15. Sage #2
“Nope. No murder.” Walking to the couch, she smacks my legs until I move them, and she sits. I drop them back in her lap after she’s situated.
It’s so weird seeing Luna sheepish. She’s a take no prisoners type of girl. So watching her try to make herself smaller is fucking weird.
“Look, Sage. I’m sorry, ok? But he had a right to know.
He should have known a long time ago. I know why you didn’t tell him when he was gone.
I get it, ok? I didn’t tell him, either, and that’s on me.
But he’s been back for weeks.” She won’t look at me, just stares at her hands as they twist the apron string.
Her nervousness is making my skin itch.
“I’m not mad, Lu. Calm down.”
“You’re not?” she asks slowly, suspiciously.
“No, I get it. I was being a fucking pussy.” A deep scowl takes over her small face. Then she’s hitting my legs with all her might.
“Then why.” Smack. “Didn’t you.” Smack. “Text me back?” Smack. “You shriveled ball sack!” I can’t stop the laugh, not that I try. But I do pull my legs away. For such a small thing, she can fucking hit.
“Because I don’t respond to texts that call me a douchecanoe, a twat waffle, or ducking dogshit.”
“I stand by all of those,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. I do understand why she did what she did.
I should have told him the truth myself.
It’s actually good she forced my hand. I’m not looking forward to this emotional chat Mac threatened me with.
But I feel like a physical weight has been lifted off me.
“So…you guys are ok? Your Mustang’s gone, so I know he’ll be back. You wouldn’t let him steal that piece of shit.” I decide to be the bigger person and not touch her bitchy comment about my car.
“Yeah, I think so. He said we’ll talk when he gets home.”
“Wait. You guys didn’t talk yesterday?” She turns on the couch to face me, legs tucked in under her ass.
“Uh…not exactly?” My hand runs through my hair, and I look anywhere but her.
Because I don’t know how I feel about…everything.
Obviously, what happened yesterday was fucking hot.
I’ve never come that hard in my life, and from a fucking handjob?
Mind blowing. I love the kissing, and the touching, and the cuddling in my tiny bed. But like, does this mean I’m gay?
Luna made such a big thing about coming out, do I have to do that shit?
All I know is I’m into Mac. Probably have been for a long-ass time, if I’m actually honest with myself. I’m not worried about whose ass gets fucked. I just want everything from him, with him. But am I ready to talk about it?
“Ok, what’s that look for?” Her eyes go wide and her mouth pops open into an O. “Ohhh my God! SAGE!” Great, she’s hitting me again. Her hand smacks against my chest.
“Fuck off, woman. Damn!” I push her back and she falls against the armrest of the couch.
“You did gayyyy things,” she singsongs with a squeak. “More than kissing?” When I don’t answer, she hits me again and squeals out, “Dude! This changes everything!” She’s practically vibrating in her seat, eager to hear every detail.
Yup, I’m not ready to talk about it. Apparently, I can jump into a gay scene with Mac, but I cannot, will not, be talking to fucking Luna about it. Jesus Christ.
“Ok. Ok. I’m sorry. You’re all panicky. Are you panicking?”
“I’m not panicking. Just don’t want to gossip about it. Jesus, Lu.” I stand from the couch, just needing to put some distance between us.
Luna is one of my closest friends, and she’s gay. She’d be a good person to talk to about whatever this means. But I seriously don’t want to.
Maybe because Mac and I haven’t talked about it. Maybe because I don’t want to ruin it by talking about it.
“It’s not gossip! I’m your best friend! It’s talking!”
“Mac’s my best friend,” I grumble on my way to kitchen.
“I’m gonna pretend that’s not extremely hurtful and decide it’s adorable.” Luna, not reading the room as per usual, decides to follow me into the kitchen. Her hip cocks as she leans against the edge of the chipped counter. “You know I’m here for you, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” And I do. She’s proven time and time again that she’s got my back. Pulling me off the floor after Mom died. Helping me get a job with her brother on the road crew. All the nights she’d stay over here just because I didn’t want to be alone.
But the idea of talking about “gay things” with her makes my stomach roll.
I pour the leftover coffee from this morning into two mugs and offer her one.
Her nose wrinkles as she shakes her head.
Fair. She probably had her body weight worth of free coffee at Earl’s.
Leaning my ass against the lip of the sink, I take a sip. Garbage, murky water.
“You gonna move into your mom’s old room?”
I cough and choke on the sludge I’m still drinking for some unknown reason. Where the fuck did that question come from?
“You have a twin bed, Sage. Mac is what, six-five? You’re six-four? Both of you probably weigh over three-hundred pounds collectively. I mean…” She shrugs. Why does she have to make sense? And why is she always so goddamn pushy?