Even though I don’t feel it inside, I smile and tell him, “That sounds fine.” I’m thinking of everything that we have planned for next weekend in Malibu, and my anxiety intensifies when Michael adds softly, “We’re still on, right? For next weekend?” He searches my face, and I know he sure as heck doesn’t mean about the surfing. He means Malibu; our first time together, like I promised the other night.
“Still on,” I assure him, with a thin smile.
“Good, because I’ve kinda been thinking about that a lot,” he says, squeezing my hand tight.
I’m smiling on the outside, but thoroughly freaking out on the inside. There’s no positive spin for this, the truth about my naked body, all those hideous scars. Right now, hunky Michael Warner is grinning at me, a shy blush creeping into his face, and he’s clueless. He has absolutely no idea that his girlfriend’s body doesn’t look sexy or appealing once her clothes are stripped away. He has no idea that my naked body is just plain dreadful, with the searing scars across my chest and abdomen.
My only hope is that we can make love in the pitch-black dark. Or that someone can rush in a body double at that critical moment. I mean, where’s Hollywood when you really need it?
Chapter Twenty: Michael
Rebecca stands on the curb in front of my house, laughing with Marti, the setting sun catching highlights of honey gold in her hair. She’s worn it loose this last night of Laurel’s visit, and it seems richer than usual, wavier and thicker, as it cascades across her shoulders. In fact, everything about her appearance seems more dramatic tonight. Then again, maybe that’s only my feelings for her that I’m keying in on.
“I’m thinking that dress was designed by a straight guy,” Casey observes, studying her thoughtfully as he takes a swig of his beer. She’s just arrived and hasn’t spotted us yet, sitting here on the front steps tucked back behind two tall flowering planters.
“What makes you say that?” Although I know exactly what that aquamarine sundress is doing to me. All vintage and Melrose-looking, it’s a damned sexy wisp of a thing. Barely a dress at all, I’m telling you.
“Well,” he answers, pushing his mirrored sunglasses low down the bridge of his nose so he can see better, “’cause if I had a straight bone in my body, then that wouldn’t be the only bone in my body. That’s all I’m saying.”
I elbow him in the ribs and tell him to shut up, though my eyes never leave Rebecca.
“I’m serious,” he says, still studying her appreciatively in that strappy dress, cut well above her knees, “she’s hot, Mike.”
Planting my chin in my hand, I sigh. “Welcome to my world.”
“What was she wearing that night at the ballgame?” he asks, considering. I could easily answer: khaki pants, with a clingy little T-shirt that emphasized her well-developed biceps. I’m lost in that thought, rubbing my chin, when Casey bursts into laughter beside me. I turn to him, surprised. “Ah, man,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head in apparent amazement.
“Something funny, Case?” I’m thinking he’s going to make a disparaging comment, something cutting about me turning into Straight Guy.
“You’ve got the look, that’s all,” he explains, studying my face closely. “I don’t believe it, but you do.” He gives me an affectionate slap on the knee. “Gotta hand it to the girl. She obviously does quick work.”
“I have no idea what in hell you even mean.” I feel my face flame hot at his remark.
“Just that last time around,” he says, “it took about a year for you to get The Look. The one you had when you and Alex got together.” He shakes his head again, chuckling in appreciation, as Rebecca turns our way. He lifts his hand, greeting her with friendly vigor. “Hell yeah she’s hot,” he concedes in a low voice. “If she’s given you that look.”
Hot, he thinks? And he doesn’t even know the half of what she does to me.
But maybe Casey does get what Rebecca’s all about. He coaxed her into joining him there on the front step and proceeded to be a nice guy for a while; unbelievably, considering what a grump he can be, he’s actually capable of charming the pants off anyone when he tries. And I do know he’s trying with her, if only because of me.
Right now, he’s actually cornered her back in Al’s surfboard room, offering to help fix her up with the right board for next weekend, talking rocker and tail kick, and a bunch of crap she doesn’t understand. Poor Rebecca, she looks anxious as he leads the way to the back of the house, but when you get Casey Porter on surfboards, it’s hard to shut him up. I trail behind them, trying to give an appropriate amount of space, and I spy Laurel in the guest room, packing her suitcase.
I lean in through the doorway, holding onto the frame. “Packing up?”
She gives me a quiet smile. “Almost done.”