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Informationen zum Autor Krista and Becca Ritchie Klappentext The TikTok sensation Addicted Series continues with Hothouse Flower , now in a print edition with special bonus material! Ryke Meadows, meet Daisy Calloway ... she's all grown up. Twenty-five-year-old Ryke Meadows knows he's hard to love. With a billion-dollar inheritance, a track-star resume, and an alpha-male personality—he redefines the term likable-asshole. But he's not living to make friends. Or enemies. He just wants to free climb three of the toughest mountains in Yosemite without drama or interruption. And then he receives a distressed call from a girl in Paris. Daisy Calloway is finally eighteen. With her newfound independence, she can say goodbye to her overbearing mother and continue her modeling career. Next stop: Paris. Fashion Week begins with a bang, and Daisy uncovers the ugly reality of the industry. She wants to prove to her family that she can live on her own, but when everything spirals out of control, she turns to Ryke to keep her secrets. As Daisy struggles to make sense of this new world and her freedom, she pushes the limits and fearlessly rides the edge. Ryke knows there's deep hurt beneath every impulsive action. He must keep up with Daisy, and if he lets her go, her favorite motto—"live as if you'll die today"—may just come true. Leseprobe One Ryke Meadows I run. Not away from anything. I have a fucking destination: the end of a long suburban street lined with four colonial houses and acres of dewy grass. It's as secluded as it can be. Six in the morning. The sky is barely light enough for me to see my feet pound the asphalt. I fucking love early mornings. I love watching the sun rise more than watching it set. I keep running. My breathing steadies in a trained pattern. Thanks to a collegiate track scholarship, and thanks to climbing rocks-a sport that I sincerely fucking crave-I don't have to think about inhaling and exhaling. I just do. I just focus on the end of the street, and I go after it. I don't fucking slow down. I don't stop. I see what I have to do, and I fucking make it happen. I hear my brother's shoes hit the cement behind me, his legs pumping as quickly as mine. He tries to keep up with my pace. He's not running towards shit. My brother-he's always running away. I listen to the heaviness of his soles, and I want to fucking grab his wrist and pull him ahead of me. I want him to be unburdened and light, to feel that runner's high. But he's weighed down by too much to reach anything good. I don't slow to let him catch me. I want him to push himself as far as he can go. I know he can get here. He just has to fucking try. One minute later, we reach the end of the street that we were shooting for, next to an oak tree. Lo breathes heavily, not in exhaustion, more like anger. His nose flares, and his cheekbones cut brutally sharp. I remember meeting him for the very first time. It was about three years ago. And he looked at me with those same pissed-off amber-colored eyes, and that same I fucking hate the world expression. He was twenty-one back then. Our relationship balances somewhere between rocky and stable, but it was never meant to be perfect. "You can't go easy on me just once?" Lo asks, pushing the longer strands of his light brown hair off his forehead. The sides are trimmed short. "If I slowed down, we would have been walking." Lo rolls his eyes and scowls. He's been in a bad place for a few months, and this run was supposed to release some of the tension. But it's not helping. I see the tightness in his chest, the way he can still barely fucking breathe. He squats and rubs his eyes. "What do you need?" I ask him seriously. "A fucking glass of whiskey. One ice cube. Think you can do that for me, big b...
