Within This Frame (6 page)

“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.

Maggie stared at him, hair fallen from the clips that held it up. The display was erotically at odds with the innocence stamped upon her face as a brand to keep him away. Chest lifting and lowering with each fast intake of air she took, she gasped, “Why did you run off?”

“Because if I hadn’t, I would have beaten the shit out of that guy.”

“What was he talking about? Who’s—who’s Lacey? What happened with her?”

Lance’s jaw shifted. “Just a girl I knew.”

Hands clasped before her, she bowed her head. “Okay.” Maggie looked up and to the side. “And the girl that kissed you? Just another girl you know?”

“Yes,” he said roughly.

She nodded, the determined cast of her profile saying she’d come to some kind of decision. “I’m going to go home now.”

Maggie got in a dozen steps before he was running after her. He caught her wrist and swung her around. Lance looked down at her, remorse squeezing his heart at the words he was about to say. He didn’t want her to know the kind of person he was, not yet.

“We went on a date or two, messed around. It meant more to her than it did me, and when I told her, she . . . she got upset. Really upset. She drove off. There was a car accident, and . . . she didn’t make it.”

He went silent, swallowing thickly. Waiting. Waiting for the judgement. The coldness. The blame. The rejection. He didn’t get them. Instead Maggie lifted a hand to his cheek and held it there. It was a kind gesture, comforting. Empathetic.

Unwanted.

Needed.

Lance blinked his eyes and averted his head, embarrassed by the prick of tears.

“How long ago did it happen?”

He shrugged. “Five months.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Looking at Maggie, seeing the sincerity on her face, Lance’s chest compressed more. That time, she kissed him. Other than their lips, no part of them touched. It was slow and deep. He’d kissed a lot of girls, had a lot of them kiss him. Passionate kisses. Hard kisses. Kisses that made him mad with need and out of control. He’d never been kissed like that before.

That was a true first kiss. Shared with Maggie Smiley. It should have felt wrong. It didn’t. It felt like it meant something.

When she pulled away, he opened his eyes, mesmerized by the fan of eyelashes on her cheeks. He wanted to kiss those as well. She looked at him and touched trembling fingers to her puffy lips. Lance ached for her.

“That’s the kind of first kiss I wanted,” she told him shyly.

Lance grinned. “Are you going to make me work for the five dollars, or are you going to concede? I can play the wounded soul if that helps.”

“Are you playing?” she wondered, head tipped to the side.

“Of course,” he replied coolly.

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Hmm. I’m not sure.” Grin stretching her lips as her expression cleared, she skipped backward, eyes on him. “I think you need to work for it a little more.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” Lance chased after her, grinning as her eyes widened. “Get moving, or you’re mine.”

Maggie laughed as she spun around, sprinting along the beach, kicking off her sandals to move faster. Lance did the same, water folding over his feet as he ran. It was cool against his skin, but he was on fire. She whooped, hands above her head, jumping and dancing farther down the beach. Lance stilled, mesmerized by her graceful movements and carefree spontaneity. She turned into the water, became a part of the ocean instead of a person separate from it.

He blinked, shook his head, and jogged the remaining distance.

When he reached her, Maggie grabbed his hands. They spun in a circle, faster and faster, kicking up sand as they moved. Laughing into each other’s eyes. Lance felt like a kid. He was only sixteen, but he felt so much older most of the time. Not with Maggie. With Maggie, he felt free and invincible.

“Tell me a secret,” she called, grinning mischievously.

Lance shook his head, heart pounding, pulse racing. It was silly, but he wondered, if they kept spinning, would they twirl into non-existence, like a time-traveling machine? If he could go back in time, where would he go? And in that question, there was a secret, one he’d never admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. He focused on Maggie’s face, the two of them moving so fast they seemed to not be moving at all.

“I wish I could have known my mom better.”

Her expression changed, and they slowly came to a stop. He was dizzy, awkwardly trying to keep his balance, and then Lance released her hands and let himself fall to the lumpy sand. Maggie plopped down beside him, face lifted to the moon, chest moving up and down as she breathed. A hand, small and cool, clamped over his, squeezing it. Lance shifted his position and stared at the star-filled sky, wondering if his mom was watching him. He closed his eyes against the thought.

Maggie didn’t offer condolences, or try to make him feel better, and he appreciated that. He’d heard it all through the years, good and bad, and none of it changed what was.

You’re better off without her.

She couldn’t be what you needed.

She loved you, in her own way.

Think of what things would be like, if she were still around. Think of how much more messed up you’d be.

“I hate spaghetti.”

He turned his head and met her odd-colored eyes.

“That’s my secret,” she elaborated. “I hate spaghetti. The noodles make me think of worms, and with the red sauce, it’s like bloody worms.” She shuddered, a small smile on her face. “I don’t tell people that, though, because then they make fun of me.”

“What would you do if someone cooked you spaghetti and expected you to eat it?”

Maggie’s smile grew as she showed him her profile. “Suddenly feel ill.”

“What about Ramen noodles?”

“Same. And have you ever actually tried to eat them? It’s impossible to chew them. They just sort of slide down your throat, like slippery, thin, malnourished worms.”

Lance laughed, tugging his hand from hers to place his arms behind his head. It was peaceful, lying there, talking with Maggie, nothing directly around them but the ocean and sky.

“I live off Ramen noodles most days,” he confessed.

“Gross! That’s so sad. You shouldn’t have to live like that.”

“I like them.”

Maggie placed her head on a hand and stared down at him.

“What?” Uncomfortable with the straightforwardness of her gaze, he averted his eyes.

“What’s your favorite food, and if you say Ramen noodles, we can no longer be friends.”

Friends. He tested the word out in his head, and determined whether or not he liked it. For the moment, it would do, but he wasn’t satisfied with that term defining them.

Lance smiled up at Maggie. “Lasagna. Is that acceptable?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. This is the plan.” Hopping to her feet, she wiped sand from her body and looked down at him, waiting to speak until he stood before her. “I’ll cook you dinner this Tuesday. Lasagna. Wednesday we work from noon to ten, so we don’t have to get up early. Judith will be gone Tuesday night too, so she won’t be there breathing disapprovingly down your neck.”

“Caught that, did you?”

“She doesn’t like you.”

Lance laughed. “No, but more importantly, she doesn’t like my dad.”

They began to walk.

Maggie glanced at him. “Why is that?”

“She dated my dad before he got involved with my mom, who was one of her friends. It was a big deal back in the day, I guess. Lots of gossip, tabloids, embarrassing incidents. Name-calling, public fights, anything you can think of that would draw negative attention to celebrities, really.” Lance shrugged and faced the apartments as they came into view.

“That’s not your fault.”

His cheek lifted with the pull of a half-smile. “Isn’t it? I am my father’s son, after all.”

“That’s stupid,” she huffed.

Lance stopped fighting the grin, letting it take over his mouth. “So dinner every Tuesday?”

Maggie paused. “Every Tuesday? I only committed to one.”

“What if I cook the next time?”

“You know how to cook?” The surprise in her voice would have offended him, had anyone else been the one to show it.

“I do. I make a mean spaghetti,” he said evilly, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

Maggie scowled at him, but it quickly faded as she laughed. “Then I pass.”

“What about chicken with broccoli? Would that be acceptable?”

“Yes,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “It would.”

They reached the sidewalk that led to their separate apartments.

Lance put out a hand, palm up. “Pay up, Maggie.”

“Who said I find you irresistible?” she teased.

“The fact that you offered to cook for me.”

“That could have been pity.”

“I doubt it,” he derided.

When she continued to watch him, smirk in place, Lance stepped closer. “I’m willing to make a trade. Five kisses in place of the five dollars—one kiss for each dollar.”

Her expression said she had reservations about committing to that.

“What’s the matter?” he taunted. “Afraid you’ll end up falling in love with me? I can’t say there isn’t a good chance of that.”

Determination sparking to life in her eyes, Maggie grabbed his shoulders, closed her eyes, and tilted her face with pursed lips. Lance moved his head back, waiting for her to open her eyes. The seconds ticked by, spent with her posed for a kiss and Lance studying her pale face.

With a sigh, she finally looked at him. “What are you waiting for?”

“I didn’t say when I was going to collect them. I’ll decide when each kiss is to be given. And right now isn’t when.”

“You’re cocky, you know that?”

“Yes. I am.” Lance winked at her, moving away from the door of her apartment when the living room curtains parted to reveal a displeased Judith. He waved and turned to Maggie as the curtains snapped shut. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Maggie sounded irritated. “Practicing lines, probably.”

“That sounds boring. How about I teach you to surf with a boogie board instead?”

“That sounds dangerous,” she retorted.

“Maggie,” he chastised softly. “It isn’t worth doing if it isn’t. I’ll be right there, at eleven tomorrow.” He pointed near the shoreline. “If you show, you show. If you don’t . . . have fun practicing your lines.”

The mockery was plain, and she caught it, a frown marring her face. “Thank you for the memorable evening. Good night,” she told him with polite reservation.

Lance blinked.

That wouldn’t do, not at all. He’d turned her off with his arrogant attitude. Maggie wasn’t intrigued enough to continue to spend time with him. She’d cook him dinner once, out of obligation, and then she would move on. He needed her to want to be with him. He didn’t understand why, only that it was necessary. Maggie could not give up on him, not before she knew all there was to know about him. Then, he would accept it. He expected it even. But not yet, not before she gave him a chance.

Desperate to keep her tethered to him, he blurted, “It was my mom’s idea to have me act. I was a baby, what did I know about it? My dad seemed to agree, since both of them dabbled in the business themselves—before my mom became a cokehead and my dad a lawyer.

“I was taught at a young age that, for me, it was the only acceptable means of having a career, and it’s all I know. Sometimes, though, I wonder what it would be like . . . to be something else. To have a choice in the matter. Do you ever feel like that?”

Maggie’s mouth pulled down. She pushed hair from her eyes and directed her face toward the sea. “How can you talk so cruelly about your mother?”

“I didn’t know her. I mean, I don’t remember her. She died a few days after I turned two. Some say it was the best birthday present she could have given me.”

Maggie glanced at him, a second of shattered eyes combined with a heartbroken expression filleting his heart. He didn’t want her to look at him like that. He was about ready to say forget about it, it was nice knowing her for about two seconds, and go to his apartment. He didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for him.

But then she spoke, and he couldn’t leave.

“This is what I want to do. This is the only thing I want to do.” She looked at Lance. “I was told I couldn’t do it, it was hinted around that I would never be anything special, and that’s why I am determined to prove them wrong. All of them.”