Page 52 of The Love of My Next Life
It tastes like the shots, but worse.
I take it back. I don’t get it. Drunk is bad. The bath dance wasn’t worth it.
Someone rubs my back until I’ve heaved up the entire contents of my stomach, then hands me a bottle of water. I drink the entire thing.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” Macon says, then he helps me up and slides me in the front seat of Casper’s cab with Claire climbing in after him. I glance at the clock on the dash. It’s only eleven-thirty. I groan.
“Dad’ll be awake,” I mumble, dropping my head on the shoulder next to me. Mint and weed and spice.
“Fuck,” Claire says, and I feel Macon’s exasperated sigh.
“Mom works tonight. We’ll go back to our house, and you can text Trent and tell him you’re staying there.”
His shoulder rumbles under my head. I feel a hand squeeze my thigh and I reach for it, wrapping my hand around the thick wrist and rubbing my thumb up and down the scar there. I listen to the sound of the engine and focus on the smell of Macon’s shirt.
“Wake up,” Macon whispers, brushing my hair away from my face. “Need me to carry you?”
I shake my head no and climb out of the car, then stumble. Macon catches me, just before I fall on my face. With a laugh, he scoops me into his arms.
“C’mon, drunk ass,” he teases. “You’re gonna be so fucking hungover in the morning.”
I don’t even know where Claire or Casper are. Behind us? Next to us? All I know is Macon’s breathing and his arms and his hard chest. I bet that tattoo is right under my cheek. I want to know what it says.
Macon unlocks the door easily, despite cradling me in his arms, then walks silently through the hall. Just before the living room, he stops in his tracks.
“Fuck,” he says, and I open my eyes to my dad’s murderous glare.
It all happens in slow motion.
My first instinct is to apologize, to explain, but then I notice Drea standing behind my dad with her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. This is her house. Why is my dad here? It’s only eleven-thirty.
Then I see the open bottle of wine on the coffee table. Two glasses.
Then the scent of lavender. A candle. The same kind Drea burns to relax after work.
The lavender.
Lavender.
Why do you smell like lavender?
I glance back to my dad, then to Drea.
It clicks.
“You guys are sleeping together,” I state.
Andrea gasps and looks at Macon. “You told her?”
“No, but you just did,” he states flatly, and I move my eyes to him.
“You knew?”
His brow furrows as he looks at me.Guilt.
His arms tighten around my body, reminding me I’m still being held bridal-style against his chest. He opens his mouth like he wants to apologize, but Claire walks in behind him and gasps. She says something, and I can tell from her tone that she’s just as shocked. She pieced it together quickly. She must not be as drunk as me.
