I’m even more surprised when he bypasses our usual row and goes up front to sit with Rusty, who gives him a high five.
Ouch.
“Told you not to fucking try to hook him up,” Scarlett says, taking a seat next to me. She normally sits with Rusty, because of needing to focus on what the professor is saying, but she must see how pathetic I look and spared me the embarrassment of sitting by myself.
“Can you not, right now?” I ask.
“Listen, I gave you your space yesterday, but we leave for Thanksgiving break soon. Do you really want to go back home, knowing he’s only twenty minutes away, but not be able to see him?”
I didn’t even think about that.
Fuck.
I bury my head in my hands and Scarlett rubs my back as I hold back the threatening tears. Not in class. Not here. Not where he can see me.
Leaning in close, Scarlett says, “If you’re this upset about what happened Saturday night, doesn’t that tell you something?”
Sarcastically I say, “Yeah, never open my mouth about anything.”
“I’m serious, Indie. You need to figure out your priorities, because there are people who want to be a part of your life, who really care about you. But you push them away. I think it’s time to start letting them in.”
“I know,” I say quietly, my throat growing so tight that it’s painful. “I can’t talk about it anymore.”
“Okay, I understand.” She rubs my back and when the professor walks in, I try to focus on anything but Lincoln sitting in front of me.
But it’s useless, because I stare at him, noticing how his broad shoulders fill out his hoodie, for the entire class. How his hat sits perfectly backwards on his head, how he shifts from side to side every so often, getting comfortable. I miss the brush of his shoulder against mine. By the time class is over, I’m a complete mess on the verge of a breakdown but, desperate to talk to him, I quickly pack up and book it out of the class to wait for him. When he appears, my breath catches as nerves rip through me, causing my legs to shake.
He starts to walk past me when I call out to him, “Lincoln, wait.”
He stops and so does Rusty. Not turning to look at me, Lincoln says, “Go on, I’ll catch you later, man.”
“Okay.” Rusty glances at me, gives me a sad smile, and then walks away, leaving me alone with Lincoln.
When he turns around, he says, “What, Indie? Are you looking to see if I fucked a girl this weekend?”
My lip trembles, and the realization that he could have had sex makes me so physically ill, I can’t spit out my words.
He grips the straps of his backpack and rocks back on his heels. “I didn’t. Thought about it, just to appease you, but I didn’t.”
The smallest amount of tension leaves my shoulders, but not enough to make me feel better.
“That’s”—I swallow hard—“that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
He pulls out his phone and looks at the time. “You have about five minutes. I have to meet with my coach.”
God, he’s so mad. There’s normally a sparkle in his eyes when we’re together. A smile tilting his lips, a lightness about him that makes it so easy to joke around with him. But when he’s like this, angry, irritated . . . hurt, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen this kind of anger in him. What do I say? How do I fix this? Because, fuck, I need to fix this. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my best friend.
“I’m sorry about Saturday. I wasn’t—”
“You know, on second thought, I really don’t have time for this.” He takes a step back and my heart sinks into a cold darkness as my veins freeze over. Scratching the side of his cheek, he says, “Brandon did ask if you were okay. I gave him your number, you know, in case you want to fuck him. What are friends for, right, Indie?”
“Lincoln.”
He takes another step back. “I thought I knew what you wanted, but I guess I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things, but the stunt you pulled on Saturday, instead of coming to talk to me, it was fucked up.”
“I know and that’s why I’m trying to apologize.”
“A little too late, Indie.” Another step away. “I’ll see you around.”
“Lincoln, please,” I call out, but he’s already too far away.
Tears stream down my face, but I quickly wipe them away as I walk in the opposite direction, toward the events center . . . where I plan on running on the treadmill until my legs can’t take anymore. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?
Chapter Fourteen
LINCOLN
“So I gave you all of yesterday to sulk, but today is another day and the sulking is done,” Mom says, coming up to me with some of her homemade cookies. She sets the plate in front of me and then sits next to me on the couch.
“It’s nine in the morning. Too early for cookies.”
“It’s never too early for cookies,” she says. “Especially when you’re on break.” She leans over, picks up a cookie, and hands it to me.
On a sigh, I take a bite and lean my head against the couch.
“Are you going to tell me what put you in this mood?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to gossip about it to your hairstylist?”
She winces and instant regret flashes over her face. “Does this have to do with Indie?”
“What do you think, Mom?”
“Laura, where are all the cookies?” Mama calls from the kitchen.
“In here,” Mom says. Then, for some reason, she says to me, “When you’re gone, we eat cookies at all hours of the day.”
“Especially when you have to look at hairy balls slapping against a rather loose vagina,” Mama says, bringing a plate over and putting two cookies on it for herself.
“I thought you were done with the porn site,” I say, thankful for the reprieve.
Mama smiles, as if she won the jackpot. “Scored another one. It was all rather exciting when they contacted us.”
There’s something seriously wrong with my moms.
“Congratulations, I guess.”
Mama pauses and studies me for a few breaths, and then she takes a seat across from us. “He has a crinkle in his brow, Laura.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Why is there a crinkle in our baby boy’s brow? There shouldn’t be a crinkle. It’s Thanksgiving break. I’m making crockpot chicken, like you love, and extra loaves of cranberry nut bread so you can take them back to school with you. There should be joy in the house. Lots and lots of joy. No crinkles.”
“Michelle, he’s upset at Indie.”
“I’m upset at you and Indie,” I correct her, flopping back on the couch.
Mama holds her hand up and stands. “This is on you, Laura. I told you not to meddle. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go stare at large cocks.”
I’m completely unfazed at this point.
When Mama leaves, Mom turns toward me and takes my hand in hers. “What happened?”
Not that I really want to talk about this with my mom, since she’s the one who said too much to Indie’s mom in the first place, but it’s also eating away at me. I feel like I don’t have a choice if I want to enjoy Thanksgiving and not sulk during the few days that I’m here.