Page 94 of The Facade

Mistress:yes

Me:Is it okay if I come over for a minute? We need to talk.

29

Cambrielle

Mack wanted to talk?

I stared at the last text he’d sent me, feeling my stomach twist with nerves as thoughts of impending doom hovered like a storm cloud over my mind.

He hadn’t asked to meet up. Or if I could sneak out and meet him in the garage for a few minutes.

Instead, he’d asked if he could come over because we needed to talk.

Talk. Not flirt nor kiss, or make each other laugh in the way I loved.

While I didn’t have a lot of experience with boyfriends, or having difficult conversations with guys, I wasn’t too inexperienced to know that the phrase “we need to talk” never had a happy ending.

And since I really didn’t want to have the conversation I thought he was trying to have, I texted him:It’s kind of late. Could we talk tomorrow at school instead?

If he was having second thoughts right now, surely he might change his mind back by morning. Things always looked better in the morning.

His text came through a second later.

Alfred:I won’t be at school tomorrow.

I frowned at the text.

Me:You won’t?

Alfred:I’m going online for a couple weeks.

Something must be happening with his mom then. He wouldn’t miss school and basketball practice unless something had changed.

So, maybe his wanting to talk with me had nothing to do with us?

Maybe he was just having a hard time and needed me to distract him?

So I texted:Let me say goodnight to my parents first and then you can come over.

Mack showedup on my balcony fifteen minutes later, wearing a plain white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and a black zip-up jacket. He usually wore his favorite gray Columbia hoodie this time of year as a good-luck charm for basketball season since he dreamed of being scouted by the Columbia basketball scouts. But I hadn’t given it back to him after our hot tub kiss, so he’d started wearing the black jacket to our secret meet-ups instead.

“Hey,” I said, stepping back from my balcony door to let him into my room, my heart pounding at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he said. And when his face was lit by the string lights I had hanging across my ceiling, I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t smiling like he usually did when we met up.

Something was definitely wrong.

“What’s going on?” I asked, not sure I really wanted the answer. Because if it was something with his mom, then my heart would break for him.

But if it was something to do with us, and he was planning to break up with me, I would be devastated.

Devastated because even though we’d been together for less than a week, I’d never been so happy.

He took a seat in the cream chair I’d been readingWuthering Heightsfrom when he’d first texted me.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he said, leaning back in the chair, his expression distant. Cold. “I, um…” He scratched the back of his head. “I just had something I needed to get off my chest before I went to bed.”

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