“Have fun strutting as a Diva last night?”
“Diva? Whatever, Celeste.” Summer shook her head.
“Your outfit was pretty good, even if I do say so myself. I hope you were letting word out who the designer was.”
“Britney, who are you wearing?” she mocked. “Oh I’m wearing Gucci tonight,” she continued in a high pitched tone. “How about you, Lance’s date?” She gasped. “Who me? Oh all the designers were fighting to dress me – Ralph Lauren, Donna Karan… I decided on Celeste Williams though.”
“A little less of the sarcasm, please. You just wait, one day the stars will be knocking my door down for my designs and you won’t be able to even afford to touch them!” Celeste huffed.
Summer chuckled. Celeste Williams, her best friend of 14 years, the daughter of a half-Irish, half African/American father and a French mother - an unusual genetic makeup for an unusual girl. Celeste didn’t go with the flow; she had her own plan for life and was not going to let anyone step in her way. You crossed her and you’d better watch out.
“So seriously, what was it like?”
Summer flopped onto her bed, her head hanging off the end, causing the blood to rush to her head. “It was weird. That Timberlake dude freakin’ hates me, not that I care.”
“He Vanessa’s Joey McKintyre?”
“Yeah.”
“So what did you do?”
“Me?”
“Summer…”
“Okay so I have a habit of rubbing people up the wrong way sometimes, but I swear I did nothing this time! It was like hate at first sight or something.”
“Well stuff him.”
“Amen to that!”
“Onto juicier things - what’s this Lance like then?”
Summer chuckled. “Nothing like I expected. He’s actually pretty cool, a lot of fun.”
“What did you think he’d be like then?”
“From what I gathered from Vanessa, he was the shy southern gentleman.”
“And what did you get?”
“I got a flirt who likes to do weird things every now and then. Like dragging people out of restaurants, losing people their jobs, and taking strangers to award shows.”
“Sounds like you bring out the weird side in him.”
“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically.
“So are you seeing him again?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“1) He’s a pop star, 2) he’s gonna be touring, 3) he doesn’t live in LA, 4) his friends hate me, 5) his family would probably hate me, 6) after more than a week he would probably hate me –“
“Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t want to see him again,” Celeste concluded.
“I didn’t say that. I said he wouldn’t want to see me again.”
“So you do want to see him again?”
“Did I say that either? Anyway, does it matter? He’s probably left LA by now, I’ll be long forgotten.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so,” Summer confirmed.
“So what are you doing today?”
Summer sighed. “I really should be looking for a new job.”
“Thanks to Mr Bass,” Celeste pointed out.
“Sure made a lasting impression huh? I hated the job anyway; I only stayed ‘cause the tips were good. I’m gonna miss Ric though, always had a good bit of gossip to share.”
“Ooh the Italian with the package!”
“Celeste!”
“Oh come on, the guy was hot, Lord knows why he’s still working there.”
“Because he wants to be an actor and he can’t act worth shit!”
“Good point.”
Summer sat up, a smile appearing as she cracked her back - she’d needed to do that all morning - a result of dancing in the ridiculously high heels last night.
“So I take it you’re not going to Foxie’s tonight?”
Foxie’s was actually the club Summer and her friends frequented, not, like it sounded, the local strip joint.
“I’m gonna pass, I’m still pooped from last night.”
“Summer, you’re getting weak in your old age!”
“Tell me about it. Have fun tonight though.”
“You know I will. Later, babes.”
“See ya, Leste,” Summer smiled, hanging up the phone. She let out a yawn. Maybe the job hunting could wait ‘til tomorrow.
Lance looked back over his shoulder at Lonnie sitting in the car. He did not look a happy bunny. It did look quite funny though, that hulk of a man crammed inside the small rental. He stifled a chuckle as he turned back to the door, ringing the bell before he lost his nerve.
“I’ll get it,” he heard someone shout from the other side. The door swung open and a look he’d seen many times before began to form. First they froze, and then the eyes widened, the jaw went slack. It was often followed by an “Oh my God.” He wasn’t surprised then to hear the next words fall from her mouth.
“Oh my God, you’re…what are you doing here?”
He grinned; the reaction never failed to amuse him. “Hey, I’m Lance, and you’d be?”
“V-Vanessa,” she stuttered.
He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Hi Vanessa, nice to meet you.”
She tried to pick up her jaw. “Y-yeah, you too.” She reached out a shaky hand and shook Lance’s.
“Is Summer home?” he asked, sinking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Summer?” she asked as though the name was foreign to her.
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She seemed to shake herself back to the living. “Um yeah, she’s in the garage.”
“The garage?”
“Yeah, my dad set it up as a studio for her.”
“Okay,” Lance said, confused.
“Come in,” she said, finally remembering her manners. She led him to a door. “Sum,” she called, knocking. “Someone here to see you.” She pushed the door open, gesturing for him to enter. “Um- you can go on in.”
“Thanks, Vanessa.” He made a point of smiling at her as he passed.
“You’re welcome,” she managed to choke out.
The door closed behind him and Summer looked up at the sound. “What are you doing here?” she asked, obviously shocked.
He looked around. The garage had indeed been transformed into a studio – an art studio. Canvasses lined the walls, stacked because of the multitude of them, and covered for protection. The floor, around the three easels set up, was covered in paint of every shade imaginable. Tubes and bottles of different types and shades of paint covered a large table in the corner. In the middle of it all stood Summer – wearing a black tank which bared her tan stomach, , what looked to be her painting jeans, and her hair covered by a bandanna.
“Nice to see you too,” he smirked.
Her hand, which had been hovering in the air, mid-brushstroke, lowered. She set the brush in the jar of water on the table, settling her palette next to it.
She wiped her hands on her already paint-splattered jeans. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she admitted.
“Why not?” he asked, wandering around, looking at the few paintings that were actually mounted on the walls.
She shrugged, slightly uncomfortable at his careful inspection of her work. “I don’t know why, I guess I figured you’re a busy guy.”
“I am,” he agreed, facing her. “I make time for some things though.”
“Okay,” she said softly, not totally sure what he had meant by that.
“I didn’t know you painted.”
“You didn’t ask,” she replied simply.
He nodded his head. “You’re right. We talked for hours that night though, I thought it might have come up seeing as it’s obviously such a big part of your life,” he said, gesturing around the room.
“I’m an art student, I have to paint otherwise I’ll get kicked out of college,” she shrugged.
“I’m an artist, maybe not in the same sense as you, but I know it runs deeper than that. There’s no point unless you have a passion for it.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Why are you here, Lance?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly.
“Well sorry to break this to you, honey, but if you don’t know then I sure as hell can’t tell you.”
He ignored her comment, running his finger along a sculpture in the corner of the room. “Last night was fun.”
She walked over to the sink, washing the paint off her hands when the flow warmed a little. “It was,” she agreed, shaking hands free of the excess water. She turned and he was there.
“Wanna do it again?” he asked, his face mere inches from hers.
She raised an eyebrow. “Would that be wise? I know your A-Team wouldn’t think so.”
“Who gives a damn about them?” his eyes trailed down to her lips.
“I sure as hell don’t,” she whispered.
He threw caution to the wind and closed the gap, kissing her soundly on the lips, his hands on her exposed waist, pushing her back until she was almost bent over the sink. He drew backs seconds later. “I’ll call.” He turned and headed for the door.
She exhaled slowly. “You do that.”
Chapter 7
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