Kiss the Sky by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie

on.

 

 
    [ 5 ]
    ROSE CALLOWAY

 
    “He’s cute,” Daisy says, appraising Scott from the
kitchen. The main level of the townhouse is all one open space, so we have a
direct view of the four guys in the living room, sitting on various pieces of
leather furniture. The frizzy-haired psychic is on the ottoman, shuffling her Tarot
cards.
    Lily and I give our youngest sister a long stare. Mine
contains a strong warning, but Lily looks more confused, like a puppy wandering
the side of a road. I’d only stop to help a sad dog if they shared my genetics.
Cruel, maybe. But survival of the fucking fittest. Blood is thicker than water.
Choke on all of those clichés. They’re true.
    Daisy adds, “I mean, if you’re into the whole blond, scruffy
alpha-male vibe.” She bites into a carrot with a crooked grin.
    “You mean if you’re into the whole domineering, jackass
vibe,” I refute.
    “Or that,” she says. “But no offense, Ryke is more of the jackass.” She says it with an even larger smile. Yes, she’s
friends with Loren’s brother, who happens to be twenty-three. It’d be stranger
if she didn’t hang around high fashion models older than even him.
      My two sisters and I
have excused ourselves from the palm reading to replenish on pizza and drinks.
But really, I wanted to leave the guys to grill the producer…or rather—my fake
ex-boyfriend. I internally gag every time I think of Scott and boyfriend in
the same sentence. He’s put this disgusting chili pepper and pickle taste in my
mouth. And for anyone who finds that combination pleasant, I’ll give you
Scott’s number. He’s all yours.
    I watch Connor and Scott’s tense conversation as they share
the same couch. They both sit tall, silently establishing their dominance, but
a good amount of space separates them.
    On a plush chair, Ryke observes
our producer with a dark scowl but is smart to stay quiet.
    However, Lo constantly interjects, sitting on the loveseat.
And while the other guys keep their voices low, I can hear his heated retorts from the kitchen. He gesticulates with his
hands, pointing at Scott more than once.
    “I think they’re all assholes,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Some just have more redeeming qualities than others.” Kind of like us. I’m not
the most likable girl in the world.
    Savannah, the redheaded camerawoman, stands beside the oven.
She’s around our age and wears a skull and crossbones bandana over her braids.
She focuses the camera on Lily, which is not good. My twenty-one-year-old
sister is the only person who has trouble not looking into the lens.
    “I don’t like Scott,” Lily says, her eyes flickering to the
camera with each word. She nears Daisy and cups her hand around her mouth to
whisper. “He stared at your boobs for like a whole minute.”
    Daisy shrugs and climbs on the counter, swinging her long
legs. Her dyed blonde hair drapes to her waist. She’d cut it if her new
modeling agency would let her. “There are photographs of me in my underwear,”
she says (too casually). She pops a piece of broccoli in her mouth from a
vegetable tray. “When guys read the magazines, they could be doing more than
staring at my boobs.”
    Lily flushes red in embarrassment.
    Daisy frowns in confusion and then she laughs lightly. “You
used to jack off to mags ? That’s fucking awesome,
Lil.”
    I suck in a sharp breath, worried
by my little sister’s lack of filter in front of the cameras. But I don’t scold
Daisy for her bluntness. I don’t want to make it seem like female masturbation
is a bad thing. I wholeheartedly approve, but Lily is a recovering sex addict
who has been known to compulsively delve into self-love and porn, abusing both.
Those days are over for her. They have been for months.
    “I don’t think girls can jack off,” Lily tells her,
collecting her bearings. She tries to act more confident, straightening up.
    Daisy swings her legs, hitting the cabinets below with her
high laced boots. I would