Page 46 of Where We Belong

She nods, but suddenly her chewing slows, as if she’s finally realized what she’s eating. With her eyes shut, she forces a swallow.

When she opens her eyes, she clears her throat and pulls her shoulders back. “Well, now that that’s out of the way.” With her hands crossed in front of her like a stiff judge, she asks, “Were you promiscuous as a young adult?”

The sip of water I just took sputters out of my mouth. “What?”

“First of all, that was disgusting.” She wipes a drop of water from her arm. “And second, answer the question.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask, already feeling the tips of my ears heating.

“Something Lilianne said that stuck to me.”

I’m going to kill my friend. “Which was?”

“Something about not wanting to be ‘one of your girls.’”

Jesus Christ.

“I ate the testicle. ’Fess up. Were you a slut?”

My only answer is to laugh, although I have the decency to be a little sheepish about it.

“God, I knew it! Youwerea slut!”

“I had my fun, okay?”

“Had?”

“Yes, had.” I drag a hand over my head. Why the fuck did I agree to play this stupid game? “Apparently, spending every night with a different girl doesn’t fill the emptiness any more than traveling does.” I’m not going to pretend like I’ve been a saint since I came back to Sonder Hill, but the interest isn’t as present anymore. I want something real, or I want nothing at all.

Lexie simply hums before she pushes the plate back my way. “Or are you done?”

My gaze lifts to hers, earth-colored eyes open, earnest.

“I have one more,” I say.

“Go right ahead, then.” She leans forward and whispers, “Want me to tell you what’s in the smoothie?”

“Nope.” I don’t give myself time to think about it—I really want the answer to that question—so I close my eyes and take a sip.

I definitely vomit a little in my mouth.

Lexie laughs. “I can’t believe you just drank that. It’s full of—”

“Don’t.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and gulp the rest of my water. “That’s probably as close to death as I’ll ever get until the real thing.”

“You deserve your question.”

Yeah, I hope so.

I can tell she won’t like it and might refuse to answer, but I still risk it.

“Why do you always flinch when I touch you?”

Her entire face drains of blood. On the table, one of her hands balls into a fist while the other starts scratching the excoriated skin on her opposite wrist. I don’t think she even notices it. Surely, if she did, she’d try to mask it. That’s how unnerved I made her.

I hate that I’m triggering this kind of reaction, but I also think I need to know this. If I’m doing something wrong, I won’t be able to stop until she tells me what it is.

Her throat bobs once, twice. Then, she looks up and says, “It’s not just you. It’s everyone.”

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