Page 78 of The Love of My Next Life
I laugh a little at the visual and try to fight the frown. Dad and I have always talked about traveling after I graduate. Instead, he’s sending me to England to stay with Aunt Becca. I’m excited to go, but now I can’t help but wonder if part of the decision was made to get me out of the way for his new marriage.
He said he was going to propose after I graduated.
Is he hoping to ship me off so he can have some alone time with his new wife?
“And who leaves right after a wedding?” Claire adds. “I thought people at least waited a few days or something, but they really saidwe’re not wasting time, going with that small afternoon wedding and evening flight.”
I laugh again, not taking my eyes off the candy bars I’m lining on the counter.
“At least your mom let us pick our own bridesmaid dresses.”
“Yeah, ‘cause what does it matter?” Claire snorts. “There’s gonna be like five people there. We could wear pajamas, and Mom wouldn’t care. She just wants to jet off to Santorini, so she can bone your dad in a Grecian villa on the sea.”
“Ewww, Claire,” I groan, throwing a Snickers bar at her, “Stop.”
She holds her belly as she laughs, and I shake my head. She’s ridiculous.
We finish setting up and wait for the first shift of concession workers to show up. Me and Claire are working later. Her shift is at the end of the first half and mine is at the end of the second half, but we agreed to do the shifts together, so we’re both basically working two. I don’t mind, though. I don’t care if I miss parts of the game. Football is boring.
Which is why I spend most of it zoned out and scanning the stands.
I tell myself I’m not looking for Macon.
I know it’s a lie.
I try like hell not to wonder where he is, not to worry about whether or not he’s with Sam, but I can’t. I can’t stop. I’m jealous and worried, and I hate it.
Claire’s concession shift is slow because, apparently, the game is “intense,” and no one wants to leave the stands, so we spend most of the time talking. Well, she talks. I listen and laugh when appropriate. At halftime, the PTA moms come and kick us out, so we walk the track around the football field, and she talks some more before we move back to the stands for the second half to start.
When it’s time for my shift in the concession stand, Claire asks if it’s okay that she stay and watch the game instead of helping.
“It’s such a close game,” she pleads. “I don’t want to miss it. And no one is going to the concessions right now. Not when it’s so close.”
“Claire,” I sigh, “I didn’t even want to do concessions at all. I don’t want to sit in there by myself.”
“You don’t even like football,” Claire says with a huff. “And I need to have something to talk to Josh about after. That cheerleader from West was posting about him all over online, so I want to stay ahead of the competition.”
I open my mouth to argue, to tell her how ridiculous she sounds and how she’s being a crappy friend, but then I bite my tongue. Who the hell am I to say those things now?
“Fine,” I say with a forced smile. “See you after.”
“Thank you! I love you!” she shouts as I leave.
When I get to the concession stand, I tell the girl working that she can leave, and then I make myself comfortable with my phone. Claire’s right. The game is neck and neck. Nobody is going to come to concessions to buy stale nachos with bright yellow, globby cheese and overpriced cans of soda.
I pull up a book on my e-reader app and try to tune out the cheering coming from the bleachers, but not even two pages into my book, the door to the concession stand opens. I smile, assuming it’s Claire coming to help me out of guilt, but when I turn around, it’s the other Davis sibling.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I say quickly, and because he’s Macon, he laughs.
“I thought you were past caring about what you should and shouldn’t be doing.”
My cheeks heat immediately, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is close enough to hear us. We’re alone. Everyone is glued to the game. When I turn back to him, he’s closer, and my breath hitches.
“What do you want?”
I wince at how breathless I sound and the crackle in my voice. I straighten my shoulders to seem more composed, but he smirks, which means I failed. He takes another step closer, then another, until he’s directly in front of me. A finger’s reach away.
“The same thing you want,” he says, the piercing blue of his eyes pinning me to the spot.
