Summer Fling

by Jerica MacMillan

  She felt better now that was settled—and not at all disappointed that he was just being friendly and not trying to date her anymore. Nope. Not a bit. Because she already knew this could only end badly. Right? Right. Except …

  But no. That wasn’t even an option. Because this was a dinner between friends.

  Picking up her menu, she focused on the food choices, glad for the distraction. For his part, Lance seemed to be examining every item on the menu, which at least kept her from having to make conversation until the waiter arrived.

  And nothing about the silence felt awkward, just like in the car. It was easy and unstrained, like it ought to be between friends. Dates didn’t go by in easy silence, right? Another point in favor of this just being a friend dinner.

  After the waiter took their order, Abby stared out the window, watching the changing colors in the sky, happy to let their companionable silence continue.

  But then Lance cleared his throat. And asked the question she’d expected in the car. “Why haven’t you had much to celebrate the last couple of years?”

  Abby tore her attention from the view to look at him. “What?” She’d heard him, but she was stalling. She’d retreated back into her inner fortress, and now he wanted her to come out again. Even if she’d expected as much earlier, that didn’t mean it was easy.

  “In the parking garage,” he elaborated, “you said you used to come here to celebrate, but the last couple years there hasn’t been much to celebrate. Why not?”

  Abby looked away again, gearing herself up to answer the question. He deserved answers, especially since he hadn’t pressed her about anything all night. And she’d already decided to answer his questions in the car. There was still no reason not to, other than her natural reticence. With a deep breath to brace herself for the expected—but unpleasant—vulnerability, she met his eyes again. “My mom’s anxiety has gotten steadily worse since I started high school. That’s why we bought her groceries tonight. She can’t manage to leave the house and go to the grocery store right now, even though she’s been going to that same store for at least ten years. Just thinking about it makes her have a panic attack.”

  She took another deep breath, needing to say at least one of the things she came up with in the car. “Thank you, by the way. I know it was probably weird hearing from me out of the blue. I really appreciate you coming and taking me. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. It could’ve been something fairly simple like groceries, but she also could’ve been suicidal. I never know.”

  Lance made a sympathetic sound. “Is it always like that?”

  Abby tilted her head back and forth. “Not always. Sometimes she goes for a few weeks and is pretty stable, as long as nothing stresses her out too much. Basic shopping is really stressful for her. More often than not I have to do it. We’d go shopping together when I still lived at home, but I’d usually be the one to talk to the cashier. The first few months after I went to college, she tried to do it herself, but it was too much. She’s been trying different medications, but nothing has really helped.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to come home on the weekends to do this kind of thing?” Abby narrowed her eyes slightly at the question, her hackles automatically going up at the criticism. But Lance’s voice held curiosity and concern, and his face matched his tone. There was no judgment, he was only curious.

  Abby nodded. “Yes. It would be. And that’s usually what I do. Mom told me last weekend that she’d take care of it.”

  “So what happened?”

  Abby needed to distance herself from the obvious concern in his voice. She could get used to him helping her, wanting to ride to her rescue, his sympathy. She ran her fingers over the condensation gathering on her water glass, studying the paths the droplets made. “She didn’t go to the store over the weekend. And today was a bad day. She had a panic attack this morning and was out of medication. She hadn’t picked up her new prescription from her last appointment, either.”

  His brow furrowed, he sipped his own water. “What happens if she can’t go and you’re not available?”

  “She doesn’t eat.” The way she said it, bald and unflinching, sounded callous. Maybe it was, but it was the truth. “Sometimes she does that—she runs out of groceries, can’t make herself go, but feels bad about calling me. So she just goes hungry until she can either make herself go to the store, asks for my help, or I check on her and find out what’s going on. That’s why she’s so skinny.”

  Lance opened his mouth, and closed it again, then finally asked, “How often do you check on her?”

  Sighing, Abby glanced at Lance, noticing he still looked … upset. Not pitying or condemning, but angry on her behalf. She didn’t know what to do with that, so she refocused on her glass of water. “I try to call her on the weekends. She doesn’t always answer the phone, though. She doesn’t like to talk on the phone. If that happens, I text her, but she won’t always tell me she needs groceries.”

  “Last weekend?”

  Abby managed a small smile. “I left her a voicemail, but she never called or texted me back.” She gave Lance a meaningful look. “I was a little distracted and didn’t try again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Abby’s words sunk in—the fact that he’d been the distraction that kept her from trying harder to check on her mom—he went from curious and concerned to outright horror. All the blood drained from his face. Dear lord, she’d been supposed to take care of her mom, and he’d been trying to—

  He cut off the thought in favor of an apology. Leaning forward, he wanted to reach for her hand, but stopped himself, curling his fingers into a fist halfway across the table. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I had no idea—”

  She cut off his apology with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head, dismissing his horror like it was undeserved. “Don’t apologize. I had a nice weekend with you. If she’d wanted my help she would have contacted me. Like she did today.” She gave him another attempt at a smile before releasing her breath in a sigh. “I just wish she wouldn’t wait until she was down to stale crackers and ketchup.”

  He wished he had the right words to take away that sigh and put a real smile on her face. But he didn’t. There was nothing he could do but this—driving her around, taking her to dinner, and encouraging her get out all the bad. He knew she didn’t enjoy talking about it, but he also knew she needed to. If he had any remaining doubts, the fact that the set of her shoulders relaxed the longer she talked would’ve erased them.

  Frowning, a thought occurred to him. “What about your brother? Why doesn’t he help?”

  Abby’s pretty pink lips pressed together, her expression hard. He thought she might not answer, given her track record of clamming up about her family. The fact that she’d been so forthcoming this evening, answering his questions without flinching, had seemed almost too good to be true. Was this the point where he pushed too far? But then her face softened, and she let out another sigh. “Aaron did help a lot. When we were younger, after Mom started getting worse, he was the one who made sure we had groceries, made dinner, took care of Mom and me. He started handling the bills when he was like fourteen years old. He balanced the checkbook and made the budget so that we would have enough money to pay for food and electricity and everything. Once I got old enough, we divided up the responsibilities. He still did the budget, but I took Mom to the grocery store and took over the cooking when I was twelve. We shared other household chores, and Mom did the cleaning.” She glanced up and added, “She has fairly mild OCD on top of the anxiety.”

  Still staring at her water glass, she slid her fingers up and down, her nose wrinkling as she went through a memory. “But when I graduated from high school, he was done. He said that he’d given up his childhood so I could keep mine and it was my turn to take care of Mom. He left. I’ve only heard from him a handful of times in the last couple of years.”

  She paused and took a sip of water. Lance waited, giving her space if she wanted to c
ontinue, unsure whether he should ask more questions at this point. His patience was rewarded. “I got scholarships for school and took a summer job. Mom gets disability benefits, and that pays for most of what she needs. I help with what I can, and Aaron sometimes sends a little money.” She gave him another of those sad smiles. It almost broke his heart watching her recite this story, and he barely knew her. But her obvious strength in overcoming such a joyless childhood and becoming the entertaining, sarcastic girl he’d met over the weekend kept him from giving in to the urge to pity her. She didn’t deserve pity. She deserved help and support and …

  “He still cares.” Her words interrupted his train of thought, and it took him a second to catch on that she was still talking about her brother. “And he helps how he can, but …” She trailed off with a little shrug, and all his previous feelings about her coalesced into one. Anger. Anger that she’d defend her selfish asshole of a brother.

  “Don’t defend him, Abby.” His voice came out as more of a growl than he intended, but he couldn’t help himself. She was bearing the burden of caring for their sick mother alone, and she tried to defend her brother because he helped for a while? And sends a few bucks every so often? He could read between the lines. Sometimes sends a little money meant once in a blue moon he sent a hundred bucks or less.

  He was glad when she finally looked him in the eye and didn’t immediately look away again. “What?” Her brows drew together, clearly uncertain what to make of his anger.

  “Don’t defend him for abandoning you.” He made sure that his voice was softer, less growly, but no less emphatic. “You deserve better than that.”

  Glancing away, which made him shift in his seat, wanting to reach across and grip her hand or do something to get her to look at him again, Abby shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Lance.” Her voice was equal parts dismissive and resigned, which only made him grit his teeth harder. “It is what it is. My mom’s the way she is, and my dad and my brother both bailed, leaving me to pick up the pieces afterward.”

  Lance opened his mouth to say something, the urge to reassure her that he wouldn’t abandon her pressing on his chest, his throat, but he couldn’t say the words. Because they’d be a lie, and they’d both know it, and lying to her seemed infinitely worse than dating her for a few weeks and leaving when their time was up.

  Fortunately the waiter arrived with their food, breaking the tension and saving him from making a promise he couldn’t keep. And just like on their lunch date, Abby steered the conversation to lighter topics. He didn’t object, didn’t try to bring them back to her family. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say on the topic anyway. Besides, the longer they spent talking about anything and everything else, the more the drawn set of her mouth relaxed, the more her eyes brightened, and the more her smiles came easier. As far as he was concerned, this was the perfect date. Entertaining company, a beautiful setting, and delicious food.

  When the check came, Abby turned to get her purse from the back of her chair. He shot her a questioning look that she didn’t notice. When she reached for the little vinyl folder, he snatched it up first.

  Abby held out her hand, her face a picture of consternation. “What are you doing? Give me that.”

  Stifling his laughter, Lance kept hold of the folder while he pulled out his wallet. Making a show of placing his card in the folder and setting it on the corner of the table next to him out of Abby’s reach, he finally met her eyes. “No.”

  Abby ignored him, practically climbing on top of the table to reach it with her short little arms. The tips of her fingers made contact, and she scrabbled at it, trying to get enough of a grip to pull it toward her. Fighting back a smirk, Lance placed his hand flat on top of it, ensuring that she couldn’t move it at all.

  Abby sat back, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she stared at him. He returned her stare with as bland an expression as possible, keeping his hand on the little black folder, because the minute he let go, he knew she’d go for it again. She huffed. “Lance, please give me the check. I’d like to pay for dinner.”

  Lance quirked an eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I appreciate the polite request, Abby, but I’m afraid the answer is no.”

  Her expression turned from suspicious to full-blown scowl. “I’m serious,” she insisted, sounding for all the world like a petulant preschooler. “I’m paying. You drove me to my mom’s house, waited outside without complaining, ran errands with me, and now you’re going to get home late because of all of it. At least let me buy you dinner.”

  Lance tilted his head to one side, pretending to consider what she said. “Hmmm, you make an interesting point.” But there was no way she was paying. Coming here had been his idea. He’d wanted to treat her to a nice meal after a rough day. Knowing she had to do this all the time only made him more determined to be a bright spot for her. Something to look forward to and look back on fondly. If anyone deserved some fun and spoiling, it was Abby.

  She held out her hand. “Yes, I do make an interesting point. Compelling, even. Now give me the damn check.”

  Fighting back laughter, he clucked his tongue at her. “Language, Abby. Language.” He couldn’t manage to keep his smile in check anymore, though, and it broke free.

  His date didn’t seem to appreciate his humor. She balled her hand into a fist and looked like she wanted to hit him. “Fine. I’m going to pay you back for my meal at least.” Her voice was tight with frustration.

  Lance gave in to the urge to chuckle. Placing one arm on the table, he leaned forward, pitching his voice low like he was sharing a secret. “Abby, I’m glad you called me. I like spending time with you. Remember? I even asked you for another date. This was it. You said thank you and you let me take you to dinner. That’s repayment enough.”

  Abby inhaled sharply through her nose when he said the word date. And he knew what she was going to say before she could even form the words. “Lance, I—”

  Shaking his head, he cut her off. “Abby, stop arguing with me and let me buy you dinner. You don’t have much choice at this point anyway.” He didn’t want to hear whatever lame excuse she wanted to give him. If she brought up fucking laundry again, he might hit something. She obviously liked him, otherwise she wouldn’t have even thought to call him today. And she wouldn’t have agreed to have dinner with him or shared so many personal details.

  Abby slumped in her chair, defeated. She eyed him, sizing him up. “Why do you keep asking me out anyway? You’re Lance Kane, right?”

  This again? She’d obviously heard something about him since that first night they met. Actually, it had to have been after the movie the next day, because she wasn’t hung up on his reputation until their lunch date. “Yeah. I’m Lance Kane. What does that have to do with anything? And why do you think I keep asking you out?” He was tired of her questioning, and his exasperation leaked into his voice. “I told you I like spending time with you. Why else would I ask you out?”

  Abby leaned forward now, grim victory lighting her face, punctuating her words by stabbing her finger into the tabletop. “But Lance Kane doesn’t go out with a girl more than twice.” She motioned with her finger back and forth between them. “What’s the deal here, then? If you’re calling this a date, that makes three.”

  Leaning back, Lance crossed his own arms, staring her down, his chin tipped in challenge. “By my count it’s four.”

  Abby’s eyes widened, and she looked around, spluttering. “You count bullying me into having pie with you as a date?”

  Lance shrugged, faking unaffectedness, but his heart rate sped up. He wasn’t quite sure if it was residual anger at her constant questioning of his motives or arousal at what seemed to be some kind of foreplay for them. Judging by the tightness in his jeans and the lingering frustration that had him clenching his jaw, it was a little of both. “I invited you, you said yes, and I paid. Sounds pretty date-like to me.” He enjoyed sparring with her. It made him want to kiss her a
gain. And again. And every time he’d kissed her before, she’d definitely kissed him back.

  “But you didn’t … we didn’t …” Now she just looked mystified.

  Sensing victory, Lance leaned forward again and lowered his voice, fastening his eyes on hers as he filled in her blanks. “We didn’t … what? Kiss? We could have, but you ran away before I got the chance.”

  Their waiter, with his knack for showing up at tense moments, came back with Lance’s card. He hadn’t even noticed when he took it away.

  After signing the slip and replacing his card in his wallet, Lance stood. Still looking uncertain, Abby clutched the strap of her purse in one hand and stood. Resting his hand on the small of her back, he guided her out of the restaurant, the silence stretched tight between them. Feeling bold, he ran his hand down her arm and twined his fingers with her as they walked from the restaurant to the elevator for the parking garage.

  Lance’s brain kept replaying their conversation. She didn’t count the pie as a date? Then what was it? Maybe it wasn’t the conventional dinner and a movie, but nothing about them was conventional anyway. She wasn’t a jersey chaser, he wasn’t a star athlete anymore. Sure, he could still go to parties with his buddy and get the chicks who always went for football players. They didn’t care that he’d graduated. Hell, they probably didn’t even know he’d graduated. His upbringing that he treat women with respect dictated that he take a girl out to dinner before sleeping with her.

  But Abby … she didn’t play by those rules.

  For one thing, she wasn’t a jersey chaser. And given that the only women who weren’t related to him that he’d spent any time with in the last few years were football groupies, that made her a breath of fresh air.