by Justine Dell
Lance tossed some bills down onto the table as he rose. “If you say so.”
“You don’t have to be all smug about it.”
“I’m not being ‘smug.’ I was just giving you an answer.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Just trying to keep it short and to the point, seeing as how that’s what you’ve been doing this afternoon.”
Dr. Wade and Lance both knew what buttons to push, only Lance pushed them harder and on a more regular basis. Why did he always have to be so condescending? Wasn’t she trying her best to be nice to him?
No.
She was mean to him. It was the only way for her to keep her fascination with him at bay. It wasn’t really fascination, though. It was more of an unhealthy obsession with his looks, his voice, his touch, and it bordered on crazy. Even with the floodgates open, she knew a woman-eating shark when she saw one. What kind of a man would steal your virginity and then walk out on you? Distance. She needed distance from him. And fast.
“Let’s go, Jenny.” Samantha rose from her seat and hurried to the exit.
Once outside, Jenny took hold of Samantha’s wrist and tugged, spinning Samantha around. Jenny stood with her hip cocked out and slid her sunglasses halfway down her nose.
Before Samantha could even speak, Jenny jerked her head toward the diner. “Tell me about your relationship with Lance.”
Chapter Thirteen
“It cannot be precisely known how any thing is good or bad, till it is precisely known what it is.”
~James Mill
SAMANTHA’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN. No way was she talking about this.
“We don’t have a ‘relationship,’” she stated flatly.
Jenny squinted at her. “You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Stop, Samantha. We’re not five. I know the uncomfortable face of a woman around a man she’s been involved with. You had that look all through lunch.”
Samantha’s palms started to sweat. She wished Jenny wasn’t so observant.
“We aren’t ‘involved.’” That wasn’t quite a lie.
Jenny brushed her dark hair out of her face and gave Samantha a serious stare. “Oh, I know you aren’t involved right now. I’m talking about past tense here.” Jenny stared her down. “Spill it.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about. It was twelve years ago. I’ve forgotten all about it.”
“Like I’m going to believe that, Sam.”
Samantha’s eyes snapped open and she did her best to keep a straight face. Jenny was mocking her, albeit playfully, but it was still surprising.
“From the way you were looking at him and the way he was looking at you, I can tell that neither of you have forgotten about it.”
“What look are you referring to?”
“Well, yours is like a frightened little kitten that’s just been introduced to its new home. This new home has a fat tomcat, and little kitty is afraid big kitty is going to eat her up.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m serious. That’s exactly how you look. Terrified.”
Really? Sure, Lance made her uncomfortable for several reasons, but not because she was afraid of him—far from it. The only thing she could honestly say she was afraid of was the churning of her stomach when he was around, the way he both stimulated her senses and made her uneasy. Basically, she was afraid of how he made her feel, because he made her feel way too much. She wasn’t used to suppressing instinctual urges, and she had to do that every time Lance was around. There was no denying her tingling reaction to his every move, touch, and word.
Okay, so maybe she was afraid. Not of him, but of what he could do to her again if she allowed it: break her heart. Not that he was even interested. After all, hadn’t he shown how he felt about her twelve years ago? He hadn’t given a damn about her then, and even though he was acting funny around her recently, he certainly didn’t care now.
“I’m not terrified, Jenny.”
“Keep kidding yourself.”
Samantha scowled. Jenny was right, and that bothered her. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I’m afraid, but not of him.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“That’s something I’m not prepared to talk about. Even though you’re a dear friend, I need to keep that to myself, for now.”
Jenny didn’t do a good job of hiding her sly smile. “All right, don’t tell me about the present—tell me about the past.”
Whoa. Samantha didn’t know if she could do that either. What had Dr. Wade said about this type of situation? She dug deep into her brain and tried her best to remember. Oh, yes. Don’t let past relationships ruin future ones. Work with what you have. Talk about what bothered you and work through it. Dr. Wade scores again, Samantha mused.
“Come on. Out with it,” Jenny said when Samantha didn’t answer.
“Here’s the thing. I’m only going to tell you because I think it would be good therapy.”
“Therapy?”
Samantha rolled her eyes at the look on Jenny’s face. “Yes, therapy. You remember, that thing I’ve been going to for the last year to work out my issues?”
“Haha. I know about your therapy. I meant, what does telling me about Lance have to do with your therapy?”
She sat down on a metal bench along the street. This was going to be a long story.
“Sit,” she told Jenny. Samantha made herself comfortable and tried her best not to fidget with her hands, her clothes, or her purse, wrapping her arms around herself instead. It was a tall order. The air whipped at her ponytail, and the sun warmed her face. Three deep breaths later, she was ready.
“Candice was my best friend. We grew up together. Lance is her older brother and I swooned over him, even when I was young. He always seemed so untouchable to me.” She’d loved Lance when she was just twelve and he was sixteen. That love had only grown stronger through the years as they spent more time together. Even though Lance treated her more like a younger sister, she’d loved every annoying minute they spent together.
“Anyway, we grew close, but not as close as I wanted. But then, out of the blue, he came to the house one night, all roughed up, looking for Cole. He looked like he needed a friend, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“So, we talked—for hours. He had been fighting with his stepfather and needed someone to listen. His stepfather was arrested the next day for spousal abuse. I didn’t understand it all at the time and I still don’t know all the details about what happened that night. All I know is that Lance talked to me.
“About a week later, Lance asked me out. I was eighteen then, and he was twenty-two. And better looking than ever.” She shivered, remembering their date. He’d been dressed as dapper as she’d ever seen him, with slacks and a button-down shirt. “I thought we were just going out, as a thank you type thing. It wasn’t. The date went from friendly to romantic as soon as we slid into his truck. He had roses waiting for me. White ones. He’d made a music CD for me of a bunch of songs that reminded him of me. He told me lots of things that night, but the one thing I remember most was when he said he couldn’t have made it without me.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She’d never really known what he’d meant by that, but she remembered the look in his eyes as he said it: thankfulness and, to her astonishment, longing.
Samantha swallowed the burn in the back of her throat, willing herself to go on. She could do this. She would feel better; she had to. “We made love that night in his truck. It was my first time.” Samantha wasn’t surprised at the shock that shot across Jenny’s expression. “It was the best night of my life, but my world caved in the next day.
“Cole came in the next morning, furious. He said Lance had called him and gloated about getting in the sack with me,” Samantha continued, and Jenny gaped. “Of course, I didn’t believe him at first, but t
hen Cole talked about specific things Lance and I had done on our date the night before. I didn’t know what to think. Cole said Lance didn’t care about me or my feelings. He said I shouldn’t be expecting anything else out of our relationship.”
The burn in her throat worsened, making it hard to speak. The warmth of his touch was still on her skin after all these years, and reliving it shattered her heart all over again. To know the one she loved didn’t love her back and had never loved her—by now, she should be used to that feeling.
Jenny rubbed Samantha’s back. “What did you do?”
With great effort, Samantha smoothed out her strained expression. “I did the only thing I could. I ran away—”
“You ran away from home?”
Samantha shook her head. “No, not like you’re thinking. That same day I got the acceptance letter to the writing school in New York. I begged Gram to let me go the next day. I never looked back.”
“Oh, Samantha. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what a jerk he was. I would have never said those things about him if I’d known. Please forgive my stupidity.”
“It’s okay.” Feeling restless, Samantha rose from the bench and looked down at Jenny. “I’m over it now.”
That was far from the truth. Samantha was so deep in it she would never get out—even with a large backhoe. Samantha looked down at herself, awaiting that feeling of something being lifted off her chest, but the feeling didn’t come. Everything she’d just said lingered and quickly turned sour.
“You know, you really are a terrible liar,” Jenny said, getting up and taking Samantha’s hand. “But, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I don’t think Lance is all your brother made him out to be.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I saw the way he looked at you in the diner.”
Samantha groaned. She’d seen the way he looked at her, too, like a mad scientist trying to figure out the best way to annoy and torture his next victim. “Oh, I know the look. And I hate it.”
“Why would you hate a look like that? I would die for a man to look at me the way he looked at you.”
“Oh, really? And what look did mister-I-just-dropped-off-the-silver-screen give me?”
“Desire.”
Samantha blinked. “Are you blind? Have you completely lost your mind? I watched him—I hate to admit it—but I watched him. And desire was not what I saw.”
“That’s because his expression changed every time you looked away. I kept a close eye on the both of you. I knew something was up the moment he resisted my charms.” Jenny pressed a dramatic hand to her chest and tilted her head back. Samantha laughed. “He wasn’t looking at you like he was trying to figure you out. He was looking at you like he wanted you to figure him out. It was almost like he was willing you to look at him in a different way, instead of just with your mean face.”
Well, that didn’t make any sense at all. But…it would make sense of that kiss. It had made her yearn for a thousand more. He must be playing tricks on her. Why would she want to figure out any part of Lance Cummings? And why would she look at him any other way? There was a good reason she wore a bitter face every time he was around. Lance knew the reason, too.
“It doesn’t matter,” Samantha said, trying to keep the nerves out her voice. “I have no intention of going back down that road, so let’s just leave it at that. I’ll be home in a few weeks, and then Lance can once again become a distant memory.”
Too bad it would be a recent distant memory. One she could still smell. Feel. Long for.
A slight vibration caught her attention. Samantha dug her ringing phone out of her purse and glanced at the number. She frowned and didn’t answer it. God. Not again.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Jenny asked.
“No—it’s Ryan.”
“Why is he calling?”
Samantha clutched the phone hard between her fingers. “I don’t know. He’s only supposed to contact me through my attorney.” She ground her teeth together and jammed the phone back in her purse.
“Let’s talk about the festival tomorrow,” Jenny suggested.
“I didn’t say for sure we were going.” Samantha playfully stuck her tongue out at her friend. “But I guess I need a break from this past week and you need to engulf yourself in some Burlington culture.”
“Yes!” Jenny squealed. “One request?”
“What?”
Jenny tugged on Samantha’s shirt. “You are in dire need of a makeover. And perhaps a spa treatment.”
Samantha’s cheeks went hot as she looked down her plain clothes. “Okay, I know my wardrobe is average, but I’ve got no one to impress. What’s the point?”
“Oh, make me happy just this once. I need a cute outfit and maybe a new hairdo, so the least you could do is tag along and play dress-up for a day.”
Samantha wanted to run far away from Jenny, whose eyes sparkled mischievously. Samantha tightened her ponytail and rubbed a hand over her face. What would it hurt, really? It would make Jenny happy, and that would make Samantha happy. Win-win.
“All right,” Samantha groaned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Jenny curled her arms around Samantha and gave her a tight hug. Once again, Samantha didn’t have the urge to pull away. Maybe all this emotional outpouring was really doing her some good. She made a mental note to look in the mirror later, to see if a changed woman looked back. She doubted it.
Jenny flashed her an infectious smile. “Let’s get started, then.”
“Ta-da!” Samantha called out as she strolled out of the bathroom. Jenny’s jaw hung open at the sight of her. “What? Don’t I look okay?”
“Oh my, Samantha. You look stunning.”
“Do I really look okay?” Samantha flattened a hand against the deep blue spring dress.
“Come.” Jenny waltzed over and dragged Samantha to a full-length mirror. “You tell me.”
Samantha peered at her reflection. For the first time in ages, she had let her hair cascade in bouncy waves past her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyelids lightly brushed with gray shadow and dark mascara, making her eyes sparkle. Her pale skin glowed, and she felt the urge to smile. And her dress. It was perfect. It hugged her upper body like a second skin, showcasing her chest. She cocked her head and wondered if it was too much. It had spaghetti straps and an empire waist that allowed the soft fabric to flow around her and stop just above her knees. Samantha almost felt pretty. The new sleek, black, high-heeled sandals helped, too.
“The dress does look nice, doesn’t it?” Samantha asked.
“Nice? Just nice? You look hot.”
Samantha couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t know if she would call it “hot,” but something inside her was on fire. Twirling around, she reveled in the silky feel of the skirt swooshing around her bare legs. She supposed she did feel a bit like a princess, and it was better than jeans and ratty T-shirt, that was for sure. And she felt more like a girl than she ever had in those suits she wore for book signings and meetings. Maybe she should make dresses a more integral part of her wardrobe.
Okay, now she was getting ahead of herself. Besides, she didn’t have anyone to impress but herself. Jeans were comfortable. She stuck her foot out and eyed her strappy sandals. They were cute, but she was certain she would be crying for a foot soak later. The outfit was nice, but it wasn’t practical. Practical was better than pretty.
“Ready to go?” Samantha asked.
“You bet. I can’t wait to see everyone’s reaction to the new smokin’ hot Samantha.”
Samantha drew her brows together. “Please, don’t embarrass me.”
“Hey, what’s a girl got to do to have fun around here? The least you can do today is show off the new you. Don’t make me do it for you.”
Samantha wouldn’t win this argument by a long shot. “Fine. I’ll make sure I saunter around and show everyone how my best friend likes to dress me up like
an overgrown Barbie.”
Jenny playfully pinched the skin under Samantha’s arm.
“Ouch!”
“Well, that’s what you get for not believing in yourself.”
“I believe in myself.”
Jenny handed Samantha a white cotton shrug as they walked to the door. “You do, do you?” she asked.
Didn’t she? Well, maybe she didn’t. After all, she didn’t believe in herself enough to finish her book. She didn’t believe in herself enough to fight more with Ryan about Ava. She didn’t believe Lance—before she finished that silent statement, she banished it from her thoughts. Lance didn’t have anything to do with her not believing in herself.
She swiped a stray hair from her eye and grumbled; there was a reason she did the ponytail thing. Now her hair was going to be in the way all evening.
“Okay,” Samantha admitted. “So maybe I have a few more personality kinks to work out. Who doesn’t?”
“True.”
“Besides, I’ve got a lot of circuits firing in a lot of different directions, so when I have time to believe in me, I will.”
“Whatever you say, sweetie.”
Samantha opened the front door and walked into the balmy spring air. She shot Jenny a playful smile and said, “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s hard to see what is right in front of you.”
~Unknown
LANCE WANDERED AROUND THE SPRING FESTIVAL with Jax tugging him in all different directions. The boy couldn’t see everything fast enough. Lance ruffled his hair and smiled.
“Dad! Over there.” Jax poked his finger toward a shooting gallery, where rows of plastic ducks waited to be shot off their perches. “Can I play? Please?”
“Sure.”
Hand-in-hand, they walked to the ducks. Then to the bottle top toss, the climbing wall, and the three-legged race, where they lost to two five-year-old girls. Jax wasn’t disappointed, though. He was having a great time, and that made Lance the happiest man on earth.
“Elephant ears, Dad! Can I get one of those?”
