Kiss the Sky (43 page)

“You’re right,” Connor says dryly and appraises the joint.
“It doesn’t fry brain cells. Only kills ambition. How can that be worse?”

Anything that makes a person into a lesser version of
themselves is malevolent. At least in Connor Cobalt’s mind.

I’m not going to ruin this by arguing with him. “I do have
one problem with it,” I admit.

He raises his brows in curiosity.

“The smell,” I say. “It’s disgusting. Worse than cigarettes.
I’m going to have to bathe in bleach.”

He smiles and kisses me deeply. I love that. Drawing a man
in with my opinions and words. It feels headier than enticing him with my
body—though I enjoy that too.

When we part, I say, “Someone would make a lot of money if
they invented odorless weed. Oh! Or perfumed marijuana!” I giggle.
Giggle.
That high-frequency girly noise
is so unfamiliar. This hotbox is definitely working.

He kisses me again, silencing my laughter and filling my
lungs with smoke and delight.

We stay under the blanket for a while. When I try touching
my face, my hands move in slow motion, and my leg seems to take forever to
shift, too sluggish to really go anywhere. So I stay positioned on Connor’s
lap. But when I turn my head, it speeds faster than the rest of me, like it’s
not attached to my body. It’s a weird combination that has me in a fit for two
minutes. Was it two minutes?

Connor watches me, drinking water, and when he tries to pass
the bottle in my direction, I reach out and hit his elbow. I laugh again.

“Here,” he says. He puts the rim to my lips and tilts the
bottle up, helping me drink. The water feels good against my sandpapered
throat. After wiping my lips, I become suddenly entranced by the buttons on his
shirt. My fingers play with them. Wow. The buttons fit perfectly into that
little hole. Such simple mathematics, and yet someone, somewhere discovered it
first.

Connor says very little. I like the silence. It makes all
the feelings stronger. Like how he brushes his fingers through my hair. Each
part of me becomes more sensitive than the next.

“I’m hungry,” I suddenly say.

“I know the solution.” He scoops me up quickly, tossing the
blanket aside. My heart races faster than before. He nuzzles his nose into my
neck. “Time to feed you.”

I laugh, his skin tickling mine as we exit the room. I don’t
care that we’re venturing into the camera-filled house. It’s not like we’re
smoking on camera. No one has proof of anything.

And plus, it’s past Savannah, Brett, and Ben’s hours.
They’re probably fast asleep in their own homes, leaving the cameras on the
walls and in the rafters to film us.

Connor descends the stairs with me in his arms. Once we
reach the main level, he sets my feet on the ground. The living room is
right there.
But Lily and Lo have their
backs to us on the couch, staring at the television above the fireplace mantel.
They stayed barricaded in their room for a full week before Scott apologized.
Which Lo said was “half-assed and insincere,” but it was enough for them to
finally
venture downstairs.
 

I open my mouth to speak.

“
Shh
,” Connor whispers softly,
pressing his fingers to my lips. We both smile. Why is that so funny?

We stay hidden by…nothing really. They can see us in the
open space if they just turn around, but they’re both absorbed by the movie.

“Why are we watching this?” Loren asks.

“Because you need to know why I think you’re Peter Pan
incarnate,” Lily replies.

I’m about to laugh again. I really don’t know why, but
Connor covers my mouth with his hand to suppress my noises. How is he keeping
me standing with just one arm?

He’s strong, Rose,
don’t be stupid.
Oh my God. Does weed make you stupid?

“And if I’m Peter Pan, who would you be? Wendy?”

“No,” Lily says. “Wendy chooses mortality over the boy she
loves. I would be…” There’s a long pause, and I run my tongue against Connor’s
palm.

He presses his lips together, trying so hard not to laugh.

“
Tinkerbell
,” Lily concludes. “She
never leaves Pan. She loves him more than anything.”

“So you’re like my little fairy?” Lo asks, but I sense the
adoration behind his words.

And yet, as cute as it is, Connor and I can’t keep our
laughter in. It bursts forth and crushes our secrecy.

Their heads spin over their shoulders, catching us beside
the staircase with crinkled brows.
 

“What the hell are you two doing?” Lo asks with the tilt of
his head, scrutinizing our positions and faces and—what else is there to look
at?

“My feet,” I say.

Connor has to bury his mouth into my neck to smother his
next bout of laughter. Mine comes out full-force, no stopping that.

“What?” Lily squints at us in confusion.

Connor hunches over to rest his chin on my shoulder before
he says, “We’re eating.”

Lily gasps. “Are you stoned?” She’s up off the couch before
I can throw out an excuse. She’s not even ten feet near us and she stumbles
back and pinches her nose. “
Ugh
.” She
gags. “I hate that smell.”

Loren wears a supreme grin. “You two…” He shakes his head as
he sidles next to his girlfriend. “Who would have thought the most responsible
people in this house are the ones who get baked? Congratulations, you
officially fit in our group.”

“Our friendship circle,” Connor clarifies.

I erupt into another fit of laughter. Connor picks me up in
his arms again, carrying me towards the kitchen and setting me right on the
counter.

“Can we stay and watch?” Lily asks excitedly.

“We’ll be seeing this on the next episode,” Loren reminds
her.

“I want the unedited version though.”

Connor touches my leg. “You okay?” he asks, concerned even
when he’s stoned.

“I’m not paranoid. Maybe it’s good weed.” But as long as I
have Connor, I know I could ride out a bad trip.

What a weird version of love.

And it’s all mine.

[ 42 ]

CONNOR COBALT

The living room has been cleared out. Soft padded
mats line the floor. Daisy is already jumping up and down, preparing for the
self-defense lessons that
Ryke
, Loren, and I have
promised the girls. I offered to hire a real instructor, but
Ryke
told me he was practically licensed.

I reminded him that being able to beat someone up doesn’t
make him a good teacher. And then he said, “Stop fucking annoying me and go
light a joint.”

I’ve been insulted far better.

Scott Van Wright aired the small segment of Rose and I giggling
stupidly and devouring the leftover tacos. Since there wasn’t actual footage of
us smoking, the backlash from the episode was minimal. There’ve been too many
reality stars lying in their own vomit to be shocked by two young adults in
unintelligible fits of laughter.

The only downside, I looked stupid for the first time in my
life.

And I don’t care. It took twenty-four years to obtain this
type of apathy. In college, if someone saw me as less than smart, at the bottom
of the class, it felt life-ending. If they thought I was a prick, fine. If they
thought I was a social climber, fine. Weird, whatever.

Stupid was the word that sliced me cold. Failure was the act
that would leave me dead.

In one day, I had failed Wharton. Failed my “supposed”
dream. And then I did something that made me into a stupider version of myself.

And today, I can say “I don’t care” and mean it.
 

I’m twenty-four-years-old. I always thought I was done
growing up. But being with Rose has made me grow into the version of myself
that I love the most.

 
My fears are no
longer so selfish and so pretentiously vain.

Rose tells me, “If I’m being attacked, I’m taking out my
pepper spray and Taser. I won’t use my fists first. That’s a last resort.”

“What if you don’t have time for all of that?” I ask her. I
can’t help but smile every time I eye her clothes. No tennis shoes. No yoga
pants or T-shirt. She chose wedges, leather shorts and a white cotton top,
tucked in like she’s about to attend a lunch meeting. Loren told her to go
change, and she looked like she wanted to rip off his face.

I know better.

“Not all paparazzi are despicable,” she says. “I’m sure
someone would have a moral bone and help me against angry hecklers.”

“What if the paparazzi aren’t around?”

She holds up her finger. “One time,” she tells me. “Only one
time in the past four months have I been
alone
in public. And that was when Lily drove down five wrong streets in a
row.”

“Hey!” Lily speaks up. She’s on the ground in proper workout
clothes like Daisy. Only she wears her furry white cap that’s more suited for
the snow than warm, mid-May weather. It has tusks and apparently it’s something
called a
Wampa
from
Star Wars
. The only reason I can see her wearing it is Loren. Every
time he glances her way, his breathing deepens and his amber eyes glaze in
desire, looking ready to mount her.

Lily stands to her feet, abandoning whatever move Loren was
trying to show her. “I only drove down the wrong streets because the GPS was in
French.”

Rose gives her a look. “You were the one who put it in
French.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn the language,” Lily
explains, “so that I can know what the hell you two talk about behind our
backs.”

Last episode was the first time they aired us speaking
French to each other. Production included subtitles.

Our conversation revolved around Lily and went something
like this on TV.

ROSE:
She’s losing
weight. I can see her ribs.

ME:
That’s a shadow.

ROSE:
It’s not a
shadow. It’s her skeleton.

ME:
I have a physics
book upstairs. I’m sure it talks about light and shadows. Do you want it?

ROSE:
Why would you
have a physics book? You’re a business student.

ME:
For moments like
these.

It was one of our more calm exchanges in French, but Lily
wasn’t amused by the fact that we were discussing her weight—right in front of
her.

Apparently they all thought that we just argue about “smart
people” things (Lily’s words) and that we have a rule to not talk about them in
French.

I do have a rule.

If you want to understand me, learn my language.

Ryke
and Daisy don’t seem to care
that we could have talked about them, but Lily and Loren are aggravated.

“And just so you know,” Lily says, “I can say five whole
words in French already. So at this rate, I will be fluent in no time.”

Daisy walks over after jumping up and down. “Didn’t you fail
Spanish and Latin in prep school?” she asks with a smile.

“That’s a
mute point
,” Lily
defends. “Those aren’t even the same languages.”

Rose gives me
another
look,
but I can’t stop myself. “Moot point,” I correct her.

Lily stares at me, dumbfounded. “What?” Loren wraps his arms
around her waist as she explains, “It’s mute. Like it doesn’t make a sound, so
it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s moot,” I repeat. “I assure you.”

Rose elbows me, and Lily’s eyebrows bunch in even more
confusion.

“No one likes the fucking grammar police,”
Ryke
tells me.

“That’s scary coming from a guy who used to write for the
city’s newspaper in college,” I say. “Did your editor hate you?”

He flips me off.

“Wait.” Lily holds up her hands. “What’s a
moot
then? That’s not a word.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rose says quickly and waves me off.

“It does,” I refute. “I want to educate your sister.”

Rose punches me in the arm and then points. “That’s for your
indirect insult. She’s not stupid.” I open my mouth to speak and she punches my
arm again. “And apparently you need self-defense lessons. You don’t seem to be
doing a lot of defending.”

She goes to punch me again and I grab her fist in my hand.

Her lips purse. “Fine.”

I just notice Ben, Brett, and Savannah circling us when they
start to flock
Ryke
. I look around for Scott, but I
realize he must be locked in his room. Working. He’s shifted his tactics once
again. No longer annoying the Calloway girls as much as he used to. He’s been
almost absent for the past two weeks. I don’t know if this house is making me
more paranoid, but I keep thinking he’s up to something. I just haven’t
determined what he could possibly do to me without physically taking Rose. He’s
already failed at that. So what’s left in his arsenal?

Rose and I look over as
Ryke
tosses his shirt to his side. He has better lean and defined muscles than both
Lo and me. We’ll both admit that because we’re not the ones ascending mountains
with our bare hands every other day.

“I didn’t know this was naked self-defense class,” I quip.

Lo laughs. “Damn, you beat me to that one.”

Ryke
glares. “No one fucking hit
my right shoulder. It’s off-limits.” That’s all he says in reply. But we know
what he’s talking about. He’s spent over a month getting an intricate tattoo.
One of the most popular episodes was when Daisy went with him for company. It
was one of her few free days, and Rose and I both noticed she chose to spend it
with
Ryke
of all people.

Princesses of Philly
aired
about fifteen minutes of “did Daisy get a tattoo with
Ryke
or didn’t she?” until they revealed the answer at the end.

She’s tattoo-free.

Her mother would have killed her if she marked her body, which
is pivotal in furthering her modeling career. And Samantha would have also
found a way to destroy
Ryke
, probably by throwing him
in jail for some ridiculous charge. I have no doubt about this, which is why
I’ve been cautioning
Ryke
to stay away from Daisy
until she’s older.