Page 12 of The Love of My Next Life
Soon I’m overcome by the smell of spearmint and weed and spices, but emphasis on the weed, and my hackles rise just seconds before a familiar body presses up against my side.
“Where’s your braid, Leonard?” Macon asks, his mouth hovering just above my shoulder. I tell myself it’s so he can be heard over the music. I whip around to face him and flinch a little at how close our faces are. The bloodshot whites of his eyes make his blue flame irises pop, and paired with his harsh dark eyebrows, he’s even more unsettling up close. I school my face into a façade of boredom before speaking.
“Why? Mad you don’t have something to yank on?”
I realize my mistake the moment his lips curve up into that wicked, crooked smile.
“Actually, Len, I think I could wrap this around my fist just fine.”
He reaches up and fingers a wavy strand of my hair as he speaks, and I swat him away. His laugh makes my neck and ears burn, and I grit my teeth against the desire to hit him harder.
“There she is,” he croons, teasing eyes bouncing between mine, and takes a step toward me, backing me into the corner. “You angry, Leonard? Am I pissing you off?”
I huff, but I don’t answer. He steps closer and puts his hands on the wall above my head. The smell of weed coming off him is overpowering.
“Jesus, Macon, how much did you smoke?” I curl up my lip in disgust. “You smell like you hotboxed the car on the way here.”
“You know what hotboxing is,Astraea?” he taunts. I bristle, but he laughs me off. “Close. Try the basement bathroom.”
I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.” His smile widens and he shuffles forward an inch more, then lowers his lips to my ear.
“When you gonna be sweet for me, Lennon?” he whispers, his hot breath making me shiver, and I feel his fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Or did you use up all your fake smiles today and only got scowls left?”
“Back off, Macon,” I grind out, and shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge. Just chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations of it under my palms. I don’t know why I don’t remove my hands, or why I don’t shove harder.
I just...don’t.
Instead, my fingers curl into his shirt, digging my nails into the muscle underneath, and he hums, dropping his head to my shoulder.
“There she is,” he says, and his voice is rough and deep, his lips dragging over my neck with each word. He nudges my choker with his nose, and my eyes clamp shut.
I grab fistfuls of his shirt, unsure if I want to pull him closer or push him away, when he bites my neck and sucks on it hard. I gasp at the pain and shove with all my strength, bringing my knee up into his gut for good measure.
He grunts and jerks away, laughing hysterically when he almost falls on his ass. He swings his eyes to me, and his laughter dies when he sees my hand cupping the spot on my neck he just assaulted. He straightens himself, either unaware or uncaring of the attention we’ve garnered from the others in the room, then stalks back toward me.
I plant my feet and square my shoulders, prepping for attack. When he’s within distance, he shoots his hand up and grabs my wrist.
“Let me see it, Len,” he says, the emotion in his eyes unmistakable yet completely unreadable. I’m paralyzed, unable to process everything I’m seeing pass over his face. Concern, maybe, for hurting me. Lingering humor. Exhaustion. Anger. But there’s something else. Something that heats my blood and quickens my breath. He licks his full lips and locks his eyes back on mine. “Show me,” he says again, more forceful this time, and gives my hand a tug.
It's the tug that spurs me back to action.
“Let go of me, Macon,” I demand.
I jerk my arm back, ready to kick or push or scream if I have to, but at my command, he drops my wrist and takes a half-step back. We don’t say anything else. We just stare at each other, chests heaving. I wonder if his heart is pounding as hard as mine. His eyes drop to my lips, and instinctually, I wet them with my tongue. His jaw tightens, and he moves to close the distance between us once more, but before he can, arms wrap around his waist from behind and Sam’s face appears next to him.
“Hey, baby,” she purrs up at Macon, and he slowly unpeels his eyes from me to bring his attention to Sam.
I don’t know what I was expecting him to do but flashing her a dazzling smile and planting a sloppy kiss full of tongue on her bright red lips wasn’t it. It makes my chest ache and my throat burn. I can’t stop the way my face twists up in anger.
“Hey, baby,” he says back. “Was just telling Lenny here how much I like her socks.”
At that, Sam looks down at my legs, then promptly bursts out laughing.
“Oh, Leonard,” Sam says in the breaths between laughs. “Why ever would you need to wear those?”
She clutches her stomach as she laughs, and when I glance back at Macon, he is staring at me with a blank, bored expression. But his lips twitch just the tiniest bit when I narrow my eyes at him.
They know that my legs are splotchy red and stained from whatever the hell was in that slushie cup. They might have even planned it. And this, whatever this was that just happened between me and him, was just another of Macon’s twisted jokes.
