Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Ugh, fine. I know I’ve been missing a lot, but playoffs schedule is brutal. I’ll be free to watercize my ass off consistently once we’re done.”

  “You two and your water aerobics.” Lo shakes her head, then freezes mid-scrolling through her phone. “Hey, Frankie. Have you been on Twitter lately?”

  I feel my color drain. I’m social-media savvy enough to know that lead never bodes well.

  “Not since this morning. We did a live session Q and A in the locker room after practice for playoffs hype this morning, then I came here. Why?”

  Lo slides her phone toward me. It’s a paparazzi shot, taken right outside the practice facility, before Ren and I left to come here. His hand rests low on my back as he reaches for the car door. A tiny gesture as I caught my toe on uneven asphalt that felt so surprisingly good. Maybe it was because he didn’t say anything. Just gently steadied me with that warm, solid hand as he opened my door.

  Annie leans over to see Twitter unfurling with comments that have my stomach rolling. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she glances from Lo’s phone to me. “Wow. Lots of women really don’t like you already, huh?”

  The comments unfold at alarming speed. Some are nice. Many are awful.

  Ooh, I want her shoes.

  Is that a cane?

  Wow. I thought he was gay.

  Lorena crunches on an ice cube from her tea and swears under her breath. “That right there is why we need feminism. To exorcise embedded patriarchy from our culture, women have got to stop internalizing toxic male practices like hierarchical aggression and then wielding them against each other.”

  Annie sits back in her seat and puts her plate on her round belly with a sigh. “While true, Lo, maybe what Frankie needs is less cultural critique and more practical insight right now.”

  Lo throws up her hands. “I’m in liberal arts academia. I’m the worst person to come to for anything practical.”

  Both of my friends turn to face me. Their heads tip in twin looks of concern. Sweet and tiny Annie, with her pragmatism and her big heart. Lo with those sharp mocha eyes and badass facial piercings that hide a sensitive, philosophical soul. They’re as different on the outside as they are on the inside. And especially right now, I don’t know what I’d do without them.

  “It’s all right.” I shrug. “Nothing to be done, really. Just wait for the comments when they call me his pity fuck.”

  “Oop, one just rolled in,” Annie mutters.

  Lo and I swivel our gazes at her.

  Annie turns bright red and sinks lower in her chair. “Sorry. Pregnancy brain. Can I have a pass for that?”

  “One,” Lo says sternly. She takes the phone back from Annie, scrolling through the comments. Her expression hardens, and she flips over her phone, setting it on the table so the screen is hidden. “I want to throat-punch those evil trolls.”

  “But you can’t,” I remind her. “So, let’s move on, shall we?”

  Lo stares at me for a long minute. She has a very disturbing ability to intuit my thoughts, so I blink away, avoiding eye contact as I take a long slow breath to quiet my pounding heart. I have experience with this, maybe not with it being directed so aggressively at me, but social media is a beast I handle capably every day.

  It’s not a big deal. People are assholes. I’m used to being judged for my appearance—the cane and my flat expression. What’s a few hundred thousand people thinking the worst of me?

  “So,” Annie says, squeezing my hand affectionately. “When do you get your acceptance letter from UCLA?

  “That’s not a sure thing,” I remind her. “Who knows if I’ll get accepted?”

  Annie rolls her eyes. “Please. You’ll get accepted. You are made to do sports law. Your admissions documents were perfection.”

  “It’s true,” Lo chimes in. “I edited them for you. I made sure of it.”

  “We’ll see,” I mutter.

  Annie pats my hand. “Let’s move on. I can see you getting upset talking about it.”

  “It makes me anxious to think about it. I’d rather just forget I applied and be pleasantly surprised if I somehow manage to get in.”

  “Fair enough,” Annie says. “How’s teaching, Lo?”

  As Lo answers, my gaze wanders over to Ren, tucked into his circumspect corner. His book rests flat on a small two-top table, his water and tea neatly side by side.

  “Frankie.” Lo’s voice startles me.

  I glance back at her. “What?”

  She flicks her lip piercing with her tongue and wiggles her eyebrows, making her brow piercings do a little dance. “See something you like?”

  My cheeks heat. I twist my fingers in my necklace. “I was just staring into space.”

  Lo quirks an eyebrow. I’ve learned this is code for bullshit.

  Annie groans, oblivious to our exchange. “God. I’m sick of being pregnant.”

  “Aren’t you due soon?” I ask her. “You look like my grandma’s bread when she leaves it out too long to proof.”

  Lo chokes on her water.

  Annie stares at me in disbelief. “Frankie. I have another month, at least.”

  There’s one of my Why-did-you-open-your-mouth-and-state-the-obvious? moments for you. I grimace. “Sorry, Annie. I didn’t mean to be insulting. You’re just a tiny person with a tall guy’s baby in you. And—”

  Lo clears her throat loudly and raises her eyebrows. If a stranger did that, I’d lose it on them, but I’ve built trust with my friends and I don’t find a little social direction here and there offensive or condescending. It’s helpful, actually, and I’ve told them as much.

  Annie picks up her fork, holding it poised over her salad. “I want to laugh without peeing myself. I want to drink beer again.” Staring at the plate on her belly, Annie frowns at her food. “And I want to eat you. But I don’t have room.”

  “Poor Annie.” Lo gives Annie an empathic smile before biting into her tofu and bean burrito. “So, once you get into law school, Frankie, how much longer do you do this job? You going to take some time off? Because I want to plan something fun with you between this and the start of the semester.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Annie says. “I’ll just be leaking breastmilk, wrecked from birthing Tim’s monster baby. But please, plan a Napa trip without me.”

  Lo tsks. “I’m talking like a day at the spa and a movie in PJs. For all of us. New mama included.”

  Annie perks up and grins. “Okay. Keep planning, then.”

  I sip my root beer. “Depends on the playoffs. My thought is I’ll give my two weeks’ notice once we lose. I’ve saved up a little nest egg. I’d like to do some studying and otherwise take a few months off to just relax a bit until school starts.”

  “Good.” Lo smiles, staring past my shoulder. “Any plans to relax with the hockey hottie?”

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter around a bite of pizza. “Banging Ren would be a high point in my life, if he’s any bit as coordinated in bed as he is on the ice, but he’s holding out for someone else.”

  My stomach sours saying that. I rub my belly and drink some water.

  “Who is she?” Lo asks.

  “Someone who’s unavailable right now but who he’s hopeful he can eventually pursue. I don’t know the details, just that he’s willing to wait for her.”

  Annie tips her head, glancing from Ren to me. “You have no clue who it is? He hasn’t told you, not even hinted?”

  “Well, if he has, you know I don’t pick up on hints,” I remind her. “And no, I really have no clue.”

  “Huh.” Lo stares past me, straight at Ren, her brow furrowed in thought.

  I peer over my shoulder and look at Ren again as he turns the page in his book, then grins. My heart squeezes weirdly and I turn around. “What?” I ask the two of them.

  “Lord help me,” Annie says. “He smiles while reading.”

  Lo grins. “And he drinks herbal tea.”

  “He’s adorable,” they say in unison.

>   “Shh!” I feel my cheeks turning bright red. “Seriously, stop, both of you.”

  Lorena’s eyes scour Ren. “I don’t know, Frankie. I say give your two weeks’ notice, then jump his fine ass.”

  Annie sighs wistfully. Her plate of food doesn’t even teeter, resting steadily on her round stomach. “Lo’s right. Go for it. You like him. You two get along.”

  “Wow, what a compelling reason to throw myself at him,” I say drily. “By that criteria I should be asking out our waiter.”

  Annie groans, locks eyes with Lorena, then glances back to me. “Frankie, he’s cute. And ridiculously nice.”

  I give her a look. “You’ve met him once. He said hi to you and smiled. That’s it.”

  “So?” she fires back. “His greeting was delightful and memorable. And you said you two consider each other friends. I’m just saying that I think Lo’s onto something.”

  “Ladies. He’s not into me. He’s the epitome of polite and friendly, that’s it. Plus, we know Frankie’s not going down the love road.”

  Annie’s small hand rests over mine. “We’ve discussed that guys are a bit of a blind spot for you.”

  “And you say you’re not going down the love road,” Lo says with a quirk of her pierced eyebrow, “but we say, bullshit.”

  I scowl at her.

  Lo takes my other hand. “The man who is worthy of your love is not going to treat you how your family did. You’re a bright woman, Frankie, but you seem to need the reminder that interabled coupledom can be mutually intimate, empowering, and reciprocal—”

  “Here we go,” I mutter.

  “It’s time to move past that negative attitude toward it,” she continues blithely. “Talk about it with the therapist, please? It’s time to suit up for love. Because trust me, when love comes, you’re going to want to be ready. You haven’t felt those butterflies, that flip of your stomach, the sensation that your heart’s about to jump out of your chest. When you feel that, it changes everything.”

  My pizza churns in my stomach. I’ve felt most of those things just looking at Ren. I keep that unsettling tidbit to myself.

  “And just because a guy isn’t jumping your bones, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to,” Annie adds. “In the absence of him seducing you, let’s consider the fact that Ren does exemplify important prerequisites for a solid boyfriend candidate.” She lifts her fingers and starts ticking them off. “He’s gentlemanly. He’s a ginger.”

  Lo cackles. “Frankie’s such a freak for redheads.” I kick her under the table.

  “He likes to read,” Annie continues. “He cares about his community. After this you’re going to go take video of him reading to sick children, for goodness’ sake!”

  “Your point?” I shove a bite of pizza in my mouth and chew.

  Annie blinks at me, owl-like through her glasses. “My point is he’s special. He’s sitting in a café, clearly not because he’s hungry, but because he’d rather deal with being ogled by an entire restaurant so he can carpool with you, rather than avoid this bullshit and meet you there. I think he’s not just a fantastic human. I think you mean something to him.”

  “That’s…that’s… It’s a work thing.”

  “You know in science,” Annie says, “the logical principle called Occam’s Razor.”

  I eyeball her. “Yes?”

  “Well, it says that we must accept, until we have reason otherwise, that the simplest explanation for your data is the most logical and thus likely one. It applies broadly, I think. To life. To feelings.”

  “Annie. I’m not a scientist. Ren and I aren’t an experiment.”

  “Well, you’re right of course.” She steals a slice of my pizza and takes a bite. “But this is the simple truth: you and Ren like each other and feel comfortable around each other. Don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I grumble.

  “So, explore it. I mean, if you want to. Which I think you seem to… Am I wrong?”

  I stare down at my pizza and sigh. “No. I mean, I do like him.”

  Like him. Okay, maybe I more than like him. But it’s just carnal, isn’t it? I’m so sexually attracted to that sweet cinnamon roll of a man, it’s crazy.

  Annie leans in. “And you’re attracted to him?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “But, I really don’t think he sees me that way, and we work together—”

  Lorena claps her hands. “Hallelujah, she’s gonna get laid. Then maybe she won’t be so salty at book club.”

  My pizza gets the brunt of my emotions. I bite down viciously and tear off another mouthful. “I wasn’t being salty. That book was trash. Nothing happened for, like, six hundred pages.”

  Lorena sucks in a breath.

  “What?” I follow her glance back toward Ren’s table and nearly choke on the pizza making my cheeks chipmunk full.

  A woman hovers over him. She’s leaning her ass on Ren’s table, wrapping her arm around his chair. He leans back all the way in his seat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s nervous. Cornered.

  Red tints my vision. “That puck bunny punk—”

  “Whoa, lady,” Lorena says. “What’s this all about, Miss I-mean-I-guess-I-kind-of-like-him?”

  I swallow my painfully massive bite of pizza and stare. “I’m just… He’s my friend. He’s shy. He hates attention like that.”

  “He’s a big boy,” Lorena purrs. “He doesn’t need you to stick up for him. Unless you want to go clear up a few things with the woman who’s clearly broadcasting her interest…”

  I war with myself. Lorena’s right. Ren is a grown man. He can take care of himself. But Ren usually doesn’t when it comes to fans. He’s always polite. Too polite.

  Standing, I sweep up my cane and stroll across the café. Ren’s eyes lift and lock with mine as I cross the room, a thrum of energy and purpose washing through me with each step. His gaze holds mine with a brazen intensity that weakens my knees and makes me glad I have something to lean on.

  The woman’s voice dies off when I stop at the table. Ren stands, making her release his chair and sit back on the table. His eyes dance between mine, a small smile playing at his lips.

  “Hi,” I say to the woman on an attempted smile. She rears back slightly, so I’m guessing my fake smile was a brilliant failure like always.

  My stomach does a weird tumble as I lean on my cane and turn my attention to Ren. “Hey, Zenzero.”

  He swallows thickly. “Hi, Frankie.”

  “You must not have seen me when you came in.” I nod toward my table where Annie and Lorena wave much too enthusiastically. “There’s a fourth seat calling your name.”

  Ren’s shoulders relax. He smiles as he sweeps up his book and leaves a fifty on the table. “Excuse me,” he says to the woman on a polite nod, while stepping closer to me. “I have to get going.”

  We turn, and once again, Ren places his hand low on my back to indicate I should go ahead of him. It’s just a fraction of a second before it falls away, but I swear my heart ran a marathon in that tiny space of time.

  “Thanks,” he says quietly. “I should get better at escaping that kind of situation.”

  I smile at him over my shoulder. “What’s your usual tactic?”

  “Making up an excuse for why I need to leave.”

  “Ah. And you didn’t leave this time because…”

  He stops in his tracks. “Because I was waiting for you. Of course, I didn’t leave.”

  “You could have waited in your car, Ren.” I spin so I can face him. “You didn’t have to deal with that for my sake.”

  Ren’s mouth quirks in the faintest grin. “What do you say you let me worry about how and where I wait for you, Francesca?”

  “As you wish, Søren.” I pinch his bicep teasingly. “Now help me finish off my pizza so we can make it to Children’s, then get home. Before Pazza poops on that fancy couch of yours.”

  * * *

  “Your friends are great,” Ren says.

  I scowl as I stare out the
car window. “They’re in the doghouse.”

  Next time I’m at water aerobics, I’m going to tell Annie that terrible vegetable joke she can never get over. She’ll pee herself in the pool from hysterics—thank you, Annie’s advanced pregnancy. Lorena’s the worst offender, though. I’m sending a Chippendale dancer to her office hours. That’ll teach her.

  Ren laughs. “Frankie. You’re badass and cool. Your friends telling a few barely embarrassing, entirely hilarious stories only rounds out the picture.”

  I grumble under my breath and shift in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Kind of hard when both of your hips hurt.

  Ren grips the steering wheel at exactly ten and two o’clock, leaving two o’clock just long enough to adjust his rearview mirror at a red light. “You weren’t serious about Pazza pooping on the couch, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t. She’s crated for the day. I mean it’s been years since she chewed out of her crate and ripped up my entire living room furniture set.”

  Ren makes a strangled noise and hazards a glance at me. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

  I grin. “You’re fun to tease, Zenzero. I can’t help it.”

  “Trust me, I’ve heard that one before.”

  Guilt hits me, settling heavy in my gut. Both because I’ve borne the brunt of missing a joke or tease too many times to count—happens a lot with a highly literal brain—and because he told me the other day that he was one of those kids for whom high school was pure misery. He’s probably been messed with enough for two lifetimes.

  “Hey. I’m sorry.” I set a hand on his thigh, and Sweet St. Nicholas Stuck in the Chimney this man’s legs are granite hard. I yank my hand back like I burned it.

  Ren clears his throat and accelerates as the light turns green. “You don’t need to apologize, Frankie.”

  I feel like he’s holding something back, but I’m terrible at figuring out moments like these. These are the times when being autistic is frustrating and exhausting. Especially when people don’t know what you’re up against.