by Zart, Lindy
“Thank you so much.” Sincere though the words were, Maggie always felt they were lacking somehow. If not for fans, the show wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
She hugged the woman, asking her name. Her name was Beth, and the lady beside her was her sister Rachel. Maggie hugged her as well, again thanking them for their love of the show.
“I was so upset when the show was cancelled. I moped around the house for weeks.”
Maggie shifted her eyes down, the ghost of guilt creeping along her spine. She didn’t look at Lance, not wanting to see whatever expression he wore.
“She really did,” Rachel supplied, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. “I had to force her to watch ‘Black as Sin’ to get over it.”
Beth placed a hand on Maggie’s arm. “Not that it was even close to being as good as ‘Easier Said’, but the murders on the series did take my mind off things.”
Lance murmured, “I imagine it did.”
Maggie looked at him, found his eyes on her. A faint smile lined his mouth.
“Can we—would it be okay to get some pictures with you two? I’m sure you get asked all the time, but . . . and I didn’t realize you were talking to one another! That’s so great. Any plans for future co-projects? It would be great to see you together again on television.” Beth paused and sucked in a lungful of air.
“She rambles when she’s nervous,” Rachel told them.
“We actually have to get going, lots of food that needs to be refrigerated,” Maggie said, avoiding the questions.
Beth’s eyes dimmed. “Oh. Okay. Of course. Thanks for talking with us.” She turned to her sister. “Let’s make sure we pick up some pie for Greg. Blueberry, if they have it.”
“I think we can manage one picture,” Lance said to Beth as the sisters started to walk away, but his words were for Maggie.
Maggie’s shoulders stiffened, but she pasted on a smile when the sisters turned their gazes to her.
“Really?” Beth went still. As quickly as the joy was wiped out of the woman by Maggie’s comment, Lance’s put it back in place. He had an uncanny ability to make anyone feel special.
“Really. Got a camera or your phone handy?” he asked.
“Yes! Hold this.” Shoving her purse at her sister, Beth opened the car door and rummaged around inside the car before triumphantly waving a camera in the air. “Got it! Rachel, take our picture.”
Rachel obliged, and with a widely smiling fan between them, Maggie and Lance had their first picture taken together in over ten years.
“Was that so hard?” he asked as they left the women.
“I didn’t want my picture taken with you,” she fumed as she angrily pushed the cart toward the car.
“Why? You made a fan happy. It wasn’t that much of a sacrifice.”
Maggie stopped walking and glared at him. “I realize your ignorance and insensitivity are things you can’t seem to control, but even you should comprehend what that photograph could mean.”
“I’m not following.”
She tossed up her hands. The cart rolled down the pavement until Lance dove for it and halted it.
“First of all, you look great. I, on the other hand, do not.” Maggie sliced a hand through the air when he opened his mouth. “Second of all, where do you think that picture is going to show up? Everywhere,” she bit out.
“All social media platforms on the internet, possibly in magazines. And there will be talk, and speculation, and I’m so tired of the gossip. It’s been years. Why can’t people get over things and move on? We had a show, we don’t anymore. It’s over.”
She wasn’t only talking about ‘Easier Said’—she was talking about them. When they broke up, the world seemed as heartbroken as she was. It had been hard enough on her without having the media involved in it. Their love life was outlined, and so was their split, and every hurtful thing they did to one another afterward. She’d cut him from her life, but he never really left it.
Lance stared at her. “It’s just a picture.”
Shaking her head, she turned away. “It’s not just a picture, not with us.”
They quietly loaded the groceries in the back of the car, neither speaking until Maggie asked, “What did Beth ask you when I was walking over?”
Lance shot her a look, immediately redirecting his attention to the grocery bags. “She asked if we were together again, as a couple.”
Briefly closing her eyes, she took the empty cart and put it in the drop-off area. Maggie could already see the headline: Is reconciliation in the future for former sweethearts and co-stars of the hit show ‘Easier Said’?
LANCE—1996
LANCE FIXED HIS hair, checked his jaw for any missed stubble, and left the bathroom.
Mitch whistled from the doorway where he was pulling on a pair of boots. “Who are you all dressed up for?”
Mitch Hermsen was a grease ball, a guy in his twenties with the sole ambition to drink and have sex with as many women as possible. He was on the setup staff for ‘Easier Said’ and spent his days leering at the female cast and crew more than he worked. The only reason Lance shared an apartment with him was so he wasn’t obligated by his father to share one with someone he’d want to be shacked up with even less. And Mitch was hardly ever around, so the place felt like Lance’s instead of theirs.
“No one,” he said coolly, glancing at the clock on the wall above the couch. It was almost five and Maggie was due any minute. He wanted Mitch gone before she showed up.
Pushing brown hair behind his ears, Mitch grinned at him. “Come on, man, who’s the latest chick?”
Ignoring him, Lance went to the kitchen and surveyed his attempt at dinner. It was their second Tuesday meal together, Maggie having cooked the first. That lasagna had been the best he’d ever had, and he’d told her. Her face had lit up like stars lived beneath her skin. He’d decided then that Maggie needed as many compliments as he was able to think up, just so he could see that look on her face and know he put it there.
The chicken was pink in spots and slimy with an unpleasant aroma. The broccoli looked wilted and mushy. And the rice was hard—he’d tried it.
A faint knock at the door had Lance barreling from the kitchen, only to have Mitch block him with his body draped across the door. “Uh-uh-uh. Not yet, lover boy. Tell me who it is first, and I’ll let her in.”
Lance met taunting brown eyes, and his jaw shifted forward. He ground out, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I do.” He nodded. “Hot date with Simone from lighting. Know her?”
He glared at him.
Mitch shrugged, rubbing at a stain on his green shirt. “Anyway, she’ll wait.” His grin was tainted with brutish intent. “Tell me who it is, and I’ll open the door.”
“I could hit you,” Lance said evenly.
“You could. But then your dad would make you move out, and you don’t want that. You like your freedom.” Mitch crossed his arms and gave Lance a thoughtful look. “I know, I’ll guess her name.”
“Mitch! Come on. She’s going to leave!” Anxiety pumped through his veins instead of blood.
“Your call.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” he growled.
“Let’s see . . . Rachel? No? Hmm. Megan? What about Lisa?” Mitch snapped his fingers together, halting in his list before naming off a fraction of the girls Lance had had in the apartment at one time or another. He remembered their names better than Lance. “I know! Denise. Yes? No. This is so difficult. I mean, there’ve been so many.” He laughed.
He said her name to shut up Mitch, but also in hopes that she heard him and didn’t leave. He walked a thin line with her, he knew. One wrong move too many and Maggie was gone.
“Now open the door,” Lance seethed. “Before I decide I don’t care if I have to find a new place to live.”
Smiling, Mitch kept his eyes on Lance’s as he reached around him and turned the doorknob. He stood inside the door, allowing just enough room for someone
to squeeze around him and enter. No one walked into the apartment. Lance stepped around him, seeing a blank spot where Maggie should have been. With an angry expletive, he shoved Mitch out of his way and ran onto the porch that led to the stairwell.
“Don’t be like that, Lance! Uncle Mitch was only having a little fun. We’ll kiss and make up later,” Mitch called after him, laughing.
He was going to punch him in the face yet.
Lance looked over the railing, saw Maggie’s copper and bronze hair as she headed toward the beach, and vaulted over the ledge. His knees popped as he landed, and a sharp pain shot up his left leg. He hobbled until it wore off, then sprinted through the sand, calling her name.
She spun around, hair following her like a waterfall of sunset.
Out of breath, Lance lifted a hand and bent over at the waist, trying to steady his thrumming pulse while simultaneously making her stay. He wasn’t doing very well at either one. “Mag—Maggie . . . just wait. Okay? Give me a second.”
Arms crossed, she watched him. Then she nodded and turned away, her feet moving fast in the opposite direction. “You had your second.”
She wasn’t talking about then. What Maggie was really saying was that he’d had his chance with her and he’d blown it.
“Maggie! Damn it, Maggie, wait!”
Maggie faced him, a scowl set into her features. “Don’t you swear at me!”
“Don’t walk away from me!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Desperate, Lance grabbed her hands. “Don’t give up on me.” She froze, and he added, “Please.”
Maggie swallowed and pulled her hands away. “You and I can be friends. That’s it.”
He didn’t think it was the proper time to bring up the three kisses she still owed him, so he nodded. “Okay. Fine. Deal.” No, his brain screamed. Not fine. No deal.
“No more impromptu kisses,” she continued.
“That’s a big word,” he said wryly. “Okay. No more kisses.” Lance promised not to kiss her, but if she wanted to kiss him, that was her doing, and he would be more than happy to help her out. That’s what friends did.
“I’m sorry about not answering the door. My roommate—”
“I heard,” she interrupted.
Maggie went quiet, giving him a sidelong glance.
“What is it?” Lance asked, unable to take the silence any longer.
“Did you really date all of those girls he named?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know if date is the right word.”
Shadows pirouetted across her features. “You just had sex with them?”
“No!” he denied, and then amended, “Well, not all of them, but a lot of them.”
Maggie looked down the beach, still as stone. “Is that what you plan on doing with me?” When her eyes came back to his, he was struck speechless by their intensity. “You’ll be nice to me until you get something out of it, and then you’ll forget about me? I’ll be some name on a list?”
Lance blew out a breath. Lies didn’t work with Maggie. If he wanted to get anywhere with her, he had to be as honest as he could be, even if he upset her. She respected the truth. She disliked liars.
“I don’t know,” he said straightforwardly. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just—I just like being around you. I don’t understand it, I don’t even like it all that much, but . . . that’s how it is. And if things did go a certain way, I wouldn’t be upset about that, but is that my plan? No. My plan is to be around you until I’m sick of you and can move on.” He smiled wanly.
Maggie shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay?” That was way easier than he’d expected.
“Yep. Okay. You were honest with me, even if it showed me you’re sort of a slime ball. Where’s my dinner?”
“Slime ball?” he repeated faintly.
The look Maggie gave him challenged him to claim otherwise. He didn’t.
They turned back to the apartment building.
Lance winced. “I have something else to tell you.”
She took one look at his face and laughed. “You can’t cook, can you?”
“I guess not. But I did try. Points for effort, right?”
“Or negative points for lying.”
“I didn’t—” he began to protest, but snapped his mouth shut at her knowing look. “I may have stretched the truth,” he said cautiously.
She hid a smile as she ducked her head. “Now what?”
“I can make popcorn,” he offered. “And we could watch a movie?”
Maggie studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay. But again, we’re friends. That’s it.”
Lance stepped back, hands up and palms out. “I know. That’s why I was wondering why you were standing so close to me. I didn’t want to say anything, but now that you mentioned it, keep your distance. You’re giving me mixed signals.”
Her mouth dropped open and she shoved his arm. “You’re standing in my personal space, I’ll have you know. Remove yourself, at once.”
“I was just trying to keep you warm.”
A smile teased Maggie’s lips as she turned and headed for the apartments. “Because it’s so cold out.”
“Frigid.” He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.
Maggie laughed softly.
Lance reached for her hand as they got to the stairwell. She stiffened, curling her fingers as she started to pull away. He firmed his grip, looking from their hands to her face. Maggie watched him with a frown line between her eyebrows.
“Friends can hold hands,” he said quietly.
She gave him a dubious look.
“The ground is treacherous and the stairs are wobbly. It’s what friends do, Maggie. They help each other out,” he said mockingly.
She slid her hand from his, shaking her head as she climbed the stairs. He opened the door for her, and her nose crinkled up at the aroma permeating the area. It was pretty bad. Half-cooked chicken and overcooked broccoli did not smell the greatest after sitting out for a time.
Lance raced around the kitchen, throwing all the ruined food in the wastebasket, dousing it with air freshener spray, and washing the dishes. Maggie watched him from where she sat at the dinette, chin rested on her fist. Washcloth in hand, he cleaned up the countertops and tossed it in the sink.
He leaned his hips against the counter ledge, crossed his arms and ankles, and nodded at her with half-lidded eyes and pursed lips. “How’s that for cleanup?”
“Impressive,” she murmured, eyes trained on him.
Lance straightened, nervous with the intensity of her strange-colored eyes on him. “What?” His tone was clipped.
He wasn’t used to people staring at him like that. He was used to dopey-eyed, dreamy looks, and now that he’d been a recipient of each, he had to say, he preferred the dazed ones to her intelligent one. It felt like she was looking into his soul when she did that, and found him deficient.
“It’s just . . . I’ve watched you grow up on television. You were this, I don’t know, untouchable star. Someone I would never know, but grew up with, just the same. I even had a poster of you in my bedroom.” Maggie’s face went red and she averted her eyes.
A grin slowly spread across his face, and when she looked up and frowned at him, it deepened.
“I never thought I’d meet you, let alone be on the same television show as you. I especially never thought I’d play your love interest on it,” she mumbled. “I was so nervous around you at first, and, well, I still am, at times, but . . .” Maggie shrugged. “I thought you were one way, and now that I’ve met you, you’re not entirely the way I thought you were.”
“I’m better looking, right?”
She shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re more down to earth than I thought you’d be, but then, you’re just as arrogant as I thought you’d be too.”
Lance straightened and walked toward her. He stopped when his shoes bumped against her sandaled feet. “I’m confused
—are you complimenting me or insulting me?”
“Neither. You’re in my space again.”
He backed up and Maggie got to her feet. She gave him a questioning look, and he remembered they were supposed to watch a movie. And popcorn. He was supposed to make popcorn. Lance blinked and turned, wondering how his mind got off track so effortlessly with her. He made two bags of buttered popcorn, one after the other. The scent of cooked kernels replaced that of his disastrous attempt at dinner, the sound of them popping taking the place of conversation.
“Do you like salt and butter?” he asked as he poured the second bag into the large bowl with the first. He popped his head around the kitchen wall and saw her knelt before the entertainment center.
“Sure, whatever,” Maggie answered distractedly, searching through his collection of videotapes.
“You like scary movies?” Lance walked into the living room, arms wrapped around the warm bowl of popcorn. He set it on the coffee table and sat down beside her.
“I do. How’d you know that?”
“You had a horror novel in your bedroom.” Lance opened a glass door on the entertainment center and pulled out a stack of movies. “I have every collection of horror movies made, from the seventies to now.”
“You do not.” Her voice was doubtful, but excitement shone in her eyes.
“I do. What are you in the mood for? Halloween? Freddie or Jason? There’s Damien as well, Poltergeist . . . Chucky. The Exorcist. Candyman. Name your pleasure. If you want it, I got it. What sounds good to you?” Lance knew what sounded good to him—Maggie, naked.
Hormones and instincts slammed forth like an unknown enemy, and it was a strain not to lunge for her. He shot to his feet, startling her, and moved to the couch, where he didn’t have a clear view of her breasts beneath the flimsy pink top she wore, and he couldn’t be tortured by the way she smelled. She smelled good, too good. And she was warm, and soft, and right there.
“Do you bathe in oranges or something?” Lance’s voice was harsh, irritable.