Free Abby Road by Ophelia London Page A

in the eyes in that . . . way.
    Funny, Chandler was eighteen and Todd was probably ten years older, yet the authority he commanded made me feel like I was in the presence of a crown prince. Or a mafia don.
    “What was all that?” I asked Todd when he joined me outside.
    “That?” He kicked some rocks off the sidewalk and squinted up at the sun. “Oh, I merely explained to Chandler in graphic detail what will happen to his job and the rest of his existence if he tells any living soul about your being here.” He grinned sardonically and then ran an index finger across his throat.
    “Poor Chandler.”
    Todd rolled his eyes. “He’ll live.”
    We crossed the street toward the beach. “Please say we’re eating soon,” I said, my eyes following a seagull overheard as it glided on the breeze.
    “I’m trying to think of a good spot,” Todd explained, then stopped walking. “Somewhere public, but you know, off the beaten path.” He plunged his free hand into the back pocket of his long khaki shorts and stared toward the horizon. “Hmm.” His profile was pensive. And sexy. Pink mouth, straight nose, those emerald eyes. What a unique and glorious combination bestowed upon one lucky face.
    I was hearing music now, swirling around us like in a movie when the tension builds. It was the love theme from Romeo & Juliet , or maybe that crap song from Titanic that everyone hates. Oh man, I loved that crap song.
    “Hey, there,” Todd said, yanking me from my reverie. I stared at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and glanced toward my midsection. “Are you going to answer that, or do you expect me to go in after it?”
    I was wide awake now, hearing the actual song that was playing. Suddenly all romantic notions evaporated. It wasn’t Romeo & Juliet I was hearing, but The Beatles’ “Helter Skelter,” the ring tone I knew very well; it was attached to only one person’s incoming calls.
    I tried not to appear as shattered as I felt as I fumbled for the cell in my pocket.
    “Hello? I’m here. Hi, Max.” I spoke in a rush. “How are you?”
    “Yeah, okay . . . in a minute. You, grab me that . . . no, that one there. Hey, babe.” He sounded distracted, like he was multitasking and I was an afterthought. “You were supposed to call yesterday.”
    I pinched my eyes shut, then pictured him—his famous “annoyed with Abby” smirk; his tall, thick, built like an ex-NFL linebacker body; his piercing brown eyes; and his mouth gnawing one of those nasty cigars.
    “Sorry,” I said, attempting to blink out that “enticing” image. I turned my body slightly away from Todd, trying to simultaneously shelter him and hide him. “I forgot to call. Lindsey and I . . . we . . .”
    Todd tapped me on my shoulder and pointed away. “Should I wait over there?”
    “No,” I whispered, lowering the cell from my ear. “It’s my manager.” I held up one finger. “I’ll just be a sec.”
    “Hey!” Max called through the phone.
    I slapped it to my ear. “I’m here,” I said. “Sorry. Sorry.”
    “Who is that you’re talking to?” His simple question was riddled with preconceived insinuations and assumptions. I knew the tone. Max was a master at sending passive-aggressive shame. He could rival any Catholic grandmother.
    I wished I didn’t have to answer. I wished I could’ve returned to watching Todd walk and talk and smile at me.
    “It’s no one you know,” I offered, turning my chin to glance at Todd. “He’s a . . . friend.”
    Todd smiled at me warmly, his hair blowing in the breeze. I had the overwhelming desire to hurl my phone into the Gulf like a shot put.
    Max sighed. “Babe, don’t make me remind you how—”
    “I know, Max,” I said, cutting him off.
    We both fell silent. I shut my eyes, pounding a fist against my forehead. My mistake was interrupting Max Salinger. That was never done, you see.
    “Everything’s fine!” I exclaimed before things got tense. “Nothing to worry about. It’s all