Within This Frame (18 page)

“Anne,” he began, and she burst into tears. Already? Lance briefly closed his eyes. “Anne,” he tried again.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she wailed, hands over her eyes.

Lying would be pointless, and cruel. Lance said evenly, “Yes.”

She dropped to her bottom on the cement steps and cried. “It’s because . . . I said . . . I love you, isn’t it?” Her voice was muffled, hair glowing silvery blond in the dark.

Lance sighed and sat down beside her, careful to not touch her. “That was part of it, yeah.” He clasped his hands and stared at the darkened Jeep. “When we started this, we agreed that it would end when you left.”

“That’s in t-three weeks!”

“Right. And you want me to visit you over Christmas,” he reminded her.

Anne dropped her hands, revealing smudged eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Because I love you.”

“Anne, you don’t love me,” he told her, voice hardening.

Her lower lip quivered. “But I do.”

“You don’t know me well enough to love me.”

“Lance—” She reached for his face and he got to his feet.

“No.” The word was coldly delivered, and inarguable. Lance stared down at her. “You don’t love me. I don’t want you to, and I don’t love you. I’m sorry.”

He left her crying on the doorstep, feeling like an ass, but also relieved. No one spoke when he got inside, Jeff stiffly seated in the front. At the apartments, Jeff left without saying a word, tires squealing as the Cavalier raced from the parking lot.

“That was fun,” he said to Maggie.

Face expressionless, Maggie slapped him.

His cheek instantly stung, her handprint branded upon his skin. “What the hell was that for?” he demanded, staring into angry eyes.

“That was for Jeff, and Anne.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Jeff doesn’t want to see me again,” Maggie supplied. “Because of you.”

“And that’s bad why?”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Nice, and boring,” he agreed.

“And you broke up with Anne, all because she cares about you more than you do her.”

“So?”

“You’re an ass.” Mouth twisted with distaste, Maggie stomped away.

“Did I somehow, at some point, give you the impression that I wasn’t?” he called, striding after her.

Maggie headed toward the sand, kicking off her sandals and storming along the gritty path like each step she took was on Lance’s face. He chucked off his shoes and socks and went in pursuit. He felt like he spent a lot of his time chasing Maggie. Being a Saturday night, the beach was covered in people, and a live band played ‘Runnin’ Down a Dream’ as people danced. The song was much too appropriate—each time he reached her, she ran. When he fell behind, she walked.

She kept going, past the people, past the structures, until all that was around her was air, and sea. Out of breath and pulse thrumming, Lance caught up to her, but then he paused, not sure what to do or say. Her back was to him, arms crossed over her like a hug. She looked into the black and blue water, a bruise upon the earth, and went motionless. He wondered what she thought as she stared into the ocean.

And then he asked her.

It took her a long time to answer, and when she did, her voice was uneven and soft. “I used to be fat.”

He blinked at the unexpected words, taking a careful step closer.

“I wasn’t always fat, and my parents say I was never that, that I was chubby, like that’s better. When I was six, I went from skinny to overweight. My older sister, who’s always been thin, used to make fun of me, telling me I had enough rolls to start a bakery, calling me a cow and mooing when I was around. When I was eleven, I got taller, slimmed down, and was no longer fat. I still had curves—I think I always will.”

She didn’t speak again until Lance was beside her, looking out at the choppy waters with her, not wanting to breathe in case the sound of it would hide her words from his ears.

“I still see her, when I look in the mirror.” Maggie glanced at him, a slice of eyes that scalded his skin. “I still see that fat little girl. Then I came here, and I met you, and . . . I feel like I can’t be as unattractive as I think, not with how interested in me you seem to be, but then, the next second, I feel uglier than I ever have before. Because of you, and your games. You’re not good for me. You’re destructive and—and rude.”

He took a painful inhalation of air, unable to refute her words, but there was something about her he had to say. Lance moved for her hand but she shifted out of reach. “You’re not fat. You’re not unattractive. There’s nothing wrong with you. You shouldn’t base your worth on how you think others see you, not even me. Tell the world to screw off.”

She was silent for a long time, not looking at him, the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. Maggie swallowed and said, “Tell you to screw off?”

Lance shrugged.

“Right.” She shook her head. “Everything I feel for you, or around you, is equal parts good and bad. I think I hate you at times. I want to stay away from you.”

“That might be hard, since we’re on the same television show and everything,” he mocked softly, eyes trained on the gray horizon.

“You terrify me.”

Lance looked at her. Maggie watched him, her face open in a way that made his insides clench and his body tense. He understood the confusing, conflicting emotions she had for him, because he had them as well. Denial and acceptance—he constantly fought between the two.

“I should terrify you,” he told her. “I use people. I don’t care about anyone more than I care about myself. I’ve never loved anyone, but I’ve told tons of girls I did. I break hearts, and it doesn’t bother me. I’ll break yours, if you let me.”

Maggie sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide and bright on his face. They glowed in the dark like a lighthouse, beckoning him forth from the treachery of his own existence to the safety of hers.

“Maggie,” he ground out, fingers curling with the need to touch her.

She backed up a step, closer to the water.

Lance followed, feeling like a monster tracking its most prized victim. “Why do you keep fighting it?”

“Fighting what?” she whispered, lips barely moving.

“Me. This. You feel it too. You feel it when we kiss. You know there’s something between us. Everyone knows. Everyone sees it. Even Jeff saw it.” Lance took another step closer, and she took another back. “Staying away from you is driving me insane. I’m tired of it. I want you so much.”

“If we—if we get involved . . . it’ll end badly.”

“Yes.” He knew it would. He wanted to get lost in her anyway.

“I’ll get hurt.”

Lance inclined his head. “So will I.”

“You just broke up with your girlfriend,” she pointed out, frustration tightening her features. It was for him, and for her response to him.

“I did, and I don’t even care, because the whole time I was with her, I wanted to be with you.”

“Do you realize how bad that sounds?” she demanded, her voice high with incredulity. Maggie was in the water up to her ankles.

“Maggie. I don’t care,” he said slowly and clearly.

“I’ll just end up like her, like all the other girls you go through. Unwanted and discarded for someone new.”

Lance stared at her, his eyes drifting over her eyes, nose, and lips. She would never be like all the other girls. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know how things will end,” was the most honest answer he could give her.

“And you don’t care,” she whispered.

Lance stood there, unapologetic, as Maggie looked into his eyes, into his being, and saw him for what he was. It was humbling, knowing someone could see all the flaws in him, and not turn away.

“I tried. I tried to be your friend. I can’t. I can be more, and maybe nothing, but I can’t be that.” Lance inhaled raggedly, closing the distance between them. He touched her cheek, fingertips tingling at the feel of her soft skin. “You’re like the pretty flower my dirty hands should never touch.”

“But you’re going to anyway,” she said shakily.

Water moved around them, but they remained motionless. It was cool, and gently lapped against their legs. The moon silhouetted Maggie like sunshine and clouds at odds with one another. Lance faded to nothing as he looked into her expressive eyes, seeing his reflection. Seeing Maggie.

“Only if you let me.” Lance moved his hand to her lips, brushing his fingertips across them. They felt like silk, and he repressed a shudder. “But then you’re mine, and no one else’s.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move away, and when her eyes closed and her head fell back, exposing her neck to the moonlight, Lance knew her answer. He threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging the ponytail holder to fall into the ocean, and brought his mouth to hers. Maggie’s eyes flew open, her hands gripped his forearms, and then she swayed toward him, falling into him as he fell into her.

Kissing Maggie was comparable to finding air, and losing it, just as quickly. He was full of life, he was without it. Her lips tasted like candy, her tongue like velvet, and she consumed him. All he wanted, all he knew, was her. Maggie was his. The thought made him tremble with fear, because if she was his, that meant she could be taken away. Lance kissed her harder, wanting to wipe out the doubts, and the need, but all kissing her did was make him want her more.

A high wave hit them, plastering them with cold water, and she pulled back with a small shriek. Lance laughed, and the surprise in her eyes turned to delight as she laughed with him. Her dress was soaked, clinging to the curves and hollows of her frame. His body tightened, his nostrils flared, and Lance gripped her shoulders to keep his hands from more intimate parts.

He felt dazed in her presence, knowing she was his, for however long he was given—or took.

“What now?” she asked, breathless.

Her eyes sparkled. He put that light in her eyes.

“Hmm,” Lance murmured, bringing her fisted hand to his mouth. It was cold and wet, and tasted like salt. “How about we find our shoes and go for a ride?”

“But we—our clothes are wet,” she said, shivering.

“We could always take them off,” Lance offered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”

“Not yet, Maggie,” he promised. “But I could see myself going there, real fast. You make me crazy, wanting you like I do.”

Her lips parted and her eyes became unfocused. “Lance, you can’t say things like that.”

“I can.” He tugged at her hand. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll be good.” He glanced at her as they walked. “I know a place where you can practice driving.”

“I haven’t practiced driving in months. I’m sure I’ve forgotten all the important things I need to know by now. I’ll probably wreck or something.”

They left the water, the air cool as it slowly worked at changing their clothes from wet to damp messes. Chilled and yet somehow feverish, Lance fit his hand around Maggie’s, the simplicity of their joined hands monumental to him. Her small hand shook inside his.

“I won’t let you wreck—not unless you want to.” He paused on the beach to look at her, the sky above them a kaleidoscope of clouds and stars.

“Why would I want to wreck?” she questioned softly, looking at him like she didn’t understand him.

Lance smiled, the blackness of it reflecting his thoughts. “Sometimes crashing is the only way to deal with things.”

She frowned, doubts flitting across her face. “You worry me.”

“Good.” He nodded. “I should. When I stop worrying you, you know you should get away from me as fast as you can.”

“Why would you say that? What do you mean?” She took a step back, caution stiffening her shoulders. She looked posed to run, should he say or do one wrong thing.

Lance gripped her face between his hands, staring at a face that should have been plain but wasn’t. It was her eyes, and her innocence, and her
goodness
—she was stunning.

Breaths shallow and fast, he said thickly, “When you stop worrying, Maggie, it means it’s too late for you. It means you’ve given me your heart. It means you’ll get hurt.”

“You act like you’re some monster. You keep warning me away and then you keep pulling me back. You’re just a boy. A messed up one, but still a boy,” Maggie said, voice shaking.

A twisted smile tried to form to his lips and he bit his lower lip hard to keep it at bay, tasting blood. “Maggie, I’ve never been just a boy. I was never allowed that. I was born with expectations and responsibilities.”

“Poor Lance,” she taunted, crossing her arms.

He shrugged, looking down at the sand. However it sounded, what he said was true. His dead mother wanted him to be an actor. Out of guilt or love for a woman he couldn’t save, his father pushed it. Lance spent his childhood being told the most important thing in his life was something that wasn’t even real. Acting wasn’t a career—it was a life, an unrealistic one, and one decided for him.

Maggie brushed the back of her hand across his cheek.

Lance jerked from her touch, eyes downcast.

“You’re not lying.”

He met her gaze, saw the sorrow and wonder in the rise of her eyebrows and the frown on her face. “Of course I am. It’s what I do.”

Lance took off at a fast pace, shaking away the gloomy thoughts. He found their discarded shoes and carried them as he strode for the Jeep.
What would you be, if you could pick?
Hell if he knew. Lance was to the Jeep and had been for a few minutes before Maggie got there. He handed Maggie her shoes. Part of him had wondered if she’d follow or ditch him entirely and go home, maybe call up safe and dull Jeff. His jaw clenched at the thought.

Lance needed a distraction. Knowing his preferred method of going about it would most likely result in him getting slapped again, he decided on a more acceptable one. She would drive his Jeep, and maybe, if he was lucky, she would kiss him again. It was better than nothing.

He removed his car keys from the pocket of his jeans and dangled them in front of her face, a disarming grin in place. “Ready?”

“Lance, I’m serious,” Maggie hedged even as she walked closer, a worried expression on her face. “I don’t think I should drive.”

“You finished Driver’s Ed, right?”