“Something quick? I’m riding down to the beach after homework. If that’s okay,” she says, taking the other bud out of her ear. “Juliet will come with me.” She’s really trying to sell it. “And you can track me like an FBI agent using the app or whatever.”
“What’s down at the beach again tonight? You seeing someone? A boy?” I try to keep my tone teasing because hell hath no fury like an offended teen.
“Maybe,” she replies, pressing her lips together.
“Who is it?” I ask, mentally ticking through the boys I’ve met that I’ve seen around more than a couple of times.
She smirks. “That would be bad juju. It’s nothing right now, nothing special anyway. Boys seem like so much work. We’re just talking. Promise. Nothing serious.”
Of course I trust her, but there’s a niggling feeling of something not quite right. “Sure, of course. When you’re ready to talk about him.”
“So, I can go?” Kendall asks, eyebrows raised.
“Sure, sure.” I can’t help myself, it’s physically impossible. I give her the safe sex lecture and the “no means no” lecture, and when she’s absolutely mad and annoyed, I leave her to finish her homework, praying my words trickle in. She’s a smart girl. My hope is that she’s smarter than I was.
I stop into my small bump-out office and attend to business on my laptop and head into the kitchen. My cell phone chimes with a text from Aidan.
Jumping out of airplanes tonight. How does it feel knowing you’d be my last thought if my parachute doesn’t open?
I smile.
Morbid? And a little flattered.
Just a LITTLE flattered?
Fine, a lot flattered. Make sure your parachute is in full working order, though. I want free gameplay time again tomorrow.
His text response is quick.
There’s nothing else I’d rather do.
I’m smiling, the phone pressed to my chest, when Kendall walks in and asks what I’m giggling about.
I lie.
ELEVEN
Aidan
It’s been aboutthree weeks since I fell in love with Magnolia Sager standing naked in her bedroom, my heart on display in a way it’s never been before. The real kind of love that drives you absolutely wild with wonderment and complete abandon.
Her daughter is at an overnight cheerleading camp for the weekend, and Magnolia showed up to my house with a weekender three hours ago. For any other man in love, this would be the best thing that could possibly happen. I’m not any other man. I want so badly for Magnolia to think I’m perfect for her. That nothing that I’ve done or have endured will be impressed upon what she means to me now.
She’s grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen tap, humming a song that’s been playing non-stop on the radio. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I give myself a mental pep talk.You can do this. This isn’t a big deal. A woman spending the night is common. Normal. I can be normal for her. For me. I deserve that. I must.
“Do you want anything?” Magnolia calls out.
A lobotomy, a rewind button, and a dose of fuck-it-all probably isn’t what she means.
“No thank you,” I reply, wiping away a layer of sweat from my forehead. My friends were over at my place shooting the shit earlier. Since they left, I’ve received approximately ten thousand texts asking if I’m really having a sleepover or some variation of taunting-laced encouragement. The last text I read before silencing my phone was one from Mercer that said,You’ve lost your goddamned mind. I better be the best man. I didn’t even reply to dispute it. Tahoe’s text said,Breathe.
That’s the one I’m currently focusing on.In through my nose and out through my mouth.A simple thing. Breathing. You don’t even realize you’re doing it most times. When you focus on it, it’s the only thing you can think of. It keeps you alive.
Magnolia brushes past me to enter the bathroom connected to my bedroom. She sets her water glass down and takes her toothbrush out to begin brushing. She turns around, leaning against the counter, and looks at me while she foams her teeth, gaze narrowed and brow pinched.
I appraise her, and a little bit of nervous energy erases. She’s wearing the silk pajama set I bought for her. The blue fabric brings out the color of her eyes, and the scant material barely covers anything. “You’re so beautiful,” I say, thinking out loud. More than I deserve. More than I can keep. My stomach knots.
She tries to respond, but toothpaste foams out of her mouth and drips down her chin. She catches it right before it gets on her top. Giggling, she finishes brushing and washing and then leans against the doorframe. “You shouldn’t compliment a lady when she can’t reply.”
