Page 15 of Bayside Heat
Her own mother had ignored her enough for her to know that wasn’t true. Nothing was a given in this life, especially being cared for.
“That’s what friends do, Serena,” he said, once again reminding her where she was firmly slated in his mind.
She stepped back, putting space between them and reminding herself how foolish she was being. It was like ninth grade all over again. “Well, that’s not really true, but I’m glad you are.”
He set that concerned stare on her again. “You’re easy to be good to, Supergirl. Don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise.”
That made her feel all kinds of good, and also a little awkward. They were still standing in her kitchen, and she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his.
“We’ve been so busy,” he said, breaking the silence, “I haven’t had time to ask if you’ve found a place to live in Boston or if you need help moving.”
“Thanks, but I’m keeping the lease on my cottage until it ends in October so I can come back and help with the music store and see everyone. KHB owns a block of furnished apartments walking distance from the office. They let their first-year employees use them at a reduced rental rate, so there’s no heavy moving. I should be all set with just a few suitcases and boxes.”
He nodded, looking a little disappointed, and said, “Good. I’m glad you’re all set, but if you need help, just let me know. Day or night, whatever you need, you know I’m here.”
Why did she feel like she might cry? “What will I do without a friend like you in Boston?”
A genuine smile crawled across his face, stealing most of the disappointment from his eyes. “Throw yourself into your career so you can shoot to the top of your field. I want that for you, you know.”
Her chest filled with love for him. Not hot-and-bothered fuck-me-now lust, but deep-seated, fill-her-heart-up love for the man who understood her, liked her despite her faults, and had always supported her decisions. Even when she wasn’t sure if she could pull something off, he always pushed her to try. He may have blown off her romantic notions all those years ago, but look where they were now. She wouldn’t trade this for the world.
He grabbed the box of cookies, slung an arm over her shoulder, and headed for the living room. “And come back on the weekends, of course, so I have my partner in crime to hang out with.”
WHEN THE PIZZA came, they polished it off, along with half the cookies, while they packed Serena’s movies and books, reminiscing about old times and talking about her new job. She had never been one of those girls who was always on a diet. It was just one of the many things that set her apart from most of the women Drake knew. He glanced at her, sitting with her back against the couch, knees pulled up despite the miniskirt she wore, which bunched around her thighs as she flipped through an old yearbook. One bare foot rested on the other, her toenails painted a pretty shade of pink. A flash of memory sailed into his mind from when they were young, when she and Mira would paint each other’s toenails in his parents’ living room. They’d sit on the floor facing each other, painting with tiny sparkly nail polish brushes while they talked about Lord only knew what. Something that made them giggle a lot—he remembered that. After they finished their nails, they’d do their hair and then insist he and Rick watch their silly fashion shows. That was a hundred years ago, and he remembered it as clearly as if it had just happened. Back then Serena’s eyes had seemed too big for her face, her lips too full, like she’d accidentally been given an adult’s features. But the beauty gods sure knew what they were doing, because by the time she was a teenager, she was flat-out stunning. As a guy filled with too much testosterone, that had proven problematic when they’d go to the beach and Serena would wear one of her skimpy bikinis. Drake had spent much of those early summers waist deep in the frigid sea.
“Drake, look at this.” Serena’s voice pulled him from his memories.
He moved beside her against the couch. “Is that your senior year?”
“Mm-hm. This is the guy I went to prom with, Rod McDale.” She pointed to a guy with longish hair like Drake’s. He had on a Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and he was leaning over a keyboard.
