by Zart, Lindy
Jeff stayed back, eyeing him.
“What?” Lance snapped.
“That was low,” he informed him.
As if he didn’t already know that.
Lance shoved by him, finding Maggie near Herman. Herman gestured with his hands, red in the face as he talked. Maggie bowed her head, nodding now and then. Herman patted her on the back and Maggie lifted her head. She looked miserable, face pale and eyes wide with disharmony. Her gaze found his and Lance went still, not knowing what to do. Apologizing didn’t seem good enough—because it wasn’t. Lance’s temper and impulsiveness got the best of him again and again. The paleness of Maggie’s skin morphed with color and she quickly turned away.
He moved for her, but Judith was suddenly there, pressing a restraining hand to his chest. Her blond hair was side-parted and flipped up at the ends, black dress and jacket formed to her slim frame. With gray chips of ice for eyes, and an equally frigid expression on her face, she said in a clipped tone, “What did you do to her?”
Lance shook off her hand and tried to step around her. “Nothing.”
Judith stepped with him, close to his height in her black heels. “If you didn’t do anything to her, she wouldn’t be trying to get out of the New Year’s Eve scene. That girl would work sick rather than delay production of the show.”
He looked away from Judith’s cold gaze, searching for Maggie.
“How many times and by how many people do you have to be told to leave her alone? This is her job, and she is the star of the show. Don’t screw it up for her.”
Lance focused on the actress. “Come on, Judith, I didn’t mean to upset her. And she’s the co-star.” He gave her one of his most charming grins. If anything, the glacial look of her deepened.
“That’s Miss Fletcher to you,” she said through lips that didn’t move.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Lance mumbled, “I tried apologizing.”
“Don’t do anything that requires an apology. Any time you are outside of work, make sure you keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut. Her parents entrusted Maggie into my care, and I’m going to make sure no harm comes to her, especially from you.” She slapped a manicured hand against Lance’s shoulder and walked away, head high, shoulders back.
“Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” he called after her.
Judith’s back went rigid, but she kept walking.
“Derek! Why aren’t you in Cecilia’s bedroom? We’re waiting! Some of us would like to go home and drink ourselves into a coma yet today!” Herman shouted from a few feet away. Lance didn’t bother correcting him on the names.
Lance walked to the stairwell, eyes locked on Maggie. He willed her to look at him, but she didn’t.
“What the hell is this?” Herman demanded, rushing over to them.
The director’s garlic-onion smelled permeated the area as he stepped between them, and Lance shot Maggie a guilty look. She glared back, arms crossed. He mouthed that he was sorry, but her expression never changed.
“Why is there this tense, cold feeling? This won’t do at all. Where are the shy, adoring looks? Or even the smug ones?” Herman looked pointedly at Lance as he said that. “Come here.” He motioned for them both to get closer. When they were inches from him, Herman stared each of them in the eye, one at a time. “As soon as you get close to one another, you’re Cecilia and Derek, got it?” He waited until they nodded before continuing.
“I don’t care if you’re sick.” He looked at Maggie. “And I don’t care what your daily problem is.” That to Lance. “Get your shit together and be professional. Let’s go! Upstairs!” Herman clapped his hands and walked toward the camera crew.
Lance followed Maggie up the stairs, eyes locked on the stiffness of her back. People clopped up the stairs behind them, but all he cared about was the person before him.
Maggie sat on the bed, head lowered. Lance took a deep breath, and when cued, knelt before her. Everyone went quiet. It happened every time they had a scene. The onlookers felt the magic too—the chemistry that sparked to life between Lance and Maggie when they were together. Anything that stood beyond them faded from existence. It was only Lance and Maggie in their pretend world.
Her small hands were gripped tightly together in her lap. Only he was close enough to see that they were held to stop their shaking, and that they shook anyway.
It wasn’t in the script for Lance to touch her hands, but improvising was allowed, so he did. He wasn’t doing it for the show anyway—Lance placed his hand over hers because what he’d done was wrong, even if he hadn’t meant to hurt Maggie. He had.
“Hey,” Lance said in a soft voice. The trembling picked up and he squeezed her cool hand. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier at the party. It wasn’t fair for me to act like that to Liam. A lot of the time I say things before I think about how they make people feel.” Ironic that his character was apologizing, just as Lance was. They were so alike that Derek could have been written after him.
Maggie raised her head, those amber eyes staring through him with all the heat of her being.
Faced away from their audience, Lance offered a sheepish smile. “Please,” he mouthed.
Snatching her hand from his grasp, Maggie hopped onto the bed and stood as far away from him as the bed would permit.
Head tilted, Lance studied her. “What are you doing?” he asked in bemusement. That wasn’t in the script either.
“Liam was my date. You were rude to him,” she said through clenched teeth.
“How was I rude?” he scoffed.
A twitch formed under her left eye and Lance wondered if that was intentional. “I am allowed to date. You do not get to choose my boyfriends for me. You’re my friend. That’s it.”
Lance raised an eyebrow and launched himself onto the bed, steadying himself on the imbalanced terrain. “He’s not your boyfriend.”
“He could be,” she insisted.
Glare in place, Lance said, “Liam is a jerk-face. Find a better guy to be your boyfriend.”
“What, like you?” Maggie narrowed her eyes. “And you’re calling Liam a jerk-face? You would know.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, what about Sylvie Stallone?” she sneered.
Lance jumped once and Maggie went into the air, eyes wide as she propelled her arms until she got her balance and landed on her feet. “What about her?”
“She was your date. And she’s an airhead.” She jumped, sinister smile in place.
Lance bounced on his feet and returned the motion. They formed an angry rhythm, back and forth like an unattached seesaw. Maggie’s hair lifted and fell as she moved, arms out at her sides to remain upright.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one out of us?” he wondered.
Maggie blinked. “I am nice—until I’m mad.”
Lance grinned and leapt closer to her.
“What are you doing?” she asked warily.
“Jumping on the bed with my friend.” Hands outstretched, he grabbed her wrists and they sprang up and down together.
“I’m still mad at you.” Her voice turned breathless, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.
“I know you are, and that’s okay. You’re still my friend.”
Resentment and sorrow chased one another across her features. Maggie stopped bouncing. They stood in the middle of the bed, Lance’s hands loosely gripping her wrists, and looked into each other’s eyes.
“Sometimes, it’s really hard to like you,” she said unevenly.
Lance lowered his gaze, knowing that was Maggie talking to him. His chest clenched and released. He nodded. “I know.” He looked up, found her eyes on him. Lance wondered what she thought, when she studied him with such concentration.
“You insulted my date to the point that he left. I was stranded at the party.”
“All I told him was that you hated tulips, which you do. If a guy’s going to bring a girl flowers, he should at least know what kind
she likes. Anyway, he shouldn’t have left you, no matter what I said. That was wrong on his part. And you weren’t stranded,” he added. “I was there.”
“You implied that he didn’t know how to dress. You also tried to find out if we’d kissed,” she accused, mouth a straight line with displeasure.
Lance swallowed. She’d known what he was up to then. “I was looking out for you.”
Maggie pulled her hands from his. “No. You were looking out for you. It doesn’t matter if you want something or not—you’re just selfish and don’t want anyone else to have it either.”
“That’s not true.” It was true, to a point. Lance needed constant attention. It went along with his profession, but it probably also had something to do with the way he grew up. No mother, distant father, homeschooled, never really having a permanent home of any kind.
“It is true!” She jumped down from the bed and walked over to the dresser, her back to him. “Tell me why you were so mean to Liam then.”
“Because.” Lance got down from the bed and took two steps toward her.
“Because why?”
“Because—because he isn’t good enough for you, okay? No one is, but he definitely is not. He doesn’t even know what kind of flowers you like!”
Maggie turned to face him. “And I suppose you do?”
His jaw shifted. “I do.”
“Well, let’s hear it. What kind of flowers do I like, if not tulips?”
Lance walked closer. “You don’t like flowers,” he said faintly. “They make you sneeze.” He lifted a hand to touch her face and Maggie jerked back. He let his hand fall to his side.
“I don’t—” He worked his throat to swallow. “I don’t want other guys around you. They’re all losers that won’t treat you right.”
She laughed, but it was sharp and unpleasant. “Other guys? Meaning you’re excluded from the losers that won’t treat me right?”
“No,” he mumbled. “You should stay away from me too.”
When he looked up, something in his eyes made her go still. Maggie didn’t look like she took a breath, all of her motionless.
“You’re my friend,” she whispered. “I can’t stay away from you.”
Voice low, Lance spoke fast to get out all the words before he never said them. It was a masked confession, a weak apology to explain his actions. “Ever since I met you, I’ve felt half mad. I want you, I don’t want you. I try to be your friend, but being your friend isn’t enough. I tell myself to stay away, but then the thought of you with anyone else makes me want to find any guy that’s ever looked at you and pound them into nothing.
“And I know—I know I’ll just keep screwing up things with you, and it isn’t fair for me to ask, but I need you in my life. And more than anything, I want to kiss you. How’s that for being a friend?”
Maggie inhaled slowly. “I think, right now . . . this is the truest friend you’ve been.”
Lance closed the distance between them, staring down at her lowered head. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was jealous, thinking of him kissing you. I don’t want anyone to kiss you.”
She raised her head. “It isn’t up to you to decide who I do or do not kiss.”
He touched the side of her face, his fingers curling in at the feel of her soft skin. Maggie didn’t pull away that time. “I want it to be.”
Maggie’s eyes shifted from him to the wall behind him, and she whispered, “It’s midnight.”
“Happy New Year,” he replied.
Lance dipped his head, not giving her a chance to move away. His lips brushed across hers, gentle as air, and his body went painfully tight. She tasted like mint, his conscience calling him an ass for saying otherwise. Maggie tipped back her chin, allowing him better access. Lance put one hand around the nape of her neck, and the other cupped her jaw.
Tingles broke out along his lips as they met hers once more. He’d missed the feel of Maggie’s mouth on his, the way his brain shut off and he got lost in her. Maggie kissed him like it was the same for her. Her hands moved up his back, pressing him to her.
“And that’s a wrap!” Herman shouted from the darkness that was reality. It danced along the seams of his consciousness as he was regrettably pulled back into the present.
A sharp pain registered in his muddled head, and he tasted blood. Lance drew back, touching his lower lip. Tiny drops of red coated his fingers. “You bit me!”
Maggie schooled her features to innocence, but the gleam in her eyes countered it. “My teeth must have slipped.”
“Teeth don’t slip.”
She shrugged one shoulder and stepped back. “Maybe it was the onion and garlic breath comment then.”
Lance stared at her, knowing he deserved whatever he got, and resenting her present attitude anyway.
“All right, people! That’s it for today. See you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow at seven in the evening for the boat party scene. Not you! You stay,” Herman hollered, pointing to Maggie. “You stay too,” he said to Lance.
They exchanged a look and faced the director.
“I want you to tell me,” he said slowly, dividing a livid look between them. “What parts of that scene were in the script?”
“Uh . . .” Lance searched his brain. “Liam?”
“The flowers,” Maggie helpfully added.
Lance said, “The kiss.”
“Barely! Neither one of you stuck to the script! Who put you two in charge of the show? You think you can just say and do whatever the hell you want, with total disregard to the writers? This isn’t your show! You don’t ad-lib a whole scene,” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth.
Herman ranted for a good solid four minutes about minors and punks thinking they could run the world and there not being enough booze in it to deal with them before falling silent. His chest heaved with each breath he took, and he put a hand to his shiny bald head. He dropped his hand and glared at them with brown eyes darkened to black in anger.
“All of that aside,” he said smoothly, like he didn’t just have a tantrum. “You both were exceptional. Such passion, such angst! It felt real, and that’s what we want. No more biting!” He jabbed a finger at Maggie’s face and she flinched.
“Before I forget, you two have a magazine photo shoot and interview the Sunday after next. Be at this address by six in the morning.” Herman shoved a business card at each of them. They were damp with sweat from being in his back pocket. “They want to do some sunrise shots. God knows why. Wear white.”
He waved a hand at them, a look of disgust on his face. “Now get out of here—lock up before you go. I need a drink.” He marched from the room, the heavy footfalls of his shoes on the stairs the only sound until they went silent.
Lance shifted his feet and looked toward the door. “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked carefully. His lip throbbed as it rubbed against his upper one.
Maggie kept her face turned away. “Why did you say it?”
“I said why.” Lance pressed his lips together, refusing to repeat words he had to initially tear from himself.
“Not really. You specifically said something you knew would hurt me, if I heard it. And I did.”
“I didn’t know you were going to hear it! In fact, I was hoping you didn’t.”
“Right. You just wanted to talk bad about me in front of everyone.”
“It wasn’t everyone,” he argued.
“It might as well have been! Because of your infantilism, you decided to make me look bad. Thanks a lot.”
“You don’t understand,” Lance tried, words escaping him. He didn’t have any good reasons for why he said what he did, and if he was honest with her—well, that wasn’t going to happen.
“I don’t understand most things with you,” she agreed, averting her eyes from his. “You act like . . .” Maggie swallowed. “You act like, just because you know me, I’m your possession or something. That’s not how friendships work.”
“Did you kiss J
eff Mitchell?” he demanded, barely hearing her.
Maggie’s lips thinned in anger, her amber eyes flashing like liquid toxin. “That is none of your business. Do I ask you who you’ve kissed?”
“No, because you know there would be no point in it.”
“Only because you’ve kissed so many girls you can’t even remember who they are,” she retorted icily.
Lance stepped closer and lowered his voice as he said, “I remember kissing you.”
She eyed him. “Don’t play your games with me. You should know by now they don’t work.” Maggie walked toward the door. “Thanks, but I don’t need a ride home.”
Lance rubbed his face and stared at the doorway as Maggie passed through it. He never got far with her. That was probably a good thing. She’d chew him up and spit him out if he made her too mad. She had fire for blood and ice for veins.
He slowly left the house, turning to stone as he watched Maggie climb in Jeff Mitchell’s car. She didn’t see him, but Jeff did. He stared at Lance, and then he faced forward and drove off. Angry and full of guilt, Lance flipped the lock on the door and stormed to his Jeep Wrangler, kicked the tire, and then climbed inside.
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the beachside apartments, and he kept Jeff’s silver Cavalier within view the whole way. With the cover off the Jeep, the wind destroyed his hairstyle. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Jeff didn’t take Maggie home and instead went somewhere else. He didn’t logically have any reason to pursue them, other than possessiveness. Lance talked himself down as he drove, knowing that being a dick to Maggie was the wrong way to go about things. If he wanted to get along with her, he had to be nicer than he customarily was. It sounded like a lot of work, maybe too much, but he’d try.
For Maggie, he’d try.
He parked the Jeep in the parking lot on the backside of the apartment complex, averting his gaze from Maggie when she looked his way. Keep it cool. Act natural. Strolling past them like everything was normal and he and Maggie hadn’t just fought and he didn’t want to punch in Jeff’s face, he went around the white structure to the beach. Near the stairs that went up to his apartment, Lance kicked off his tennis shoes, removed his socks, and with his jeans rolled up to his calves, headed for the water.