Summer Fling

by Jerica MacMillan

  A voice groaned from a pile of blankets on the couch. “What are you doing?”

  Abby laughed. “I’m meeting a friend. I’ll be back later.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. Though it was a little soon to categorize Lance as a friend. But if she said acquaintance, Megan would first mock her for her precise choice of words, saying it wasn’t the 1850s, and then grill her on who exactly she was meeting and why she’d meet some guy she barely knew. And was it a date? And if it was a date, why was she wearing her Pluto T-shirt? And then she’d drag her to her closet and force her to change, and she’d already decided to wear this and one person bossing her around was her limit for the afternoon.

  Megan’s head popped out from under her green fuzzy blanket. She swiped the tangled mess of brown curls out of her eyes, frizz creating a halo around her head. “Don’t laugh at my pain. What friend?”

  Abby walked to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. “Just a friend. I’ll fill you in later when your head feels better.” She handed Megan the glass, knowing that in her current state, the promise of future information would be enough to keep Megan from the full interrogation.

  “Okay, fine, don’t tell me.” Megan poked out her lower lip in a pout before gulping down half the glass. “I’m going out with Isaac tonight, so if you’re gone too long I might not be here.” This was said with a note of warning, as though Abby would be heartbroken her friend might not be home later to interrogate her about her whereabouts.

  But Abby ignored all that and smiled brightly. “Okay. Have fun with Isaac. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

  “If you get back in time you can come with us.” Megan gave her a look that was somewhere between hopeful and cajoling. “We’re going to a party one of his friends is having. It should be fun.”

  Making a face, Abby shook her head. “Another party? No thanks, Megan. Even if I get home in time, I don’t think I’ll go with you.” Megan meant well. Abby knew Megan only wanted her to loosen up and have some fun. Live a little while they were young. But Megan’s idea of fun and Abby’s didn’t match very well. And she never realized that leaving Abby to her own devices ended up with her holding up a wall until some asshole spilled a drink all over her. Abby quirked an eyebrow at her roommate. “And if you party like you did last night, you better hydrate now.”

  Megan obediently drank more water. “Okay, fine. Stay home, and be boring. I’ll catch you later.”

  Abby laughed. “I will, and I’ll love it. Boring is my middle name. Bye.”

  Megan finished her water and slumped back down, waving as Abby closed the door. On the surface, their friendship seemed so unlikely. Megan was outgoing and always had to be doing something, while Abby was content to stay home by herself and read a book or watch a movie. But they’d been friends since high school. Megan had been there for Abby when her brother took off and left Abby responsible for their mom.

  Abby sat on the steps leading to the apartment above hers to wait for Lance. Since Megan was in the living room, she definitely didn’t want him to knock on the door. She’d tell Megan about Lance later. First she needed to figure out what he wanted and what he thought was going on between them.

  Lance’s car rumbled into the parking lot, pulling Abby’s attention from the game she played on her phone while she waited. She stood, brushing dust off the seat of her shorts as he parked in front of her building.

  Lance got out of his car and started toward her. “Why are you out here?”

  Abby walked toward the passenger door. “My roommate has a hangover, and I didn’t want to hear her whine about you knocking on the door.”

  Lance nodded and blocked her access to the door’s handle so he could open it for her. So weird. He looked her up and down as she started getting into the car. His lips quirked up in a smile. “Nice shirt.”

  She looked down at the shirt she’d grabbed. It was gray and had an illustration of a planet. Around the planet it said, “Pluto. Never forget.”

  “Thanks.” Abby waited for Lance to get settled into the driver’s seat. “So, what’s the bad news?”

  Lance took his hand off the gear shift and looked at her, guilt all over his face. “Um, well … I found your shirt in my bathroom where you left it last night.” Pause.

  “Okay. And?”

  “So, I saw that it was stained, you know, from the drink that spilled on both of us.” He was turned toward her, but was looking out the window over her shoulder, refusing to make eye contact.

  Abby waited.

  He blew out a breath and reached into the back seat. He dropped a plastic grocery sack in her lap. It was tied closed by the handles. Abby kept looking at him, waiting for him to finish. He just stared at the grocery sack.

  “Well, I needed to do some laundry, and I decided to wash your shirt for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks. That was nice of you.”

  Lance grimaced and gestured toward the sack in her lap. “You might not thank me once you look in there.” He turned back toward the steering wheel and put the car in reverse. While he backed out of the parking spot and started toward the street, Abby untied the handles, not quite sure what she’d find in the bag. There was some sort of fabric inside. She reached in and pulled out a tank top. It was a dingy grayish purple color and there was a darker splotch on the front.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  Lance hunched his shoulders. “It’s your shirt.”

  Abby turned and looked at him, the shirt crumpled in her lap. “What?”

  “I washed your shirt with my clothes, and it came out looking like … that.” He flicked a hand in the direction of her lap.

  “How …? Wha …?” Abby stopped to collect her thoughts. “The shirt I wore last night was pink. And big enough to fit me. This is grayish purple and way too small for me. What did you do to my shirt?”

  “I just washed it. I had a new shirt in the wash, and I guess it bled or something.”

  “Did you use cold water?”

  “What?”

  “Did you use the cold water setting on the washer?”

  Lance looked at her like she was crazy. “No! I always use hot water. My mom says that’s the best way to get out stains. It was stained, and I was trying to wash it for you.”

  Abby sighed, shaking her head. “Lance, you can’t wash new clothes on hot. Of course they’ll bleed. Haven’t you noticed that before?”

  He seemed to think over her words for a moment. There was a wry edge to his voice when he finally spoke. “I don’t exactly wear a lot of pastels. No, I haven’t noticed it before. The rest of my clothes looked fine.”

  “And I assume you put it in the dryer on high heat, too?”

  “Of course!”

  Abby sighed again. “Well, um, thanks for trying? I don’t really know what to say.” She looked up and realized she had no idea where he was taking her. “Uh, where are we going?”

  “To the mall. I’m going to buy you a new shirt.”

  “What? No. You don’t need to buy me a shirt.” Abby wasn’t comfortable with this. She barely knew this guy and didn’t want him buying things for her. It was bad enough he paid for her pie last night.

  “Yes, I do. I completely destroyed your shirt. I might not know how to wash a girl’s shirt, but I’m smart enough to realize that it’s completely unwearable. It’s the wrong color, doesn’t fit, and the damn stain didn’t even come out. I’m buying you a new one.”

  Abby blinked in surprise at the vehemence in his tone. Maybe she should let Lance buy her a new shirt. He obviously felt bad for destroying her old one. She’d just gotten it a couple weeks ago, and it was one of the only dressy summer tops she owned. Correction—it used to be one of the only dressy summer tops she owned. Not anymore.

  “Okay. You can buy me a new shirt.”

  Lance nodded. “Good. I will. Which store do you want to go to?”

  Abby looked up as he turned into the mall’s parking lot. “I’m not sure. Just pa
rk at the main entrance, and we can go from there.”

  Chapter Six

  Lance jogged the last couple of steps to the entrance so he could hold the door for Abby. She wrinkled her nose in the same adorable way she had last night every time he opened her door, but with a tiny smile and a shake of her head, walked past him. The fruity scent of her shampoo tickled his nose, and he wanted to get closer to breathe it in again. She cast a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she pulled open the inner door before he could get there. He returned her grin and put his hand above hers to hold it open. She stared at him in silent challenge, daring him to back down. He held her determined blue gaze, watching as the determination turned to bewilderment and finally acceptance of the fact that he’d be holding her doors open while they were together.

  He followed behind her, amused by the fact that she tried to beat him to the door. Somehow her resistance only made him more determined to do it. It was just more layers to the challenge that came along with her. Besides, he always held doors for the girls he dated. He wasn’t about to make an exception for Abby.

  Hell, he even did it for the annoying chicks that tried too hard with their flirting, all twirling hair and flashing cleavage, rubbing their tits against him if they could. He was always polite to them, but he never went out with those girls. Flirting should be light, fun, not pushy.

  While he appreciated a nice pair of tits, if he was going to spend the time taking a girl out to dinner, he wanted to enjoy talking to her too. He preferred girls who bantered. Who were smart and funny as well as pretty. Who didn’t just try to trade on their looks. Girls like Abby.

  None of the girls he’d ever dated made him work as hard as Abby, though. And after what he’d done to her shirt? He’d been afraid she’d be furious and refuse to see him again. Thank god she’d agreed to let him replace it. For one thing, he’d felt like a complete ass when he’d taken the laundry out of the dryer and seen what had happened to it. He’d just tossed everything into the dryer without looking at it, so he hadn’t realized anything bad was happening to the shirt until it was way, way too late.

  For another, he wanted to spend more time with her. See if he could make more progress than he had last night.

  Catching up to Abby, he glanced down at her, noticing she hadn’t lost the tiny smile yet. “So, where to?”

  Abby gestured toward the nearest department store. “I need something I can wear to work. Megan lets me borrow stuff, but I’d like to keep that to a minimum if I can.”

  “Who’s Megan?” He positioned himself almost close enough to brush his arm against hers as they walked. She had her hair down today, and it landed just past her shoulders. He’d thought her hair was more dark blonde last night, but the sun coming through the mall’s skylights picked up mesmerizing hints of red.

  Abby glanced up at him. “My roommate.”

  “Is she the one that you went to the party with last night?”

  She nodded. “Yup.”

  The single word answer didn’t seem promising for a good conversation. But he persisted. “Did she wonder where you’d gone after you left the party?”

  Abby shook her head, her hair swishing over her shoulders. “No. I texted her that I caught a ride with a friend. She saw me today so she knows I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere. Parties aren’t really my thing anyway, and Megan knows that. I doubt she expected me to stay the whole time.”

  Lance couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “So we’re friends, huh?”

  She tilted her head from side to side. “It was the simplest explanation. Besides, you have been friendly.”

  He wasn’t sure friendly was what he was going for, but decided to let that go for now. “So why were you there last night?”

  Abby led the way through the store to the women’s department, heading for the section with businesswear. “What do you mean?”

  “You said parties aren’t really your thing.” He leaned against a rack near where she stopped. “Why’d you come to the party?”

  She started pushing through the clothes on a rack, and for a second he wasn’t sure she would answer. “Megan told me I had to,” she said at last. “She thinks I need to break out of my shell more. I’m not sold on the idea, but she promised she’d do all the dishes this week if I went.”

  She looked up and smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling. Lance smiled back, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. “Nice. I can see how that would be convincing.” She moved to another rack and Lance followed. “So, where do you work?”

  “I run the language labs for the Spanish One and Spanish Two classes over the summer. I also grade their online homework. I don’t actually have to dress up, but I like looking a little nicer than if I were one of the students. I have a hard enough time getting them to take me seriously as it is.”

  Lance moved to a rack and glanced at the clothes hanging there. Maybe he could help her find something. At the very least, if he were looking through the clothes he wouldn’t feel like he was following her around like a puppy. “Why don’t they take you seriously?”

  “Are you kidding?” The scrape of hangers on a bar stopped as she looked over at him. “Without makeup on I look like I’m twelve. Even with it I don’t look much older than a high school student. Half the people in the summer sessions are my age or older, trying to get their foreign language credits in so they can graduate. Plus, I’m a white girl with blonde hair teaching a Spanish lab.”

  Abby had a couple of hangers hooked over her fingers, and he figured she’d be ready to find a dressing room soon. He had two sisters. He knew how clothes shopping worked with chicks. Turning his attention back to the rack in front of him, he spotted something he liked. It was light blue and sleeveless with a scooped, gathered neckline. “What about this one?”

  Abby looked up at him in surprise. Then she looked at the shirt on the hanger he held up. Her laugh made him smile, even if she was laughing at his expense. It was a challenge to get a smile out of her most of the time. Getting a laugh was like hitting the jackpot.

  “I like it,” she said, “but that’s way too small.”

  He looked at the shirt and then at her, trying to figure out how she could tell. She was pretty tiny. The shirt was too. “What size do you need?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I need a medium usually. That looks like an extra small. You may have noticed that I have boobs.” She gestured at her chest, and he tried—man, he really tried—to keep his eyes on her face. But with her calling attention to her boobs, how could he not look? “The shirt needs to be big enough to fit over them.” Laughter underpinned her words.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her chest, the memory of the lacy bra she wore last night and the glimpse of it he’d gotten through her soaking wet shirt superimposed over the basic tee she had on today. Did she have on another lacy bra? What color was this one?

  When he realized he was staring again, he snapped his eyes back to her face. Fortunately she looked amused, not angry. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I guess I did notice.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, but even though she seemed to be trying to bite it back, she couldn’t quite repress her smile. “Uh huh. I’ve seen you notice more than once now.” She plucked the shirt out of his hand, replaced it on the rack, and grabbed one in her size. “I’m going to try these on.”

  Lance followed along in her wake, once again the puppy. He obediently took his spot in the comfy chair outside of the dressing room to wait for her, pulling out his phone to keep himself occupied.

  Would she want to model the clothes for him? He kinda hoped so.

  “Thanks again for replacing my shirt.” Abby buckled her seatbelt, her eyes downcast as she fiddled with the shopping bag in her lap. Despite spending the last few hours with him, she felt unaccountably shy now that they didn’t have anything to do but sit in the car.

  She’d decided to get the shirt Lance picked out, which had made him grin and puff out his chest like
he’d won some sort of competition. Who knew shopping was a competitive sport? Though with a college-level athlete, she supposed nearly everything could be turned into that. Paying for the shirt, for instance.

  When she took it to the cash register, she’d tried to argue him out of buying it for her, telling him that taking her shopping was enough to make up for her other shirt. He blew off her protests and gave the cashier his credit card while she was still fishing out her wallet.

  He won that round of who gets to their wallet the fastest.

  “You’re welcome.” He buckled his seatbelt and then grinned at her. “Thanks for coming to the movie with me.”

  Since buying her shirt had taken only half an hour, Lance had convinced her to walk over to the movie theater to see what was playing. Well, convinced might be overstating it. He’d said, “Want to see if there are any good movies playing?” And she’d said,” Sure, that sounds fun.” There’d been a showing of the summer’s blockbuster action flick just about to start, so he bought them tickets at the automated machine and ushered her into the theater, shushing her offers to pay him back.

  “You’re welcome. I could’ve paid for myself, though.” She felt compelled to offer at least once more. Because letting him pay for things—gifts, movies, pie last night—felt like there was more to their relationship than there was.

  “Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay for a movie I invited you to? That’s not the way it works, Abby.” He said the last part with the tone of someone correcting a toddler, but he was still grinning. She could tell he enjoyed teasing her as much as he liked opening her doors and insisting on paying for things.

  She rolled her eyes at him and his insistence on gentlemanly behavior. It was completely unnecessary. “My other guy friends don’t pay for me when we hang out.”