Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Silence rings out. Because what can she say to all that? Not a thing, and we all know it.
Macon’s nostrils flare as he stares her down. “Yeah, I’ll speak to you however the hell I want.”
Sam laughs, a light trill that works like nails on my skin. “I didn’t steal it. I was only borrowing the damn thing.” The silver bangles on her slim wrist chime as she reaches over and opens her purse to root around in it.
The diamond watch glitters in the sun as she holds it aloft. “See? All better.”
Macon’s snort is eloquent, but he doesn’t move to take it. He merely stares her down as she sets it carefully on the table, then gives him an innocent smile.
“Where have you been, Sam?” My voice is thick and unsteady. I’m so ashamed of her right now I can barely stand being in the room.
“Here and there.” She takes another sip of tea. “I had some things I needed to take care of.”
“Like pawning my mother’s watch?” Macon supplies.
“You see it here, don’t you?”
“I’m guessing you had a harder time getting rid of it than you expected,” he deadpans.
Sam flicks a lock of golden hair over her shoulder but doesn’t answer.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pull in my temper. “Enough. Samantha, Macon’s right. Cut the shit. I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but it isn’t funny. I expected you to return and apologize, not antagonize him. God, do you have any remorse?”
All pretense of casual, carefree Sam melts away, and she surges to her feet. “You got some nerve, Dee.”
“What?” Macon and I both say at the same time with different levels of outrage.
She ignores him. “Acting all high and mighty when you’re fucking my boyfriend.”
“Your boyfriend?” Macon repeats, incredulous.
But I know exactly what she means. She zeroes in on me. “He was mine. For years! My first man. Mine. That makes him off limits.”
“I don’t believe this,” Macon says, cutting in. “What are you, thirteen? We’ve been ancient history for a decade.”
“Shut up,” Sam says, not looking his way. She only has eyes for me. “You’re my sister,” she cries, tearing up. “My best friend. And you had to go there? With him? I get that he’s hot and famous, but you are way out of your depth here, Dee.”
A flutter of guilt tickles my conscience because there is a sister code. I’ve broken it. But I shove that guilt away. On the surface, I am guilty, true. And if it had been any other man, I’d feel ashamed. But our tangled history with Macon makes it more complicated.
“First off, he’s not a toy. Shouting ‘mine’ doesn’t make it so. And I’ve had it with the insults. You want to be upset about this, fine. I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you to watch your mouth. You don’t get to make me feel like shit anymore.”
Sam’s eyes narrow to slits. “If the truth hurts, Dee, that’s on you.”
At my side, Macon makes an aggravated movement like he’s going to say something. I touch his wrist, and he stills, holding his tongue.
“It’s not just sex. It’s serious.”
She snorts. “Which only makes it worse. I’ve told you time and again not to believe a word he says. He’s an actor.” Finally, she looks at Macon. “And you. What bullshit are you filling her head with?”
Macon cocks his head, his brows lifting high. “Bullshit? What the hell?”
“Sam,” I cut in. “You’re totally out of line here.”
“See? He’s trying to turn you against me,” Sam says with an air of hysteria.
I swear Macon is going to burst out of his skin. My hand finds his and holds on.
“Macon’s right. We aren’t kids anymore. We’ve made our peace and moved on. Perhaps you should too. The only anger he’s displayed toward you is entirely justifiable.”
She makes a stubborn face and won’t meet my gaze.
“Now you show up with this self-righteous territorial act when you should be offering up apologies. To me as well.”
At this Sam straightens. “I knew it. What’s he been saying? I suppose he told you about prom—”
“Sam,” Macon snaps, so fast and angry that I jump.
He’s gone pale, his jaw bunching.
Sam ignores him. “He did, didn’t he?”
“Prom?” I parrot, my gaze darting between them.
“Sam.” Macon takes a step in her direction. “I mean it. Shut. Up.”
“That’s how he got you to forgive him, isn’t it?” She laughs, short and unhinged. “He told you.”
“Sam!” Macon’s voice carries a hint of desperation.
I hold up a hand. “No, let her talk.”
She’s tearing up again; Sam always did cry quickly. “Okay, fine. I did it. I thought it would be funny. It was just a stupid joke, a mistake. But he”—she points at Macon—“promised he’d never tell. He lied.”
A joke? And then it hits me. The prom. Tater tots in trays. The mocking laughter. Sam staring at me as though she’d seen a ghost. And Macon standing there looking furious, looking horrified. I thought it was guilt. I called him worthless.