Page 5 of The Love of My Next Life
The only reason I can tolerate my dad’s extended absences is because, when he is gone, I can paint freely. When he’s home, I keep it hidden. I don’t want to upset him. He doesn’t say so, but I know it makes him nervous. He’s always been enthusiastically supportive of everything I’ve done, except for this. And I don’t blame him for being worried.
I’m staring longingly at the contents of the tote when my phone buzzes again. Claire is here. I put the lid back on the tote and shove it back under my bed. Then I hop up and skip down the stairs, grab my bag from the kitchen, and head out the door, locking it behind me.
I’m halfway to Claire’s car when I notice a pair of dirty black Vans hanging out the back window, and I can’t stop the scowl that takes over my face. Claire’s bark of laughter breaks me from my glare, and I resume my walk, my steps heavy and irritated.
I slide into the passenger seat of Claire’s car and roll my eyes at her amused smile.
“Sorry, Len,” she says airily as she backs out of my driveway. “I’d have warned you, but then you’d want to drive yourself, and I like driving you.”
A snarky snort comes from the back seat, and my headrest jolts forward, jostling me and shoving my braid into the back of my head. He kneed it. He’s such a child. I stifle a growl.
“Good morning, Leonard,” Macon drawls from the back seat, his voice rough like he’s only just woken up. I glance over my shoulder and find him sprawled across the back seat with his feet hanging out the window and his black canvas jacket balled up under his head. His jeans are ripped at the knees, his plain black tee is wrinkled, and his blue eyes are closed, but I know if they were open, he’d be making fun of me with them.
“Why are you here?” I ask him flatly. His stupid full lips curve up on one side, but he doesn’t answer me because he’s rude and probably high.
I take note that his unruly curls, the same color as Claire’s, are shaggy and long and falling over his sharp eyebrows. He couldn’t even get a haircut before the first day of senior year? He couldn’t iron his shirt or wear a nicer pair of jeans?
I flip back around in disgust.
“So sweet for everyone else, Leonard,” he croons, then knees my headrest again, and I have to bite back anouchfrom the force of it. “Why are you always such a bitch to me?”
I grit my teeth, just as Claire reaches into the back seat and punches him hard in the thigh. He grunts and draws his knees to his chest, hitting my headrest again, and jostling me forward. Again. This car ride is going to give me a concussion.
“Jesus Christ, Claire.” He growls, and Claire snorts.
“I told you, you weren’t allowed to talk to her,” she spits. “She’swelcome here.You’rea charity case.”
Macon pulls his jacket out from under his head and tosses it over his face, grumbling something about PMS and bitchy sisters.
I side-eye Claire.
“Whyis he here?” I repeat, and she sighs. I can’t tell if she’s more annoyed with me or him. It had better be him.
“Our angel boy ‘swerved for a raccoon’and drove his car into a ditch,” she says, using one hand to air-quote ‘swerved for a raccoon.’
My jaw drops and I whip around to stare at him.
The only thing Macon loves is his car. He actuallyworkedto buy it, and Macon is the laziest person I’ve ever met. I think the only reason he works at the town grocery store at all is to pay for insurance and gas.
“You totaled your car,” I gasp at him, but he doesn’t respond. Claire speaks up, instead.
“It’s just the front bumper. Nothing terrible, but it’s in the shop for the next week.” My shoulders relax as something like relief washes over me. At least he didn’t lose the only thing he cares about.
“Don’t worry,” Claire adds, “he’ll be driving himself by Monday.”
“How did I not know about this?” Claire usually tells me everything. One of her favorite topics is complaining about Macon. She shrugs.
“I didn’t know until this morning. I guess it happened super late on Saturday, and he had it towed and taken care of without telling Mom.”
Something about that leaves me unsettled, but I don’t know why, and I don’t speak again until we’re pulling into the senior parking lot.
I grab my bag from the floorboard and climb out, but before I can swing my backpack strap over my shoulder, my braid is yanked back, and Macon’s body is pressed against my side from behind. I freeze. He lowers his face next to mine. I can feel his breath on my neck. He smells like spearmint toothpaste, weed, and something spicy.
“Have a good day, Leonard,” he rumbles, and I stifle a gasp when his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I grit my teeth and fist my hands at my sides, angry about the goosebumps that appear on my skin. Then he’s gone, pushing past me and loping up to his group of delinquent friends. Sam, his off-again, on-again fuck buddy, slides her arms around his waist and sends me a death glare before sucking his face off. I guess they’re on again.
“He’s disgusting,” Claire muses as she steps up next to me. I hum in agreement, then consciously remove the snarl from my face. She turns to me with a mischievous smile. “Ready, Bae?”
I smile back and loop my arm through hers. “Ready, Bae.”
