Perfect Summer (24 page)

Her mother’s voice popped into her head:
Every baby is a miracle
.

Lilly rolled her eyes again—this wasn’t the type of miracle she needed right now.

The picture of a redheaded baby caught her eye. The little darling smiled a single-toothed smile and had every strand of her thin hair scraped into two pigtails that stuck out like horns. The hair was the very same color that Lilly’s father’s had been.

Message received, Dad.

Lilly would keep the baby…and love it. In fact, she would over-love it and make up for all the under-love she’d shown Summer.

“Let’s see if we can determine age and hear the heartbeat.” The doctor turned on the machine, sat down, and lubed up the small white wand. “Lie back, relax, and watch the screen.”

Dr. Boone inserted the wand, and a sea of black and white lit up the screen.

“Based on the size of the fetus, I’d say you’re close to sixteen weeks.” A small creature came into view. “Here is the head, those are the arms, and here are the legs.”

She turned up the volume, and a fast, rhythmic fluttering like the beat of angel’s wings drummed out.

“Oh.” Lilly’s voice quivered, and tears flooded her eyes. The baby appeared to be lying on its back with its arms up like a cheerleader holding pom-poms. Love swallowed her whole. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was having a baby. A perfect little baby. With the corner of the paper napkin, she wiped her face and blew her nose.

“Do you want to know the sex? It’s a bit early, but this kiddo is showing the world.” Dr. Boone grinned like this was the very best part of her job.

“Yes, please.” Lilly wiped her eyes again. She was having a baby.

“Say hello to your son.”

“A son? A boy? I’m having a boy?” Lilly couldn’t take her eyes off the monitor. She and Davis had made the most beautiful baby in the world. “A boy.”

“Because of your age, I’d like to order some tests to make sure that he’s as healthy as he looks.” Dr. Boone continued to move the wand around.

“Healthy?” Fear stomped on Lilly’s heart. “Is he okay? What are the risks?”

“The baby is probably fine. Because of your age, he does have a higher risk for some genetic abnormalities, but I wouldn’t worry about it. This boy is big and strong.”

“Oh.” Lilly’s heart tap-danced in her chest. She was having a boy.

She’d paint the nursery blue; she’d dress him in tiny little suits with tiny little neckties. She’d fill his room with baseball mitts and toy bulldozers and Legos. He might play soccer or chess, but he was definitely going to be the youngest President of the United States.

Summer would finally get the brother she’d always wanted. It might be a little awkward at first, but her daughter would be happy for her. Maybe this would heal their relationship.

Davis would be so excited. Her spirit jumped for joy. They could get married now. Who cared about the Junior League? Leticia could go straight to hell. Lilly was having a baby, and the whole world would have to get over it.

Clint was grade-A pissed off. How could someone treat Summer like she was anything but perfect? Especially a mother? Not that his mother would have won any awards, but there was never any doubt she had loved him. His father had been an ass, but Clint had felt the warmth of bear hugs almost as much as the sting of the old man’s belt.

Clint pulled his head through the tee shirt Summer had washed and dried for him, shoved his bare feet into warm, fresh-from-the-dryer jeans, and buttoned up.

Moving heaven and earth to help her didn’t seem like such a big deal. He wanted to do things for her, make her smile, impress her…only he wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t into the things other girls were into.

But he could make her mother eat every negative fucking word.

Summer had a self-image problem, and that was something Clint could fix. Like she’d once told him when he’d felt overwhelmed—call in reinforcements. Sliding his feet in his tennis shoes sans socks, he glanced back at the bed. Summer lay on her side, blanket tucked around her, sleeping peacefully. Half of him wanted to crawl back in, but he needed to talk to her neighbors and get things in order. He’d spoken with them briefly last night, but it was short notice, and he wanted to make sure the details were covered. Chuck and Stan—reinforcements came in all shapes and sizes.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the front door and quietly turned the lock. She really needed to invest in a security system. God only knew what kind of loonies lurked right outside the door. Like a teenager trying to sneak out past curfew, he eased the door open.

Rapid-fire digital cameras exploded in a cacophony of clicks while sunlight streamed in, backlighting a crowd of reporters.

“Is it true you and the Teacher of the Year are an item?” It was a female voice.

Clint shaded his eyes. A sea of microphones crowded around the front door.

“Care to comment on the kiss seen ’round the world?” This was a male voice.

Clint stepped back inside, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it.

How could he have forgotten? He’d been
People
magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive three years running, and since that first cover, his private life had been public domain. Now, he’d dragged Summer into his nightmare. She didn’t deserve it. They would tear her apart. Using her to increase his visibility and boost his image shouldn’t have come to this. When had winning come with such a high price?

“What’s wrong?” Summer yawned as she stepped into the kitchen, pulling her pink terrycloth robe tight around her. He’d liked watching her sleep because it was the only time she wasn’t covered.

“We have a problem.”

“What happened? You’re as pale as a sheet. Are you feeling okay?” She stepped in front of him and touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a temperature.”

He wanted to hit something—pound and pound and pound until the guilt inside went away. Summer was innocent, and her life was about to change for the worse because of him.

“The media is right outside your door. Based on the sheer number, I’d say they’ve been there a while…maybe all night.” He studied his shoes. He’d give anything to shield her, but it was too late. Because of him, she was a target.

“So?” She shrugged. “Worst case, I’m a human interest story for a week. In a few days, Lindsay Lohan will do something stupid, and I’ll be nothing but a memory.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” How could she be so blasé?

Summer watched him. “You’re really upset.”

“Yes. You have no idea how your life has changed. I live in a guarded, gated subdivision. You are vulnerable here—they can park right outside your front door. The press will hound you…hunt you.”

“I’ve never been hunted before. I’ve been groped, well…I’m almost sure it was a groping.” Summer smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you for your concern.”

How could he make her understand? “Your life is going to change.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but my life isn’t that wonderful. Change is good, I guess.” She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms.

“If you have any secrets, they will find them and use them against you.” Like they’d done with him. Hell, they’d made up secrets and used them against him.

“Sorry, I’m pretty boring. Even the skeletons in my closet gave up and wandered away. The only upside to being chubby and chaste is an alarming lack of public disgrace.” She sighed long and hard. “It occurs to me that I’m the squeaky-cleanest person ever. Jesus and Mother Teresa led more sordid lives.”

She stood and tightened the belt holding her robe together. “That’s it. I’m going out there and announcing to the world that I’m using you for sex.”

Clint grinned at her. She soothed him like nothing else. Playing along, he stepped in front of her and mussed her hair. “You need to look the part. My manhood’s at stake.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I need some hickeys.”

Opening her collar, she thrust her neck forward.

He took in her impressive cleavage. “Babe, where I leave my mark, you’d better not show another living soul.” With his right index finger, he traced her collarbone, down her chest, and ended at her thigh.

Her eyes glazed over. “Where would that be?”

He nuzzled her neck. “A worldly woman like yourself should be able to puzzle that out.” His finger dipped in between her legs, pushing the soft terrycloth against her.

“Oh.” Her sexy mouth curled up at the corners.

Clint had created a monster—he was so proud. As much fun as it would be to end up naked on the kitchen floor, they had a situation outside that needed his undivided attention. He withdrew his finger. “We need a real plan.”

She shrugged. “How about the same throw-me-under-the-bus plan as yesterday. They laugh, you grin, I’ll live. Your rep as a lady killer stays intact.”

Clint wasn’t following her. Maybe caffeine was a good idea. “How about some espresso?”

He unscrewed the metal canister containing the roasted beans, poured only enough into the hopper of the grinder for one cup. He’d found out the hard way that freshly ground beans went bad in as little as twenty seconds. The perfect espresso was an art form.

Why would Summer let him make a fool of her? It didn’t make sense. Granted, he didn’t understand women, but he thought he’d understood Summer.

“Why would I do that?” A long time ago, Clint had learned that asking saved time.

“Let’s face it, I’m not exactly your type. The world’s going to wonder what you’re doing with me.”

“Huh?” He watched her, waiting for the rest.

Summer shuffled from foot to foot and studied her fluffy, pink bunny slippers. “I understand playground rules. If we were in school, we could be friends off campus, but your reputation would dictate that you not acknowledge me in the hallway. If you did, it would only be to rip me up.”

She waved her hand in the sign of the cross. “I absolve you of any guilt. Go in peace, my brother, and have a good laugh at my expense. It won’t be the first time—”

“Is that what you think of me?” After last night, this was her image of him? He ground the beans and pulled them into the basket. With way more force than was necessary, he tamped the top and sides of the basket. He rammed the basket under the head and stabbed the double shot button. Unbelievable. After all they’d shared last night, she’d pegged him for an asshole. He didn’t want her to be right.

“I’m not mad, really. You have a certain image to uphold, and I don’t fit the profile.”

Unbelievable. Here he was trying to help her, only she didn’t want help.

“I’m glad
you’re
not mad because I’m mad enough for the both of us.” He snatched up the small metal pitcher, stomped over to the refrigerator, threw open the door, plucked up the whole milk, and filled the pitcher two-thirds of the way up.

What kind of person did she think he was?

He slammed the half gallon of milk back in its spot in the fridge, slammed the door, and stomped back over to the espresso machine.

As a teenager, he’d have beaten down his best buddies to get to her, and he’d have sweet-talked the school secretary into putting him in all of Summer’s classes. She was a hottie. How come she was the only one who didn’t know it?

He flicked on the steam wand to clear it, shoved the pitcher under it, and frothed up the milk. Through angry vision, he noticed that the bubbles weren’t uniform because the wand was too deep under the surface. Not perfect. Flipping the power switch for the steamer to Off, he stomped over to the sink and poured out the milk. He’d start again. On his way to the fridge, he glared at Summer. “For your information, in high school, I’d have followed you around hoping—”

“Hold that thought.” Summer sprinted out of the room.

Clint poured more milk and this time got the wand just under the surface, producing small, uniform bubbles. He steamed until the pitcher got too hot to hold, then he grabbed the double shot and layered the milk on top.

Creamy milk, crema, and rich, dark coffee. That was an espresso. He set it on the counter for Summer. He cleaned the basket, ground a new set of beans, and made his own.

Summer returned with a red, white, and blue Westlake Chaparrals high school yearbook. She licked her thumb and index finger, flipped pages, and then handed him the open book.

Clint glanced at the photo under her index finger.

“Jesus.” He clamped a hand over his mouth and leaned in for a better look. She had been heavier, a lot heavier. Add in the thick glasses, snarled hair that puffed out like a Pomeranian, and an overbite that would have made a beaver proud, and she was…um…not attractive. He wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“It’s amazing what orthodontists can do these days.” Summer slammed the book shut and tossed it on the counter.

Clint wanted to believe that he and his friends wouldn’t have tormented her, but she was right. They would have eaten her for breakfast and spit her out by lunch. She was the best person he knew, and he would have ripped her to shreds on a daily basis. How many other good people had he overlooked, ignored, or humiliated?

The need to beg forgiveness was overshadowed by the desire to find the son of a bitch who’d called her names and beat the shit out of him.

Instead, laughter was the only way he could make it better. With his index finger, he traced the neckline of her robe. “Did you have those when you were in high school?” His finger dipped into her cleavage. “I have to be honest. I didn’t care much about faces, but boobs—yeah. I’d have asked you out just for the opportunity to stare at them.”

She laid a hand on his cheek. “You’re a sweet man, and that’s a nice thought.”

When she looked at him like that, he wanted to be a sweet man with nice thoughts. Through her eyes, he was goodness, generosity, and kindness, but the truth was he was calculating, manipulative, and self-centered—he never did anything unless it directly benefited him. She was the only person who didn’t see it.

Self-disgust was a new emotion for him.