volume of the song so he can concentrate.
“Turn it back up,” Lo tells me, his voice only slightly edged. He doesn’t look panicked and neither does Ryke, so I increase the stereo volume once more. He switches into the left lane and then checks the rearview mirror.
“My theory,” Daisy says to lessen the tension, “is that Jonathan wants us to host some kind of charity function for him. Like PR stuff.”
“That’s a pretty good theory,” I nod. I can see that happening. My finger stings…I nibbled the nail to the bed. Shit.
“Lil, put your feet on the floor,” Lo tells me. He must notice the position of my heel.
“You should be watching the road,” I say as I set my soles on the floor
To Jonathan Hale’s we go.
* * *
“He changed the location to the country club,” Lo tells us as he drives out of our gated neighborhood. Oh. So to Jonathan Hale’s we don’t go?
Lo passes me his iPod that’s connected to the stereo system. This is the best part of being the side passenger. I have complete control over the music. That and I’m in touching distance of Loren Hale.
I cross my legs on the black leather seat and glance back at Daisy, her head on Ryke’s lap while she curls in a ball. “Theories?” she asks everyone about what’s going to happen with Jonathan.
I scroll through the iPod. “I think he’s just lonely.”
Lo taps the steering wheel. “He says it’s important.”
“He thinks brunch and golf is fucking important,” Ryke says roughly, his arm stretches along the black leather seat. It looks like he’s giving the Audi a little hug. His eyes suddenly land on me. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Can’t a person smile at you?” I say.
“No,” he deadpans.
I flip my hair at him as I turn around, feeling cooler than I know I look, and I find my favorite song in the whole wide universe of brilliant tunes. The moment the electronic beats start blaring through the speakers, I turn the volume way up. It’s the only way to listen to Skrillex’s “ Bangarang .”
Lo’s lips rise the moment he hears the song, as though memories and sentiments flood him. We’ve had good bedroom dance parties to this one. And epic sex against the wall.
Ryke groans while I start head-bobbing and shoulder dancing. If I wasn’t in a car, I’d be grinding up on Lo. This song deserves some body contact.
“This song fucking sucks,” Ryke declares.
I immediately freeze, and my jaw drops.
With one hand on the wheel, Lo uses his free one to shoot Ryke the middle finger. Ha! I stick my tongue out at him, a very immature slight, but I feel younger again with Lo. Like when we were teenagers, drowning out everything else.
Daisy is laughing so hard, her medicine probably kicking in.
Ryke says, “If your kid inherits your musical taste, I’m going to fucking rip my hair out.”
I smile. I kind of hope Maximoff does.
“Shit,” Lo curses, his jaw muscles twitching. Through his window, I notice a tan mini-van in the next lane, matching the Audi’s speed. I highly doubt the van is full of preteens and a soccer mom.
The paparazzi must’ve either seen us leave the neighborhood or they were tipped on our whereabouts. I have battled a lot of my “going out in public” phobias, but having a van tucked so close to Lo makes me nervous.
I bite my nails, and I shift so my heel is pressed to the spot between my legs.
“Try speeding up,” Ryke suggests while Daisy lifts her head off his lap to peek at the paparazzi. The van window rolls down and a cameraman points the lens at the Audi’s tinted glass. I doubt he’ll have any good shots, but he snaps photos anyway, flashes blinking.
Lo shifts the manual car into another gear, going about twenty over the speed limit on an uncongested two-lane road.
I lower the volume of the song so he can concentrate.
“Turn it back up,” Lo tells me, his voice only slightly edged. He doesn’t look panicked and neither does Ryke, so I increase the stereo volume once more. He switches into the left lane and then checks the rearview mirror.
“My theory,” Daisy says to lessen the tension, “is that Jonathan wants us to host some kind of charity function for him. Like PR stuff.”
“That’s a pretty good theory,” I nod. I can see that happening. My finger stings…I nibbled the nail to the bed. Shit.
“Lil, put your feet on the floor,” Lo tells me. He must notice the position of my heel.
“You should be watching the road,” I say as I set my soles on the floor
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