Page 64 of The Love of My Next Life
I pick up my phone and send a text to the last person I want to see, but the only person who can give me what I need right now.
FOURTEEN
It’sstupid that I’m stressing over what to wear.
I know that.
It’s just dinner.
It’s even stupider that I’m looking at every outfit I choose, wondering what Macon would think of it. I shouldn’t care about what Macon thinks of how I dress. I never have before. I certainly shouldn’t now that he’s almost certainly going to be mybrother.
Gross.
But then Macon’s words from earlier flash through my mind. He’s not my brother right now...
I keep seeing his eyes on the beach right before he kissed me. I keep feeling his hand around my neck. His lips on my stomach. His teeth on my nipple.
I keep fantasizing about where things were headed before Claire interrupted.
Claire.
God, this would break her if she found out. She would murder us both. Am I betraying our friendship by crushing on her brother?
Oh my god, I’m crushing on her brother.
My brain short-circuits for a whole minute. How? How did this happen? How did one free period turn into...this? I run through everything. The art room. The rec center. Pottery and paint and Macon.
And I cannot. Stop. Smiling.
I hide my face in my hands, pressing on my cheeks to try and tame the ridiculous grin. Shit. This is bad. This is so bad.
I peek through my fingers at the clothes in my closet. I should just wear what I normally would wear and leave it at that. I should put my hair in a braid and text Eric back and forget about this stupidwhateverwith Macon.
Ugh, but I don’t.
I pick out a top that fits a little snug and a skirt that sits a little higher on the thigh. I leave my hair down in waves. I do it all with the hope that Macon will like it. Because it’s also exciting, this crush. I’ve never gotten butterflies before. No one has ever made my heart kick up so fast I thought I’d pass out. No one has ever touched me the way he does.
No one has ever made me feel everything so strongly.
I put the outfit on and look at myself in the mirror. I smooth my hands down my blouse, stopping at my waist the way he does, then grip my hips just slightly. I run my hands down my thighs, inching the hem of my skirt up slowly.
“Lennie,” a sob comes from my doorway, and I flip around to find Claire standing there with mascara smeared down her cheeks and red splotches on her face and neck. She’s a mess. My first thought is to apologize—she’s found out about Macon and she’s come to end our friendship—but then she walks to me and wraps me in a hug, nearly collapsing.
“Shhh,” I whisper, confused. “What’s wrong, Claire? What happened? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is ruined,” she cries. “My dad pulled my college fund because Macon went to his house drunk and beat him up.”
I stiffen. That’s not how it happened.
What do I do? Tell her I know? Correct her? Inform her that her sequence of events isn’t right? Macon went therebecauseher dad pulled the college fund. In his own misguided way, he thought he was standing up for her.
“He’s fucked everything up for me again, Lennon,” she says.
I know she’s wrong, but I stay quiet and rub her back. Her tears are soaking through my blouse, but I don’t let go.
“God, why does he have to be so horrible? If I didn’t have you, I’d be miserable. What am I going to do without you this summer?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I am. In more ways than she realizes.
