Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“I mean, I could,” I offer, looking at Lance for relief.

Lance takes a cupcake and hands it to Ollie. “Here. Taste this. Homegirl here can outbake anyone.”

There’s no way not to beam at his compliment.

“Mrs. Holden said it had to be a teacher though,” he notes. “Are you a teacher, Ms. Malarkey?”

“Oh. No,” I reply. “I’m not.”

“Well, this guy is,” Lance says, wrapping an arm around Ollie’s shoulders. “And I’d love to watch you bake a cake. I have to monitor detention tomorrow, so I’ll move those rascals into the Family and Consumer Sciences room and we’ll whip up something to rival these cupcakes.”

The relief is evident. Ollie’s shoulders fall as he peels the paper away from the cupcake. “Mr. Gibson, that would be great.”

“No worries.” Lance is cut off by the bell sounding. “Now get to class and I’ll be down there in a second.”

“Bye, Ms. Malarkey. These are great, by the way,” Ollie says, motioning towards his half-eaten cupcake.

“Thank you, Ollie. Have a good day.”

He’s out the door as the library begins to fill with the sixth period study hall. Lance turns his back on the doorway but before he can speak, a freshman sticks his head in the door about a book rental.

By the time I get the student taken care of, Lance is gone.

I recover the cupcakes and get situated back at my desk. Fingers flexed, ready to type, I mentally remind myself: falling in love is the objective, but not with Lance Gibson.

Long game over short game. Marathon over sprint. Love over lust.

I think.

Twenty-Two

Mariah

The door to Carlson’s swings shut behind me as I step into the late afternoon sunshine. A take-out bag in my hand, I hit the sidewalk for the short walk home.

Lance was gone before I left work. It’s not altogether unusual, but I expected him to hang around to finish our conversation. When his car wasn’t in the spot next to mine and he didn’t jog up behind me, my spirits sank a little.

“How’d your day go?” Whitney asks.

“Fine,” I say, juggling the phone between my hands.

“I’ll try again. How’d your day go, Mariah?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “It was fine.”

“Did you see Lance?”

“Yes.”

“Stop it with the short sentences.” The line gets crackly as she sighs into it.

“Okay. Yes, I saw Lance. Yes, he was gorgeous today. Yes, he brought up the weekend and asked me to cancel my plans tonight and I told him I couldn’t.”

She snorts. “You don’t have plans tonight.”

“So?”

Stopping on the curb to let a car go by, Whitney reads me the riot act. She blabbers on about not knowing a good thing when I see it and how I can’t win at anything without taking some risks. She clamors on and on until I’m on the other side of the street.

“Will you quit it?” I ask, exasperated. “Taking risks means there’s a potential positive outcome to a situation. There’s not with this.”

“How do you know that? Have you asked him?”

“I know that because I know him, Whit.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

Switching hands with the phone and my take-out, I attempt to fortify myself for this conversation. “It’s not bullshit. I’m not judging him. I knew who he was well before I ever let my feelings get involved. I just need to keep a foot in reality over here.”

“Have you asked him what his reality is? He should get a say, don’t you think?”

“Of course he has a say and he’s made it very clear.” My heart drops at the thought. “I need to be just as clear about what I want and what’s real.”

“This is about Eric, isn’t it?”

I wish I could say it’s not. I wish I could say none of what I feel, none of what I worry about, comes from that place. When you’ve been hurt as badly as I have, the pain might go away but it leaves a scar behind to remind you not to repeat it.

“I’m not like you,” I remind her. “I get swept up in my feelings and fall in love way too easily. Hell, I was thinking Eric was going to ask me to marry him and he was screwing my sister.” I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk. “It’s too easy to forget what I know in general. But with Lance, he could wipe out my entire brain if I let him.”

“I still think you should see what happens. People have a way of changing what they want, Mariah.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” A horn blasts me from behind. I grit my teeth. “I gotta go, Whit. Call me later.”

“Ok. See ya.”

Spinning on my heel, ready to give someone the finger, I almost stumble over my own two feet. A car pulls up beside me, the driver’s side window down, and the most handsome face I’ve ever seen smiles at me from inside. “Hey, you,” Lance says.