Page 132 of Before We're More Than Friends
I beamed. “It’s my favorite place on earth. And Penrose’s too.”
Penrose turned around, revealing a black object in her mouth. When I stepped closer, my mouth fell open in terror. It was none other than my black rhinestone bra, the one I’d bought while shopping with Sienna.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she walked over to Dallas and placed it right on his shoes.
“Oh.” Dallas’s cheeks turned bright red as he laughed. “Thank you, Penrose, but that’s a little too big for me.”
I was dead. Completely and utterly dead.
Dallas’s mouth dropped. “Oh, I didn’t mean big in a bad way—I mean, not in a good way either—I mean?—”
“It’s fine.” I grabbed the bra off his sneakers, frowning at the bite mark on the left cup. I needed to burn this thing now. And not because it had my dog’s teeth ingrained in it.
“I’m sorry,” Dallas said, rubbing the back of his flushed neck. “But you do have a great taste in fashion, even in, um, underwear.”
I laughed so I wouldn’t cry. “Thanks. Most of the stuff I own is pretty nice.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He gazed at my purple-and-silver chandelier. A way better sight than something that had been underneath my shirt dozens of times.
When we were done, we went downstairs, where Dallas and Houston said goodbye before they headed out the door.
Once I watched Dallas walk down the porch, a thought hit me. My spirits plummeted as I faced Arielle. “Um, where’s Mom? Is she sleeping in the bedroom?”
Arielle sighed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “I don’t know. She said she went out for a late-night walk right before you and Dallas came, but she’s not back.”
Anxiety rose in my chest. “We should call her.”
Arielle pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Mom. The call picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mom said on the speaker, her voice soft and quiet. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?” Arielle sat on the couch. “It’s getting late.”
“I’m on my way home. Just needed some fresh air.”
“Then why have you been out for so long?”
“Do not talk to me that way, Arielle.”
“You’re sounding like Dadandignoring my question.”
“Mom,” I said into the phone. “Are you really taking a walk?”
“Yes, I am. I promise I’m almost home.” Mom sighed. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Arielle said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”
“I am,” Mom said, and she hung up before we could say anything else.
Arielle let out a breath. “I don’t believe her.”
“Me neither,” I agreed, remembering how Mom slipped back into her drinking addiction by “just taking a walk.” What she was really doing was finding somewhere to drink other than the gazebo, where we could see her in plain sight. “But I also feel bad that we don’t believe her because she’s really been trying to be better.”
“I know,” Arielle said. “But she’s seemed sad since visiting Dad. I thought it would make her happier since she was looking forward to it. I was the one dreading it, but I feel . . .” She bit her lip. “Is it bad to say that it made me feel a little more at peace? That what happened has happened and there’s nothing we can do to change it?”
I shook my head. “Having peace is a good thing.”
“I don’t know.” Arielle fiddled with her necklace. “I’ve been trying to distract myself from the whole thing. But now I’m worried about Mom and?—”
