I quickly put an end to the internal organ melting and came back to myself, adding firmly, “Preferably alone. Don’t feel like you need to stay, Gabby.”
She gave me the side-eye and a saccharine sweet smile. “You’re funny. I do have to be someplace, but we have so much to talk about. I wouldn’t think of leaving quite yet. Plus, I brought you dry shampoo. For your hair. You know you can’t get your hair wet or else Abram will have to take you back to George.”
“Who is George?” Abram took a step forward, glancing between us.
“George is Lisa’s stylist in Chicago. Her stylist in New York is also George, but it’s spelled G-O-R-G,” Gabby answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world for a person to have a stylist with a name pronounced George in every city.
My upbringing meant I hadn’t truly understood until undergrad how unusual it was for a person to have a stylist in every city, or even one in one city. My superstar mother was followed by a beauty and health entourage everywhere she went. When she and my father had taken Leo and I to movie premieres, or award shows, or wherever they’d be photographed with their two prized prodigy pedigrees, her life had been my initial baseline.
I’d spent the last four years readjusting my expectations of normal. Even so, since my Ivy League past and living with Dr. Steward were now my secondary baseline, I knew I was still hugely out of touch about many, many realities of the typical, normal, or average experience.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know, but I was working on it.
Abram lifted an eyebrow at Gabby’s explanation. It looked judgmental. “You can’t do your own hair?”
“Apparently, not in Chicago or New York,” I said dryly, unable to help the note of sarcasm given my level of frustration. I just wanted to go swimming and cool down! Was that too much to ask?
Gabby shot me a dirty look, her elbow digging into my side.
But Abram’s judgy single-eyebrow lift became a double rise of surprise, his gaze moving over me, his mouth curving into another of his reluctant grins.
“Given how much Abram loves your company, I’m sure he won’t have any problem taking you to George to get your hair done.” Gabby met my sarcasm and raised me a dose of mockery.
“Or maybe Abram could just change his name to George?” I appealed to Abram, pulling my arm from her grip.
“Sure. I can do that.” He nodded, surprising me by playing along.
“There we go. I have my George. I can go swimming. Gabby, you can rest easy about my hair. And now you can both leave.”
Gabby’s mouth dropped open, and I could feel the squawking protest building inside her.
But Abram spoke before she had the chance. “Oh no, George can’t leave. George has to go swimming.”
Those statements earned him an intense eye-squint. “Why does George have to go swimming?”
“Don’t you want a George nearby? Just in case there’s a hair emergency?” He was grinning. Apparently he’d decided to stop hiding his smiles, just this once.
“No.” I frowned, confused by the smile he was sending me. “Never mind. You’re Ahab again.”
Abram dropped his chin to his chest and covered his mouth with a hand, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was laughing. The maneuver didn’t work because his shaking shoulders gave him away.
I sensed Gabby glance between the two of us, I also sensed her incredulity, but I didn’t give her any of my direct attention. I was too busy battling warm feelings because Abram was laughing at my Ahab joke, which meant he was laughing with me. Which meant I was melting again.
It felt . . . good.
Eventually, he shrugged, his arms falling to his sides. When he lifted his head, his eyes were glowing, and he’d pressed his lips together as though to erase his grin. It didn’t work, his dimples betrayed him.
“Too bad, Liza. George will be right back.”
Scowling to hide this burgeoning warmth in my stomach and chest, I shouted at his back as he jogged away, “Where are you going?”
He turned and walked backward, looking very pleased. “To change into my swimsuit.”
“Well take your time!” I crossed my arms, raging against some new, hotter emotion I didn’t dare identify.
“I won’t!” he yelled in return, giving us his back again as he climbed the stairs. “See you in a second.”
I grunted, grinding my teeth, and not understanding why I wasn’t more irritated. I should have been. My pool plans had been disrupted. Cooling down while blowing off steam would be impossible with Abram around.
The combination of Gabby’s ill-timed text and his superfluously handsome man parts were responsible for making me hot!
Yeah, but now you’ll see Abram shirtless. Worth it.
ARG!
Dammit, internal monologue. STFU.
“Well, well, well, Lisa.”
I moved my eyes to Gabby. Something about her tone made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. She sounded . . . pleased. That can’t be good.
“Pardon?”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Yes. She was pleased. Her gaze moved over me appraisingly and she nodded, as though agreeing with unspoken thoughts.
“What are you talking about?”
Gabby leaned close, her green eyes sparkling. “Abram.”
“What about him?”
“What did you do?” She wagged her eyebrows.
“What are we talking about?”
“Look at you! He’s vibing on you.” Grabbing my wrist, she forced me to give her a high five before I could react. “Get it, girl!”
We were clearly having two different conversations. “I’m so lost. I know you’re speaking, because your mouth is moving and sounds are coming out, but I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is so good. I can’t wait to tell your sister you got him in his swimsuit.” Her eyes moved down and then up my body. “Or his birthday suit.”
I flinched. “Gabby!”
“What? Did you see how he was looking at you?”
“Gabby.”
“Maybe you will be sitting on his face after all.”
“Gabby!” I covered my ears with my hands and shut my eyes. It was no good. Again, the sexy images, the spark, the flame, the fire. “Keep your power of suggestion to yourself.”
She pulled my wrists away from my head. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen Abram work it before when he’s surrounded by his harem, but a boy don’t flirt like that unless he’s thirsty for a girl’s milkshake.”
Harem? Flirt? Milkshake? What?
My eyes flew open and it took several seconds for me to decide which of her statements to contradict first. “He wasn’t flirting with me.”
She gave me a snort of disbelief and an eye roll. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would he flirt with me? It would be completely inappropriate.”
“Oh my god, Mary Sue, try to keep up. He wants your baa-day!”
“He shouldn’t.” I glanced at the back door to the house, dreading his return.
“Why the hell not? Have you seen him? Have you seen yourself in this bikini? I mean, yeah. You need a wax, but you two would be hot.” She shrugged with her entire body. “I would kind of want to watch, to be honest.”
“Oh my God!” A shock of two conflicting emotional states—one completely expected and logical, and one dark and secret and troubling—had me turning away from her and reaching for my bathrobe: repugnance and fascination, revulsion and curiosity, disgust and temptation.
She grabbed the terry cloth before I could and tossed it in the pool. “There. It’s gone. Stop trying to cover up. Now give me one good reason why you two shouldn’t take advantage of this fortress of solitude for the next few days.”
My temper was lost along with the bathrobe and undammed feelings surged forth, coating my voice in viscous emotion. “Because he’s in a position of authority over me. He could tell my parents lies about me—about Lisa not behaving, or seeing Tyler—if he wanted, and it would be my word against his. He could try to blackmail me into physical intimacy, if I don’t do what he wants. So, no. He absolutely shouldn’t be flirting with me!”
By the end of my tirade, Gabby was staring at me with wide-eyed confusion, but it quickly morphed into narrowed-eyed suspicion.
“Mona,” she whispered.