Page 125 of The Love You Fight For
Lennon laughs and rolls her eyes, but she knows how much I hate Claire.
“Yeah, that Claire.” Her smile falls off her face again.
“I didn’t know you were on speaking terms.”
“We’re not,” Lennon says with a flare of her eyes. “But she got kind of cagey after she moved to New York. She’s working for that big company, you know? And every once in a while, I’ll get a weird, random text.”
I snort.
“She wants so badly to be a main character that it’s embarrassing. She needs to just give up and accept the fact that she’ll never be more than the repulsive side-character everyone loves to hate.”
Instead of laughing like I expected, her brow furrows again, and she stares at her phone.
“I’m kind of worried about her,” she says finally, and I scoff. “No, seriously. Are we friends? No. But do I want somethingbadto happen to her? No.”
I raise a brow.
“Pregnancy is making you soft.”
She waves a hand at me in dismissal.
Lennon knows I vehemently disagree with her statement. I wish all bad things on Claire. Honestly, if we found out today that a cab she was in accidentally drove her into the Hudson and they couldn’t find her body, I wouldn’t even be a little sad. I have to stop myself from smiling at the thought, actually.
“I think she’s fucking her boss,” Lennon says, and I almost choke to death on a mouthful of popcorn.
“You what? Why?”
Lennon shrugs.
“A hunch? Stuff she’ll post on social media. I can’t explain it. I just...I think she is.”
I let out a whistle.
“Makes sense. She does have textbook daddy issues.” I wink. “I would know.”
Lennon laughs, and I reach for the remote to push play on themovie just as the key turns in my door and it swings wide open, revealing Chris and Macon.
They walk right in, don’t even wait for an invite, and they’re holding reusable shopping bags. I can already smell something delicious wafting from the bags—something with oregano and tomato sauce—and my excitement spikes with my hunger, but I keep my face blank.
Chris looks at the coffee table in front of us and shakes his head in mock disgust.
“Popcorn and Reece’s Pieces are not dinner,” he says.
I narrow my eyes.
“We’re eating them at dinner.”
He smirks and holds up his shopping bag.
“So I guess you don’t want the lasagna I made?”
Lasagna. So that’s the heavenly smell. I glance at Lennon, and she gives me a little nod, so I sigh dramatically and wave my arms toward my small kitchen.
“Fine. We’ll eat your food if it will make you happy.”
Chris grins, then leans down and gives me a kiss.
“Thank you, princess.”
