Kiss the Sky by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie Page A

we climb up the stairs to the main level, I
find Rose and Daisy talking in hushed tones near the fireplace mantel. Daisy
shifts her body to block the camera, sidestepping every single time Ben tries
to get a shot of Rose.  
    I rub my lips as I study my girlfriend. She holds in a
breath, her neck stiff as she listens to her sister.
    And she actually wears pants, dressed in a Calloway Couture
black sweater and a different brand’s skinny jeans. She’s afraid of flashing
the cameras, and she’s expressed, more than once, that the only dances she
knows are from cotillion. The waltz and foxtrot.
    Grinding is out of her repertoire.
    Lily suddenly appears and slams her fist into Lo’s shoulder.
    He mock cringes. “ Ow , what the
hell was that for?”
    “For making this stupid bet,” Lily hisses, lowering her
voice as Brett zooms in on her, a boom mic attached
to his steadicam . But it doesn’t matter if he
captures her words or not. We’re all wearing microphones that’ll pick up her
voice. And the house is littered with sound equipment.  
    Scott sits on the leather couch. His eyes meet mine, and he
plasters on a smug smile.
    I hide everything in my features—especially the anger that
threatens to surface.
    “What is Daisy doing?” Ryke asks.
    Lily holds onto Loren’s hand. “Giving Rose advice.”
    Ryke’s brows furrow. “You’re the
fucking sex addict. Shouldn’t you be giving the advice?”
    “Hey,” Lo warns with a glare.
    He extends his arms. “It’s an honest question.”
    “It’s also rude.”
    “I’ll ask nicely then.” He looks back at Lily. “You’re
clearly more experienced than your little sister. So why the fuck aren’t you
instructing Rose?”
    Lo shakes his head. “Pathetic.”
    “That’s the best I have.”
    Lily touches her chest. “I like club dancing, but I’ve never
personally given a lap dance.”
    “And Daisy has?” Ryke asks in
disbelief.
    “She said she did it once.” Lily relaxes against Lo’s chest, and he holds her close.
    Ryke lets out an angry breath.
“You do realize that ninety-percent of a lap dance is basically the same thing
as when a girl fucks on top? You know, riding the guy.”
    “I don’t think Rose wants to take the lap dance to that
level on camera.”
    Our talk is cut off by a scraping noise. I watch Scott drag
a dining chair into the living room, the legs scratching the hardwood.
    When he places it in the center, he taps the frame of the
chair. “Take a seat, Connor.”
    I don’t take kindly to orders unless there’s a greater
benefit for me. And in this instance, there’s none.
    All eyes and cameras hit me, waiting for my reaction,
wondering, quietly, if I’ll adhere to Scott Van Wright’s simple request. Rose
stands impeccably straight, her bones hardened and stiff. All I see is fear,
something that I desperately want to take away.
    I stare right at Scott and break the strained silence with a
few words. “Take a seat, Rose.” My gaze never leaves Scott, not even as the
humor abandons his eyes.
    “That wasn’t the bet,” Scott says.
    “I’m amending the terms.”
    Rose’s heels clap against the hardwood as she struts to the
chair. She sits down with her shoulders pulled back and her ankles crossed as
if she just took her fucking throne.
    My body heats just watching her.
    I redirect my attention to Lo, who has his arms splayed over
Lily’s shoulders. “You’re still going to see a lap dance. You okay with that?”
    “That’s all I want.”
    “Wait.” Daisy holds up her hands and then points at me. “ You’re giving Rose a lap dance?”
    “Yes.” I untuck my black
button-down from my slacks.
    She smiles brightly. “Okay, we have to record this.” She
turns as if she’s going to get a camera, and her elbow knocks into Savannah’s
Canon Rebel. “Oh…right…never mind.” Only Daisy, a girl who’s swarmed by
photographers for her job, would momentarily forget that we’re all being filmed.
    “This I have to fucking