June, Reimagined (52)

Matt smiled. “You’re supposed to be naked in a bathtub.”

Amelia held up her beer. “I’ve got one. I’ve got one. Never have I ever . . . kissed someone of the same sex.”

Angus crossed his arms over his chest exaggeratedly, smiling at Matt, who also, pointedly, did not take a drink. June, David, and Eva did.

“Who?” Matt begged June.

“Freshman year. A girl in my dorm. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

“And . . .” Angus enquired, leaning forward.

“All I really remember is that she tasted like a raspberry Slurpee.”

“Is that why you get one every time we’re at 7-Eleven?” Matt said.

June shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I can’t believe you never told me that.”

“Maybe you don’t know your lass as well as you think you do,” Angus offered loudly.

“Maybe you should shut the—”

Under the table, June squeezed Matt’s thigh as hard as she could.

“OK. Who’s next?” Amelia asked.

Angus said, “Peanut, you’re up.”

“Who’s Peanut?” Matt asked.

A surly smile grew on Angus’s face. “Have you not heard that story either?”

June could have strangled him. Why couldn’t he just leave Matt alone? What was he trying to pull? She would rail at Angus later; right now, June needed a distraction. She pulled out her camera. “Picture time. Everyone squeeze together.”

She snapped a picture.

Matt took the camera, handed it to Amelia, and requested a shot of just him and June. He pulled June toward him aggressively. “We need to document our first international trip.”

But when Amelia said “smile,” somewhat unenthusiastically, June was unable to. Our first international trip? Scotland was hers and hers alone. Matt had interrupted that, without her permission, and now he was trying to take over her experience as his own.

Or . . .

Was Matt just being a best friend, documenting a significant moment in their lives together? June’s oversensitivity was rearing its ugly head again.

“What a cute couple,” Angus said, clearly not meaning it.

June chuckled. “Couple? That would never happen.”

“It wouldn’t?” Amelia asked, surprised.

“No way.”

“Why not?” Matt asked.

“For starters, you haven’t been faithful to a single girlfriend. Ever.”

Matt spoke quietly. “That’s because they didn’t mean anything to me.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” June asked.

Matt leaned so close to June, she could smell the hoppy beer on his breath. “I would never cheat on you.”

Like he and June had potential to be a couple? It was laughable. Impossible. This whole situation felt that way to her. Matt in Knockmoral, the gifts, the whispers, the clinging, the awkward pulse between them when he touched her. None of it made sense. How had her life turned upside down so quickly?

The air in the pub was stifling and thick. Too many people in too little a space. June stood up, feeling choked by the stagnant air. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She raced toward the door, aching for fresh night air. If she could just breathe and wipe the cloudiness brought on by beer and hypersensitivity, then maybe she could see things clearly. Feel clearly.

But just as she reached the door, it opened, and Lennox stepped into the pub, throwing June further off balance. Her head spun, her ears buzzed, and as she took a step back, her knees threatened to give way. She was going to faint, right there, onto the grimy pub floor, and then she would have to explain why.

Lennox grabbed her around the waist. “Jesus, Peanut, you’re white as a ghost.”

His words barely came through the fuzz clouding June’s head. With Lennox’s grasp on her, images from their night together rushed back to her. His hands between her thighs. His mouth on hers. The weight of his body above her as he rocked. The burn of desire for more of him, and the ecstasy of release.

“June, what the hell is going on?” Matt’s voice broke the spell, and too quickly, Lennox let June go.

The two men stood facing each other.

“She doesn’t look well,” Lennox said flatly.

“What the hell, June? Are you alright?” Matt pulled her close, away from Lennox. He touched her cheek.

The change was disorienting—two bodies, wholly different. June felt her clammy forehead. “It’s just stuffy in here.”

Lennox made his way further into the pub.

“Wait. Did you find your animal?” Matt called to him, still holding June.

“Aye.” Lennox made no mention of June’s presence that afternoon.

“I’m glad. June was worried.” Matt’s grip tightened. “I’ve got her from here.” He ushered June over to an empty barstool, set her down, and touched her forehead like a parent checking on a fever, regularly glancing over his shoulder at Lennox.

“I’m fine, Matty.”

“You did me a favor, June. I was about to commit first-degree murder. Angus is a fucking asshole.”

“He’s not an asshole.”

“He’s a one-dimensional blunt object from a small town, who thinks he’s better than everyone. He hates that I’m here with you.”