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.”
He tilted his head as he studied her. “Then are you doing it for you, or for someone else?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Are you doing it for you?”
“No.” Lance smiled cynically.
Maggie looked down, wiggling toes with pink-painted toenails. “My sandals are on the beach,” she mused.
“Mine are too. I’ll get them.” Lance would hold them for ransom if he had to, all in the quest to get her to hang out with him again.
“I’ll go with you.”
He put out a hand to stop her. “Nope. I’ll have them waiting for you, tomorrow, at eleven. Wear a comfortable swimsuit. The waves are strong.”
Thoughts clear as they shifted across her face, Maggie finally laughed, shaking her head. “Okay. Fine. You win. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
Pleased with himself, Lance waited until she’d gone inside before patrolling the sand in search of their shoes. The wind picked up, pushing and pulling at him as he walked. He looked up at one point, toward her bedroom window. The light was on, and he pictured Maggie lying on her bed, soft and warm. Inviting. Instantly, painfully, stiff, he held still until he had control over his body. Walking around with a boner wasn’t something he felt the need to do.
It took a few times of walking up and down the beach, but he finally found the two pairs of shoes. Maggie’s sandals were small and black with silver shining on the parts that went over the top of her feet. He
“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.”
He tilted his head as he studied her. “Then are you doing it for you, or for someone else?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Are you doing it for you?”
“No.” Lance smiled cynically.
Maggie looked down, wiggling toes with pink-painted toenails. “My sandals are on the beach,” she mused.
“Mine are too. I’ll get them.” Lance would hold them for ransom if he had to, all in the quest to get her to hang out with him again.
“I’ll go with you.”
He put out a hand to stop her. “Nope. I’ll have them waiting for you, tomorrow, at eleven. Wear a comfortable swimsuit. The waves are strong.”
Thoughts clear as they shifted across her face, Maggie finally laughed, shaking her head. “Okay. Fine. You win. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
Pleased with himself, Lance waited until she’d gone inside before patrolling the sand in search of their shoes. The wind picked up, pushing and pulling at him as he walked. He looked up at one point, toward her bedroom window. The light was on, and he pictured Maggie lying on her bed, soft and warm. Inviting. Instantly, painfully, stiff, he held still until he had control over his body. Walking around with a boner wasn’t something he felt the need to do.
It took a few times of walking up and down the beach, but he finally found the two pairs of shoes. Maggie’s sandals were small and black with silver shining on the parts that went over the top of her feet. He
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