“Oh yeah?” That was cool.
“She invited me to a girls’ night out with her friends. She asked me once before, but I had to work that night and I couldn’t go. So that’ll be fun.”
“Marc’s probably with her right now. She’ll be upset about Ariana.”
“Yeah, I guess she will.”
“I want to do something.”
She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“For Max and Ariana.”
“Oh.” She paused while warm water ran into the sink. “Like what?”
“I have no idea.” He made a face. “I just feel like we need to help somehow. I know there’s nothing we can do…to fix it. Christ.” He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t fucking believe there’s no cure.”
She bit her lip, her stomach hollow.
“But maybe we could do something to raise money for cancer research.”
“Oh. That’s a great idea.”
“I have no idea what. Maybe I should talk to someone at the Aces Foundation about it.”
“Yeah.” She nodded.
“I think it would be cool to have an outdoor game. Not like a league game. We do that at Soldier Field once a year, it’s a big NHL thing. But a fun game with just our team, maybe on a Saturday afternoon or something.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“I have no idea how to put it together.”
“I’m sure lots of people would help. And the Foundation too.” She paused. “I’ll help.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m gonna talk to them about it. And thank you. So, how’s the car running?”
She shot him a look, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Fine.”
“Good. Have you heard about your Honda?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “It’s a total loss. They said it’s not worth fixing.”
“Shit.” He shrugged. “Well, we’ll get you a new one.”
“I’ll get me a new one.” She’d been so annoyed when he’d pulled that little stunt with the rental car. But the truth was, she was grateful to have a car to get around in. She’d gotten a couple more modeling jobs, and had picked up extra shifts at the Sin Bin, and the most exciting thing had been an interview with CCP.
Too bad the idea of shopping for a used car appealed to her about as much as eating raw liver. Car salesmen were snakes and she knew nothing about cars.
“Let’s go right now,” Duncan said.
She frowned. “I can’t buy a new car until I get the check from the insurance company.”
“Oh.”
“You are so spoiled.”
Now he frowned. “No I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t know what it’s like to live in the real world, trying to make ends meet.”
His eyebrows sloped down. “That doesn’t make me spoiled.”
“Sure it does.” She waved a hand, frustrated at his thoughtless oblivion.
He stared back at her. “Yanno, I’m starting to lose patience with this bullshit.”
She drew back. “What bullshit?”
“This chip on your shoulder. This hate you have on for…well, it feels like me, sometimes, because I have money or something.”
“I don’t hate you!” Yet she knew he was right. She did have a chip on her shoulder. Sort of. But there was a reason for it. She did not want to get sucked into that world again. She sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re not spoiled. I just mean…you kind of take things for granted. Everything’s so easy for you.”
“And it’s not for you?”
She shoved her hand into a mitt and pulled the tray of cookies out of the oven. “Not always, no.”
“What can I do?”
She dropped her head briefly. “And you always do that. I wasn’t asking for help.”
“Fuck, that’s loud and clear. But Amber, baby, I like helping people.”
He did. He really did. And that was wonderful. But it caused all this tension inside her, this push and pull between being independent and letting him help…because it made him happy.
And weirdly, she wanted him to be happy.
“What you can do,” she said, “is get some glasses out of the cupboard for the milk.”
He shook his head, lips pressed together, eyes alight. Good. He wasn’t angry.
“Did I tell you I almost had drinks with your ex-girlfriend a while back?”
His head snapped around as he reached into the cupboard. “What? Who?”
“Melissa.”
“Uh…”
“Ran into her at Easton’s studio.” She made a face. “She and her friends invited me to go out with them, but I didn’t. Obviously.”
“Christ. He was taking pictures of her?”
“Yes. In skimpy underwear.”
She watched him and he just shrugged. “Whatever.”
“I’m kind of jealous of her,” she confessed, and then wanted to smack herself.
Duncan frowned. “Why? Because she was modeling skimpy underwear?”