The Love of My Next Life (Next Life Duet #1) Read Online Brit Benson

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Next Life Duet Series by Brit Benson

Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)

I calmed his demons. He created mine.
Macon Davis.
My best friend’s brother.
My tormentor.
My least favorite person.
Pothead. Delinquent.
A careless, directionless loser.
That’s what I used to believe,
but I didn’t really know him.
And when I finally saw him,
it was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.
We burned hot and fast.
Passion. Anger. Love. Pain.
We were reckless. Naive.
We were doomed from the start.
When I finally saw Macon Davis for who he was,
we both went down in the flames.



Love Is a Bitch – Two Feet

Sympathy – The Goo Goo Dolls

Landslide – Fleetwood Mac

My Own Worst Enemy – Lit

Loser – Sueco

I Knew You Were Trouble (Taylor’s version) – Taylor Swift

I Think I’m OKAY feat. YUNGBLOOD & Travis Barker – Machine Gun Kelly

Strawberries & Cigarettes – Troye Sivan

ur just horny – GAYLE

Wish You Were Sober – Conan Gray

Falling – Chase Atlantic

Slower – Tate McRae

Ocean Eyes (blackbear remix) – Billie Eilish

@ my worst – blackbear

Wrong Direction – Hailee Steinfeld

1 step forward, 3 steps back – Oliva Rodrigo

All Your Exes – Julia Michaels

Dress – Taylor Swift

notice me feat. BENEE – ROLE MODEL

i hope ur miserable until ur dead – Nessa Barrett

Never the 1 – ROSIE

Black Balloon – The Goo Goo Dolls

Jealous – Lennon Stella

Moral of the Story feat. Niall Horan – Ashe


“I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me? Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic.”

- Logan Echols,

Veronica Mars, 2x19

Age 9

I fiddle with the hem of my dress.

It’s blue with little white polka dots and a thin lace trim.

I hate this dress. It makes me feel like a little kid. I also hate the black Mary Janes on my feet.

I glance at my reflection in the side mirror, then quickly look away. My braid is loose and messy. There are little pieces of hair already falling out and hanging down by my cheeks. I hate this braid, too. Daddy tried, though, so I keep quiet and watch out the window as the pretty trees and fancy houses breeze by.

Daddy pulls into the parking lot and turns off the engine. Without the radio playing, my heartbeat is too loud in my head. Everything is too loud. He turns from the driver’s seat to look at me in the back.

“Ready, Pumpkin?”

I nod. I’m not ready. Not at all. But I smile anyway.

“You look very nice,” he says, and I push out the thank you he’s hoping for. He smiles back. “Okay, Pumpkin. Out we go.”

Daddy holds my hand as we walk up the sidewalk, and he pulls open one of the large doors for me. I know where I’m going. We were here last week to sign me up and stuff. Just inside the large double doors is another smaller door, and through that door is the office. I keep my eyes on my ugly Mary Janes the whole way.

“Mr. Washington,” a raspy voice greets. “Good morning.”

When I finally look up from my feet, I see the smiling face of Principal Townes. She’s tall, plump, and very pretty. She’s also very nice. She gave me a chapter book to read last week while she and Daddy talked.

“Hello, Lennon,” she says to me with a smile. “Welcome back.”

“Good morning, Juanita,” Daddy says, and he puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze.

“Hi,” I say with a quick upturn of my lips, then look back at my shoes.

While Daddy and Principal Townes talk, I stare out the window at the parking lot. Their voices drag and muffle, until I can barely hear them at all. Just the whirring of something mechanical and the clacking of the reception lady typing at her computer. Between the clacks and whirs, some words filter through.

New and shy and quiet.

Fit in and time and changes.

I’m sorry.

I drag the toe of one of my Mary Janes across the linoleum and watch as the rubber leaves a filmy, gray streak. Then I use the heel of my other Mary Jane to try and scratch the streak away. It doesn’t work, though. I just end up making more streaks.

Streaks like the shadows the blinds made in the study.

Streaks like the rain on the car window as it fell from the dark clouds.

Streaks like the mascara tear tracks as they marred pale, cold cheeks.

My memories are full of streaks, but they’re sharp and constant. Unlike the streaks my Mary Janes make on the linoleum. I resist the urge to bend down and scrub them off the floor.

Principal Townes stands from her desk and the movement pulls my attention back to the now.

“Are you ready, Lennon?” she asks softly, and I nod.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you excited for your first day?” Her voice is bright and hopeful. I glance at Daddy. His face reflects that hope. He waits for my response: jaw strained and smile tight.

I soften my facial expression. Turn my lips up at the corners once more. I force a lightness into my voice and lie.