by Zart, Lindy
“Here, or in Virginia Beach?” Maggie stood near the opening to the small kitchen area.
“Both.”
She shrugged, disappearing around the corner. “It’s different from Iowa. Faster-paced, warmer, obviously. The apartment’s . . . nice, but it isn’t home.”
“I noticed you have no television.”
Maggie peeked around the wall to wrinkle her nose at him. “Judith doesn’t like the looks of gadgets. That’s what she calls televisions and radios—gadgets. She thinks they mess up the natural calmness of environments.”
“If you ever want to watch television or listen to music, you can come to my apartment. Mitch has a sick entertainment center.”
“Oh. Thanks. I actually have a small television and radio in my room. Want something to drink? I’m making lemonade.”
A smile caught his lips and he walked up behind her, liking how she jumped and blushed at his nearness. The kitchen followed the white and gray theme. He suspected all of the apartment did. “Did you make cookies too?”
“No.” Maggie tucked a rebellious curl behind her ear, moving away. “I don’t eat cookies.”
Lance frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Everyone likes cookies.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I said I don’t eat them.” Maggie handed him a glass of lemonade.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She sipped from her glass, careful to avoid his eyes. “Ready to work?”
Studying her frame, his eyes lingered on her full breasts, rounded stomach, and hips. Was she worried about her body? She wasn’t fat, by any means, although she did have a more defined figure than other girls her age.
“Yeah. Sure.” Lance cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away. “Lead the way.”
Maggie set her glass of lemonade on the counter. “I’ll be right back. My lines are in the bedroom.”
She walked down the short hallway, entering a room on the left. Lance smiled. His bedroom was in the same exact spot. She slept beneath him every night, a thought that his body enjoyed much more than he wanted.
He followed her into the room, surprised by the bursts of vibrancy in an otherwise colorless setting. The room made him think of a heart, or lips, maybe love, shades of reds and pinks prominent in the bedding and decorative pieces. Even the dresser and lamp were pale pink, though the bedframe and nightstand were white.
“I like your room.” Lance picked up a book from a white chair by the door and studied the cover. It looked like a horror novel, the letters of the title red and bubbled up like dripping blood. He set it back down.
Whirling around from the closet she was peering in, Maggie’s skin went pink. She clutched a sheaf of papers to her chest, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
Eyebrows lifting, he walked to the bed with a pink and red-striped comforter on it. “Why not?”
“Because it’s my . . . my bedroom and . . . you’re a guy.”
“Thanks for noticing. I was worried.” Lance kicked off his sandals and hopped on the bed. It smelled like her and he rolled to his stomach to hide the evidence of what that knowledge did to him. He seriously needed to get laid, or things were going to become embarrassing.
“Lance, you—I . . .”
He lifted his head to look at her. “Yes?”
“I promised my dad I would be good,” she said pitifully.
Her tone of voice taunted his conscience. Lance turned and sat up. “How is this being bad? We’re co-workers, working.”
“Only we haven’t actually done any work yet—and we’re in my bedroom.” She smiled weakly.
“So we will.” He patted the mattress. “Come on, let’s do something productive.” He could think of better ways to spend time in a bed.
Moving slowly, like she was approaching an unpredictable beast, Maggie made her way to him. “Don’t you need yours?” She shook the papers in hand.
“Nah. I think I’ll be okay.” He waited until she sat down, aware that she was careful to keep a good amount of distance between them. “What scene is giving you trouble?”
“The first day of school, when we’re—they’re—arguing. I couldn’t get into character with Judith. I kept laughing instead of crying every time she yelled at me. I could tell she was getting annoyed with me.”
“How could you tell?”
Maggie laughed. “She told me.”
Lance jumped from the bed and offered a hand to Maggie. “Come on, we need to stand for this. We’re by the lockers, in between classes, right?”
She placed her hand in his. He tried not to think about how soft it was, how well it fit within his larger, darker one, and pulled her up from the bed.
“Yes. The popular kids wanted you to sit with them at lunch, and when you said something to me about it, I acted funny.”
“Ready?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. The transformation was merely seconds long, but he was hypnotized watching it take place.
Anger roughening his voice, Lance said, “I don’t get it. Those are the people I want to hang around. I’m new here, and I need to make friends. What’s your problem? Why are you trying to ruin that for me?”
“I’m not trying to ruin anything for you,” she whispered, voice higher as Cecilia.
“Really? Then why don’t you want to sit with them at lunch?”
Grabbing the book from the chair near the door, she hugged it as she met his eyes. “They want you to sit with them, not me. And you should, you should sit with them. You belong with them, and I don’t. We had a good summer, but summer’s over now.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her wine-colored eyes were sad. “You will. I have to go to class.”
When Cecilia turned to leave, Derek was supposed to grab her arm, halting her. Lance did, the proximity of her body to his messing with his head. She stared up at him like he was everything. He forgot his lines, all of him tight with need and something else. Longing. Swallowing, Lance blinked and dropped his hand, stepping back. He clenched his fists, hiding the tremor in them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the dewy look gone from her eyes.
He tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. “Guess I need my lines after all. I’ll be right back.”
Maggie looked down at the paper she held. “‘What aren’t you telling me?’” She looked up. “That’s the line.”
“Right.” Lance rubbed his forehead. “I’m not really feeling it right now. How about a break and we get back to it in a bit?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “What do you want to do?”
“What do I want to do, or what do I think we should do?”
“Um . . . I don’t know? Aren’t they the same thing?”
“No. Not at all.” Lance inhaled deeply, a choked laugh leaving him. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach. How about that?”
It was full dark out, the ocean painted black with night. Earlier packed, the beach was empty except for them and a few people farther in the distance. The warm air smelled of salt, damp with humidity as it touched the skin not covered by his tee shirt and shorts. The white sand glowed beneath their feet as they walked barefoot along the shoreline. The sound of crashing waves was relentless.
“It’s like walking on sugar,” Maggie commented.
Born and raised in Virginia Beach, Lance never thought too much about what his surroundings felt, smelled, or looked like, but it was fun watching Maggie’s reaction.
“It doesn’t feel like sugar when the sun’s on it. It feels like you’re walking on gritty fire.” He glanced at her, watching how the breeze lifted and parted her hair, baring her pale neck. “Have you been on the beach much?”
Maggie glanced at him and shook her head. “No. I’ve wanted to, but didn’t want to go by myself. I don’t have any friends here, other than Judith, and she refuses to be outside for more than a few minutes at a time. She says the sun gives you horrible tan lines and wrinkles.”
Lance had never thought
about how it must be for Maggie, staying in a place where she didn’t know anyone other than those she worked with. She had to be lonely.
“There’s a beach party tomorrow night. One of my friends is throwing it. Swimming, drinking, dancing. Good times. You should come. I can introduce you to people our age so you don’t have to hang out with the old folks.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe.”
He stopped walking, touching her wrist to get her attention. “I’ll come over at eight. We’ll go together.”
A smile lifted her lips, and it was like the sun deciding to obliterate the night. Lance inhaled sharply, quickly looking away from it.
“That sounds fun. Thank you, Lance.”
He nodded, throat tight. “Sure. No problem. It’s not a big deal. Just trying to help out the new girl.” He made sure his tone conveyed how little her acceptance meant to him. It was fake, but she didn’t know that.
Her smile fell. “Right. Of course. I appreciate it.” Maggie’s gaze dropped to her feet. “Thanks for walking with me. I should go back.”
Without thinking about what he was doing, Lance touched her chin. She lifted her eyes to his, and he studied her features, looking for one simple thing to make him understand her appeal. He couldn’t find it, and yet, it was there. Lance leaned close, a breath and nothing more between their lips. He wanted to kiss her, was desperate for it. Maggie gently turned her face away, stepping back. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, crossing her arms to look out into the endless sea.
Self-deprecating smile in place, he shrugged and slid his hands in the front pockets of his shorts. “I’ll walk you back.”
She nodded.
No words were spoken as they made their way to the apartment complex.
At Maggie’s door, Lance said, “See you tomorrow.”
Time paused as she looked at him. As he’d searched for something in her face moments ago, she seemed to do the same. “Okay. Good night, Lance.”
“Good night, Maggie.”
***
The next day, he was at her place at five to eight. He’d styled his hair, something he only did for special occasions, and put on cologne. Dressed in khaki shorts and a white buttoned-down shirt, he felt overdressed for a beach party, and still not dressed up enough for Maggie. Lance knew it wasn’t a date, but his nerves acted like it was.
Her dress was purple and flowing, fitted perfectly against her breasts, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her. Maggie’s smile was hesitant, her wavy hair piled on top of her head with strands framing her face. Impulsively, stupidly, Lance reached for her and kissed her. A sound of surprise left her. She tasted good, like the oranges of which she habitually smelled.
Part of the thrill was wondering if she’d kiss him back or shove him away. Taut with need, he didn’t even care which it was. Maggie’s mouth slowly formed to his. Her hands rested on his shoulders as though to push him away, but she didn’t. Lance’s lips curved around the kiss, he deepened it, felt her respond. He wanted to take her to the nearest bedroom and ditch the party completely.
“Get your paws off her, Lance Denton.” The voice was sharp, powerful, and felt like ice on his skin.
Lance flinched and tore his mouth from Maggie’s, looking over her head to meet Judith Fletcher’s piercing gray gaze. Established as a talented actress at the age of nine, presently in her early forties, the blond had an aura of poise and no-nonsense. She wanted to protect Maggie. And she didn’t like Lance. More specifically, she didn’t like his father, and that dislike trickled down to him.
“Hey, Judith.” He gave her his most charming smile.
She narrowed her eyes at him before turning to Maggie. “Remember what I said.”
Cheeks red, Maggie nodded without looking at her.
Judith pointed a long finger at his face. “Treat her with respect. She isn’t one of your toys. And if you hurt her, you’ll answer to me.”
The door shut, causing Maggie to jump.
He waited for her to look up before saying, “I’m not going to apologize for kissing you.”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t regret it. Do you?”
“I’m not sure,” Maggie answered carefully.
Lance frowned. “You’re not sure? Didn’t you like it?”
“Well, yes, I did, but . . .” She shrugged.
“But what?” he pressed.
Maggie stepped off the sidewalk and onto the sand, her back to him. Her voice was soft as she said, “I expected something different for my first kiss.”
Two things simultaneously hit him: joy that he was the first guy to kiss Maggie Smiley, and guilt that he’d selfishly taken that from her.
Clearing his throat, he walked up to her. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“You look pretty, by the way,” Lance told her after they’d walked in silence for a few minutes.
She gave him a sideways glance, facing forward to ask, “Is that why you kissed me?”
Uncomfortable with the direct question, Lance rubbed the side of his neck. “Yeah. I guess.”
He’d felt compelled, spellbound, as if kissing her was the only thing he knew how to do, and not doing so would be detrimental.
Maggie smiled at him. “You look pretty too.”
“Pretty?” he scoffed. “Guys don’t look pretty.”
“No?” One eyebrow lifted. “What do they look like then?”
“I don’t know. Manly. Sexy. Irresistible.”
“I see.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “I suppose you could pass for sexy.”
He grinned. “Irresistible is pushing it, huh?”
“Yes. Just a bit.”
Lance grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a group of teenagers. Chances were, the party would be broken up before too long, and if anyone was caught by the police, there would be fines to pay. No one seemed worried about that, including Lance. He’d had tickets before. He paid them and continued on.
“I will bet you five dollars that by the end of the night, you find me irresistible.”
Maggie laughed. “Really? And how would you know, either way?”
“Oh, I’ll know.”
“Okay. Deal.”
Greetings were called out to him as they approached the party. Green Day played from a CD player in the sand. Girls and boys occupied chairs, or stood in small groups, while others sat or lay on the sand. There was heavy making out, talking, and laughter. A few kids argued. Most hands held alcohol of some kind. The mass of twenty or so bodies were a colorful mix of clothing and skin and hair tones. Maggie’s hand stiffened inside his and he unconsciously squeezed it in reassurance.
“It’ll be okay. They’re just people, like you and me,” he quietly told her.
She inhaled slowly and nodded, giving him a smile.
“Lance!” a blond squealed, jumping on him and causing him to stagger back. Arms threaded around his neck, and the girl pressed her lips to his, tasting of beer and cigarettes.
His stomach twisted in revulsion and he set Brittany Sanders away from him, swiping an arm across his mouth. “Give it a rest. Enough is enough.”
She’d been after him for months, ever since he’d drunkenly made out with her. He hated to think how she’d be acting if he hadn’t passed out. She was skinny with big boobs, but she wasn’t too smart, and that dumb blond thing she had going was only cute for so long.
“That’s not what you said last time.”
“Last time?” he scoffed. “There was only one time, and that’s all there’ll ever be. Stay away from me.”
Lips pursing in a pout, she called him an asshole and sauntered away, bee-lining for one of his friends. He shook his head and turned away. Realizing Maggie was no longer beside him, Lance spun around in a circle, searching for a purple dress and a reddish-brown head of hair. Panic began to set in when he couldn’t find her.
He shoved his way through the crowd, spotting her near the edge of the party. Rick Jerry, a twenty-year-old wh
o liked to hang out with younger kids and make advances on naive girls, offered her a cup of something as he watched. Lance’s jaw hardened and he saw himself ripping Rick apart. He would enjoy that, a lot. Sprinting toward them, he knocked the cup from Rick’s hand as he gave it to Maggie.
“Don’t drink anything unless I get it for you, and especially don’t take anything from this guy,” he said harshly, eyes on Rick’s smug face.
“Whoa there, Lance, no need to overreact.” Rick held up his hands. “It was only water.”
“Sure it was.”
“It really was. I saw him open the bottle,” Maggie told him quietly.
He tore his gaze from Rick, taking in her confused expression. “It doesn’t matter. Stay away from him. He’s bad news, Maggie.”
“You’re one to talk,” Rick sneered. His long black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his lean frame clothed in a blue shirt and black shorts. “You think just because you’re famous, people don’t know or care about what you’re really like. They do, and they talk.”
“Shut up,” he warned, hands clenched at his sides.
“What’s he talking about?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled.
“I know about Lacey McCall! Everyone knows about her. And the others—”
Spinning around, he slammed his fist into Rick’s long nose and heard a crack. Rick fell to his knees, moaning. Lance towered over him, rage shouting at him to do more, hit him more. “And I know about how you lure girls into trusting you, and then you take advantage of that trust, and use it to make them do things they don’t want. At least everyone I’ve been with has been because they wanted it, not because they felt like they had no choice.” He spit on the ground and stalked away, not caring if Maggie followed or not.
The setting sun was red, reflecting his present mood. Lance’s hands opened and closed as he moved, stiff with the need to hit something else. He was halfway to the apartments when he heard her voice. Lance wasn’t aware if she’d just called his name, or had been the whole time. Whatever the case, it registered then, when it hadn’t before. She called it two more times before he slowed down, stopped, and finally turned around.