Page 35 of Missing Linc
I can already feel the pull on my muscles, and I don’t think it’s from the work-out.
“So what?” I ask feigning ignorance.
I know what she wants from me, but I refuse to give it to her.
“Are you still not going to tell me where you slept last Thursday?”
And there it is.
She has been relentless all week about it. Wouldn’t let me forget it. And, of course, that’s only made me even more resistant to telling her.
“Are you going to tell me what’s got you so excited?” I ask her in retaliation.
We change positions according to the instructions of the irritatingly chirpy lady on the TV, and she smirks.
“You first,” she says.
We’ve been going back and forth for a few days, trying to get each other to spill. But maybe talking to someone, especially my sister, might help clear the mess in my head.
Because let me tell you, it’s ugly in there. And I can’t make heads nor tails of any of it.
I can’t take my mind off my night with Linc and how good he made me feel. How he knew all the buttons to press. How free he looked being with me even when he’d been resisting his urges for God knows how long.
And the next morning had started out so well. So promising. With the breakfast, and the little moment in front of the sink, the promise of some more hot times in the shower.
But then his ex had to come in and ruin it all. Not just the moment, but the magic in my head.
I don’t want to be a rebound, and I don’t want to be a plaything to experiment with. I don’t want to be his stepping stone toward full-on gay sex even though he gave me no indication that he is that kind of man.
I just want to be Camden for someone. Someone they can be with because they likeme. Not someone they can be with as a phase.
“You, my little bro, need to stop being so busy in there and get busier down there,” Autumn says after I tell her all this and so much more.
I leave some of the details out, of course. But Autumn gets me and we share everything, so I do tell her about some of the more intimate stuff.
But the truth of the matter is Linc can’t be good for me. Right?
“I’m not. That’s what got me into his house in the first place,” I tell her.
She huffs and rolls her eyes.
“Why do you care if you’re a rebound? Being a rebound doesn’t mean you can’t be serious about someone.”
“That’s what he said,” I tell her.
“Well, he’s got a point. Why don’t you lethimdecide what he wants you to be instead of assuming?”
“God, I hate it when you’ve got a point,” I say.
“Nah. You love me for it,” she says. “Now. Have you kept good on your promise?”
“What?”
“Have you set up a date with him? He said he wants to take you out, and as far as I know, you’ve only left the house for rehearsals and work,” she says.
God. I hate that she knows me so well. What would I ever do without her? You know, minus the peace of mind.
“Well, no—”
