Players of Marycliff University Box Set, Books 1–3 Page 8

  Lance watched him from his place on the couch, amusement coloring his irritation. When Chris turned and saw Lance, he jumped in surprise.

  “Hey, man. I didn’t expect you to be out here.” Chris rubbed a hand over his close-cropped sandy blond hair, trying to act like Lance hadn’t just scared the shit out of him. He walked across the living room and tossed his keys on an end table before sitting on the other end of the couch.

  Lance shrugged, eyes on the TV, and brought a beer bottle to his lips.

  “What’re you watching?” An explosion filled the screen.

  “Die Hard.”

  “Which one?”

  “The last one.” No more needed to be said. And Lance didn’t want to talk. So he was grateful that Chris didn’t ask any questions as they sat in relative silence, watching high speed chases and more explosions.

  “So was it just a quickie or did you strike out?” So much for not asking questions.

  “Shut up, Chris.” Lance gripped the bottle in his hand tighter, transferring his frustration onto the unyielding glass.

  Chris laughed, unaffected by Lance’s irritation. “She turned you down, huh? That always stings.”

  Lance picked up his phone and pointedly checked the time. “What are you doing here? It’s only three. I thought you guys were going to stay out until at least four.”

  Standing, Chris shrugged and headed for the kitchen. “I got bored and figured I could sneak in while you guys were otherwise occupied in your room,” he called over his shoulder as he went.

  Two beers in hand, Chris handed one to Lance before sitting back down. “So what happened? I’m guessing she didn’t come back here with you.”

  Lance opened the new beer and took a drink, savoring the hoppy flavor before answering. “She had things to do tonight, and she has to be at work in the morning. I took her home.” He left out the fact that “things” meant laundry, which he was pretty sure was code for “avoiding Lance.”

  Taking a swig of his beer, Chris studied Lance’s profile. “Okay.” He drew the word out. “Did you know she had stuff to do after lunch when you scheduled the date?” Lance nodded. “Why are you pissed off, then? Obviously you were hoping she’d rearrange her schedule for you or you wouldn’t have told Matt and me to scram, but it can’t have been that surprising. Just take her out another night.”

  Lance clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple of times, trying to get his anger under control at Abby’s surprise at him asking her out, her dismissal of his interest, and now Chris’s easy humor at the whole situation. She was the first girl he’d found himself wanting to spend that much time with in … a while. “I asked,” he finally gritted out. “She turned me down.”

  “Oooh, burn.” Chris laughed while Lance clenched his teeth some more.

  “Shut up, dude. Someone told her that I only go out with girls once or twice, and that’s why she told me no.” Where’d she hear that anyway? That first night it didn’t seem like she had any idea who he was. Generally his reputation as having the most interceptions in a season in Marycliff football history preceded him.

  Lance could feel Chris’s eyes on him again. “And? You do only go out with chicks once or twice. You either bang ‘em and move on, or just move on. What’s the big deal?”

  Lance ground his teeth before spitting out his answer. “Yeah, I know. Today was four with Abby, though, so I don’t know why it was suddenly a big deal.”

  Chris swigged his beer again before delivering his philosophical answer. “Chicks, man. What can you do?”

  * * *

  The faint buzzing sound coming from her bag interrupted Abby grading the homework from the morning language labs. She fished it out from under the table where she worked in her classroom to see who was texting her.

  Her mom’s name appeared on the screen with the words. I need your help.

  Of course she did. Abby pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to decide the best way to respond.

  What do you need, Mom?

  She tapped her finger on the side of her phone while waiting for a reply. When nothing came right away she went back to her grading.

  Bzzz, bzzz. Another text.

  You need to come home.

  She probably needed groceries. It had been almost two weeks since Abby got them for her last. She was planning on going this weekend to do that for her. It was Wednesday afternoon. Maybe Mom could wait a couple more days.

  Can it wait until this weekend?

  No. Come home now.

  This time the response was immediate. Abby let out a low growl of irritation, but she was worried, too.

  Do I need to call 911?

  No. I need your help.

  That meant that she wasn’t about to try to kill herself at least. Probably.

  I’m working now. I’ll come after.

  Abby waited, but her mother didn’t text back. The fluorescent lights overhead glared down at her, reflecting off the dingy institutional floor, intensifying the headache forming between her eyebrows.

  What now? was all she could think as she went back to grading.

  She had one more lab to teach at three, and then she’d be done. She usually stayed until five, grading the assignments from her last lab, but today she left as soon as she finished teaching.

  Abby poked her head into the office across the hall from the classroom. “Dr. Ramirez?”

  “Yes, Abby?” Dr. Ramirez pushed her reading glasses into her sleek black bob as she looked up from the computer on her battered wooden desk. She taught the classes that Abby ran the labs for. “How did the language labs go today?”

  “Good. My mom texted earlier.” Abby made an effort to keep her voice neutral.

  The look on Dr. Ramirez’s face changed from polite curiosity to sympathy. “Ah. You need to go?” As Abby’s academic advisor, Dr. Ramirez was aware of the unique relationship Abby had with her mom.

  Abby nodded. “She says she needs help with something at home. I know I usually stay until five, but I have to go see what’s wrong.”

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Dr. Ramirez’s dark eyes showed sympathy and concern.

  “I will. Thanks.” With a flutter of her fingers, Abby left.

  Abby’s flip flops slapped her feet as she hurried out of the building and down the street. She lived close enough to campus that she usually walked. Today she wished she’d driven her car.

  Abby hurried home, taking only ten minutes for a walk that usually took fifteen. The hot June sun beat down on her, and every minute felt like an eternity. By the time she got home, sweat stuck her shirt to her back. She went straight to her car, a twelve-year-old blue Kia Rio that she’d saved up for all of high school and bought as a graduation present. Other than her brother’s goodbye note, it was the only one she’d received. Keys in hand for the last block, the car beeped as she unlocked it.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, she threw her bag in the passenger seat, shoved her key in the ignition, and turned.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again. There was a faint clicking sound, but the engine wasn’t even trying to turn over.

  Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears, Abby rested her head against the steering wheel and resisted the urge to scream. She’d been trying to encourage her mom to be more independent. While the forty-five minute drive wasn’t particularly awful, gas costs added up when she had to make it multiple times a week. Her first attempts to get her mom to do her own shopping hadn’t gone well, but they’d made a deal that her mom would let her know if she couldn’t manage it on her own. Guilt ate at her, which only made her frustration worse. Abby had been supposed to check in over the weekend and didn’t because she was distracted with a boy.

  What did her mom even need? If it was something as simple as groceries, why wouldn’t she say so? How hard was it to just answer simple questions? The lack of information kicked up Abby’s worry. Her mom had a history of self-harm, and even though it had been several yea
rs, the memories of the time she found her mom on the couch and unconscious with an empty pill bottle next to her came rushing back like it happened yesterday whenever her mom pulled something like this.

  She needed to figure out how to get home. Now.

  She reached for her bag and pulled out her phone. Megan could take her. She knew about her mom’s issues and would be able to handle it without making a big deal about whatever she might be facing. Depending on what was going on, Megan might even be helpful. Abby called her.

  When Megan didn’t answer, she tried again.

  Megan was working for a temp agency over the summer. She should get off at five, and it was only four fifteen. Abby tried her one more time, but she still didn’t answer.

  She leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat, trying to decide what to do. She could wait forty-five minutes until Megan got off work. Or she could try someone else.

  Abby scrolled through her contact list. Nearly everyone was gone for the summer or she didn’t know them well enough to ask for their help.

  Her eyes kept drifting back to one name as she scrolled through her contacts, trying to pick someone.

  Lance.

  Oh god.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The light above Lance buzzed and went dim. He looked up at it from his desk in the spare cubicle and growled. It had been doing that off and on all day.

  Bzzz, click.

  Dim.

  Bzzz, click.

  Bright.

  Bzzz, click.

  Dim.

  He was ready to climb up there and change the damn thing himself.

  Bzzz. He looked up at the still-dim fluorescent bulb waiting for it to get bright again, but it didn’t. Bzzz. He stared for another beat in confusion before realizing that buzz was from his phone on vibrate in his desk drawer, not the stupid light.

  He opened the drawer, blinking in surprise when he saw Abby’s name on his screen. She was calling him. Huh? He considered letting it go to voicemail. He was at work after all, even if there was less than an hour left. But why would she be calling? They’d only ever texted, and she’d shot him down last time he saw her.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he scooped up his phone to answer. He brought his thumb down on the green button, but the call disappeared just before it connected. He could wait to see if she’d leave a voicemail, but the urge to find out what she wanted was too strong. He called her back.

  “Lance?” Abby’s voice broadcasted her relief.

  Concern immediately replaced simple curiosity. “Abby? What’s wrong?”

  He heard her take a deep breath and then let it out, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Abby?” Why would she be so relieved he answered, and then not speak?

  A tentative and small, “Yeah?” was the only answer.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re calling me?”

  “Um, are you busy?” Her voice held a mixture of fear and hope and something he couldn’t identify.

  “I’m at work, so yeah, I’m kind of busy.” His words came out sounding more pissed off than he’d meant. He’d been having trouble concentrating all day. All week, really. The light had been bugging him, sure, but not as much Abby’s rejection on Sunday. That had been eating at him all week. And now here she was on the phone, he’d even called her back, and she still wouldn’t give him anything.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I just—sorry to bother you.”

  Lance winced at her response. She sounded so defeated and upset, almost like she might cry. He didn’t want to make her cry. He just wanted a real answer. Taking a breath, he composed himself and tried again. “No, it’s fine. You’re not bothering me. What’s wrong?”

  There was another long pause. Then he heard her muttering what he thought sounded like curses. Hurt and upset Abby had turned to pissed off Abby really fast. “I need a ride to my mom’s.” She said it in a rush, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  “You need a ride to your mom’s?” he repeated in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but that hadn’t been it at all.

  He heard Abby take another deep breath. “Yeah.” Now she just sounded weary. “She texted me earlier that she needed my help for something at home, and my car won’t start. I’m sorry to bother you with this, but Megan’s not answering, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Lance’s eyes flicked to the clock on his monitor. It read 4:22. “I get off at five. Can I come get you at five thirty?” Why did he feel the need to ride to her rescue? She’d rejected him, and after the way she’d kissed him back, he hadn’t expected her rejection. He’d figured the laundry claim was a made up excuse, but she’d been so insistent he’d begun to doubt that. So fine, he could wait. He’d been planning to play a slow game with her anyway. Even if he’d convinced her to come home with him, he’d only planned a makeout session, maybe some heavy petting.

  And then she’d said no.

  It stung.

  And then festered.

  Which was stupid. Chris was right when he’d said that Lance usually moved on if he didn’t get what he wanted. Why did her rejection bother him so much?

  And now here she was calling him for help after telling him she couldn’t see him again? But she sounded so raw, so desperate, that all his protective instincts kicked into overdrive. He could blame it on his mom raising him to always help a lady in distress, and maybe he would’ve helped any number of women who called him for help. But he’d more likely try to pawn them off on his roommates, Chris and Matt. No need to encourage clingers.

  But with Abby … something about her appealed to him in a way he’d never experienced before. He felt like they connected somehow, and he knew she felt it too, otherwise her reason for turning him down wouldn’t have made sense. She was worried she’d get attached if she spent time with him.

  And whatever was going on had made her desperate enough to overcome all her reasons for not seeing him and reach out anyway.

  She wanted his help? Then she’d get it.

  “If that’s the earliest you can make it, then, yeah. If Megan gets here sooner than that, I’ll text you so you don’t have to bother.”

  “It’s not a bother. I’ll see if I can make it any earlier.” Now that this opportunity dropped in his lap, he didn’t want it to vanish. His mind was already ticking with things he could tell his boss so he could duck out early. His next project wasn’t due for another week, and he was ahead of schedule, so there wasn’t a specific work reason to stay. With a bitter twist of his mouth, he realized it didn’t really matter if he impressed his boss anyway. Yeah, he wanted to do a good job. But even if they offered him a full-time position at the end of the summer, he couldn’t take it. He’d made the deal with his parents. They paid for school with the understanding that he’d come back after he graduated and work with his dad. He was already living on borrowed time with this internship.

  Abby let out another breath, this one sounding more relieved. “Thanks, Lance.”

  “See you soon.” Decision made, he ended the call and saved what he was working on before shutting down his computer. Standing, he gathered his things and stopped by his boss’s office on his way out. While his post-internship employment was already secured—in Denton with his dad being a grease monkey—he didn’t want to piss off Dan for no reason. He liked the guy, had learned a lot working for him, and some sliver of Lance still hoped he might figure out a way to stay here.

  “Hey, Dan.”

  Dan looked up from his computer, blinking and rubbing his eyes and offering Lance a friendly smile. “What’s up? Run into a problem?”

  “Not exactly. I kind of have a personal crisis that I need to take care of. Is it okay if I duck out early?”

  His supervisor just waved him off and turned back to his computer, and Lance was out the door.

  A half hour later, he knocked on Abby’s door, still wearing his slacks and button-down shirt from work. He’d taken off his tie on the wa
y over, undone the top button of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves so he could be more comfortable.

  She opened the door, standing in the opening so he couldn’t get in or see past her. She had on the shirt he’d bought her on Sunday with a pair of Bermuda shorts that were styled like dress pants and flip flops. The sight of her took his breath away. Her eyes were red, which made him want to fold her into his arms and hold her, and the fact that she was wearing the shirt he’d picked seemed significant. As though what he liked mattered to her. Or like he mattered to her.

  “Hey,” she said, offering him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d make it this quick. Megan’s on her way home, so she can just take me. You’re off the hook.”

  Like hell he was giving in that easily. She’d called him for help. He’d come. And she’d seemed so desperate to get on her way as soon as possible that waiting longer seemed silly. “I’m already here. I don’t mind taking you. You’ll obviously feel better if you get there sooner than later.”

  Abby’s liquid blue eyes flicked over his clothes and up to his face, searching for something—sincerity? Ulterior motives? Whatever she found seemed satisfactory because she nodded once. “Thanks, Lance.” There was that relief again, stronger in person than over the phone, making it clear that every minute did count. “Let me grab my bag, and we can go.”

  She left the door open, but didn’t invite him in, so Lance waited outside, his hands in his pockets. Seconds later Abby was back, locking up the apartment on her way out, her fingers fumbling with her keys in her haste. As he walked her to his car, the urge to reach for her hand was almost overwhelming, and he kept his hands in his pockets to resist temptation. He wanted to hold her—or at least some small part of her—and offer whatever comfort she needed. But despite her calling him for help, he didn’t think she’d be open to any amount of physical comfort. So he played it cool, but still opened her door for her. It was too ingrained in him to not do it. And she let him, like it was expected now.