“I’ll do it right now. I’m done with this leg.” I rinse off my right leg and spin on the porcelain ledge. He sits down beside me so I don’t have to get up to reach his height. I squirt some lotion into my hand and start rubbing it along his bare back.

A sinful thought creeps into my head—of Lo turning around and taking me right here on the ledge. I straddle it already, the spot between my legs against the coldness of the tub. This is just bad. I try to smother my longing and any attraction quickly. No sex. Not today. Not this week. The words don’t devastate me as much as they would have before.

Ryke keeps his gaze on Lo, skepticism creeping into his eyes. “Where’s the pill bottle?”

His shoulders tense. “Under the sink.”

I smooth out the white streaks along Lo’s skin, my fingers dancing along his back. I wish I could touch him other places, which I realize is my problem. I shouldn’t want to have sex when I’m just rubbing lotion on his back. Right? Maybe it’s not so weird, but I know my persistence to go further and farther is wrong.

I’m not supposed to go at all.

Which just sucks.

And not a good sucking mind you.

Nope, this is a bad suck, which I didn’t think could exist. But it does. This is definitely a bad kind of suck.

Ryke rises from the cabinet a second later with the orange container in his hand, and then he pops it open, spilling the pills on the counter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lo asks.

Ryke moves them out into little piles, and I suddenly realize “what the hell he’s doing”—counting.

Lo goes rigid as the same thought strikes him. But he shouldn’t have anything to fear. Unless…

Ryke starts shaking his head and scoops the pills back into the bottle. “Why do you fucking lie to me?”

“When did you start counting my pills?” Lo asks, brows furrowed.

“When you got them.”

“You had no right—”

 “I have every right. You’re an addict, Lo. You lie, you cheat, you fuck around the rules to get what you want. I go behind your back because I fucking care, not because I’m trying to undermine your privacy.”

“Tell me what I haven’t already heard!” Lo yells. “I’m a cheat. I’m a liar. I get it. And if that bothers you so damn much, there’s the fucking door.”

Uh-oh. I should go back to shaving my leg. But I can’t stop watching.

Ryke’s face turns to stone. He grabs a bottle of water off the sink and hands it to Lo, along with a pill. “Take it.”

“Did you not hear me?” Lo sneers. He pushes Ryke’s hand back. “I don’t want it.”

It hurts to watch him deny something that helps him. “Lo,” I say softly. “Just take it.”

He jumps off the tub ledge like I electrocuted him, and then squares off with Ryke and me like we’re the enemies now. “You two don’t get it.”

I stand up, not caring about shaving my left leg at this point. “What don’t I get?” I ask, choking back my hurt.

“Last night, I puked my guts up from mediocre fish tacos. I couldn’t even taste the tequila or beer batter or whatever the hell was on them! Like hell am I going to have that accidentally happen again.”

“So read the fucking menu next time,” Ryke tells him. “Ask the waiter, ask the fucking chef. Don’t make excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses, but staying sober shouldn’t be this much goddamn work. I shouldn’t have to set an alarm clock to remind myself to take a pill. I shouldn’t have to spend five hours a week in therapy.” Lo’s chest rises and falls heavily. “And you…it’s not fair that it’s so goddamn easy for you. Drinking your water every day, making it look like it’s nothing.”

“I’m not you, Lo. Don’t try and compare us.”

“How can I not?” Lo says, running two shaking hands through his hair. “You stand there telling me what to do, what’s best for me like you’ve been through this all before. You’ve never even taken Antabuse, Ryke. You don’t know how this fucking feels!”

I’m not sure what to say or do right now.

“I’m just trying to help,” Ryke says. “Stop pushing me away.”

Lo grips the sink tightly.

I agree with Lo, staying sober takes more work than either of us thought possible, and obviously Lo and I are the type of people who only give ten percent of our energy. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve always been lazy, or if we’re just apathetic. But right now, in this moment, I care. I just hope Lo does too.

“It doesn’t even make the cravings stop,” Lo says, motioning towards the pill in Ryke’s hands.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, “but you just felt what it’s like to drink when you’re on it, and I’m pretty sure that’s enough to motivate you to avoid booze.”

Lo hesitates. “Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his eyes.

“You should take it,” I tell him. “If I had a magic pill that made me puke whenever I looked at porn, it’d probably help.”

I don’t know if it’s me, or Ryke, or his own warring conscience, but something wins out. He turns around and accepts the pill from his brother.

The remixed rap song bleeds into the crowded area, swimsuit-clad college students pumping their fists in the air and chugging vodka straight from water bottles. I have the best seat on the beach.

Right on Lo’s shoulders.

The height gives me an advantage from the sweltering body heat and sweaty stench. I also have prime view of the stage, where the rapper in shiny shades saunters around and jumps in unison with the riled crowd.

Lo hasn’t left my side the entire concert. Not to buy a beer, go to a bar or to find his way to liquor. I haven’t made a move on him or asked for sex.

We’re having unadulterated fun.

The song ends and I stick my fingers in my mouth, letting out a loud whistle as everyone claps and cheers and hollers. Below me, the rest of our group tries to remain together and not be pushed too far away.

Rose wears a black sheer bathing suit cover-up and stands rigidly among the crowd, petrified by the closeness of so many bodies. Connor couldn’t be more composed. He’s like a chameleon, adapting to the drunken, party-like atmosphere with ease. He keeps her close, his hands on her hips, and normally she’d probably push him off. But I think the fear of ramming into someone and beer being spilt all over her cover-up and chest outweighs her fear of intimacy with Connor.

Melissa has all but forgiven Ryke. The make-out session helped in the cab, but the below the panties groping solidified her plans to stay in Cancun. I would have been more jealous last night if Lo wasn’t sick. But his clammy skin and pale hue literally rerouted my whole mind. Even as I heard Melissa’s giggles from the deck, pitch black outside—I didn’t care all that much. I just wanted Lo to feel better.

Melissa is in a good mood now. She sits on Ryke’s shoulders, clapping beside me as the next song starts.

A gust of smoke plumes up by my nose, and I sniff the salty air. Joints are lit all over this beach, the smells overpowering, but this one is so near that I look down. Daisy stands directly in front of Ryke and Lo, a cigarette pinched between two fingers. At least it’s not pot. So there’s that.

She effortlessly keeps the cigarette from burning anyone in close proximity, and she lifts her head to blow the smoke into the air away from other people. Except me, of course.

I’ve let Daisy smoke on numerous occasions. I didn’t know my place to tell other people to stop when I can barely stop myself. I hate the thought of being a hypocrite. But I’m under the impression that Daisy only smokes recreationally. I imagine that recreation turning into a habit, which turns into an addiction. I just can’t bear for Daisy to go through what I am.

Before I can say anything, Ryke plucks the cigarette right from her fingers and tosses it into the sand.

I don’t see her reaction because the rapper has stopped singing and starts talking, the music still going on behind him. “Now I want to see more ladies in the air! On shoulders now! Let’s go!” Girls start climbing on random guys’ shoulders, being lifted into the air like Melissa and me.