"Out of Season"
Part Nine
By Sister Rose
Standard disclaimer applies.
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Ryan Atwood spent most of the next day at work with a half-smile behind his eyes. Not on his face, of course. He knew better than to let emotions show. But for Ryan Atwood, for the time being, life was good.
Seth wanted to have coffee with him again next week. It was payday, and he would be able to settle his bills. And Summer hadn't dumped him after all.
Oh, he knew it was still coming, but for now he was safe.
Even Josh the cut-up demanding everyone pitch in a dollar to the buy-Atwood-a-clue fund -- after Ryan had confessed he didn't know that the next day was Valentine's Day -- didn't darken Ryan's mood.
That afternoon Ryan started thinking about whether it would be OK to get Summer a tiny gift for Valentine's, about whether he could afford to get Summer a gift, about what he should get her if he did decide it would be OK to get her something and about when he would see her again to give it to her.
Ryan knew he wasn't Summer's boyfriend. He wasn't sure whether it was OK to get her a Valentine's present.
So Ryan didn't have his mind on the conversation around him when it turned to plans to head to a bar after work.
By the time he dialed back in, the conversation had gotten louder and more boisterous. And it was impossible for him to refuse, especially after Mr. Saunders insisted.
"Yes, sir," Ryan said. "I'll be there."
After work, he drove to his room, changed clothes and left a note for Summer -- just in case she stopped by to see him. He didn't put her name on it. Who else would be in his room?
Ryan was holding a bottle of beer long gone warm and watching Josh lose at pool when he heard the whispers start.
"Check it out," Josh said. "Mr. Roberts' girl. Wonder what she's doing here."
Ryan's blond head whipped around. Sure enough, it was Summer. What was she doing? And why was she wearing that dress? And those heels? And that smile?
Wow. He turned back to the pool table. He had to get a handle on the inappropriate jealousy. He had no right to be jealous over anything she wore. And her smiles were hers to give away as she pleased.
He'd even received some of them himself.
"Whose play is it?" he said.
But Josh had lost interest in the game. He was still frankly ogling Summer.
"Maybe she's dating Chip," he said. "Can't think of any other reason she would come in a pool hall dressed like that. Do you think Daddy knows his kid's a hottie?"
"What would Marie say if she could hear you?" Ryan said.
"No harm in looking," Josh said, slyly peeking around his own bottle at Ryan. "Marie knows that. I've seen her checking out your ass."
He grinned slyly at Ryan's gapemouthed reaction.
"Yeah, I was pretty sure you weren't interested," Josh said. He leaned back against the pool table, cue in one hand, bottle in the other, and waited for Ryan's reaction.
"I ... I ... What do I say to that?" Ryan said. "She's a nice girl but ..."
"But you're not interested in girls," Josh said. "We all know that. Just now? Everybody else was checking out Miss Summer Roberts prissing in with her mighty fine rack. You turned away. You know, you're lucky you live in California. Anywhere else, a guy like you would have a hard time in construction. But we're all open-minded and shit out here."
Ryan slowly took in the meaning of Josh's words. Everybody thought he was gay. He couldn't think fast enough to keep up as Josh went on.
"Everybody thought it, but nobody was sure until you started going out with that Cohen kid."
That was too much, Ryan thought. It was one thing for the guys to think he was gay. It was another to talk about Seth.
"Hey, Josh," Ryan started. "We're just friends."
"Yeah, right," Josh said, laughing. "I've never heard that one before."
Ryan was a bit bemused himself. He had never given the "we're just friends" speech about a guy before, but he plowed on.
"He's a nice guy. I met his dad a couple of times and he wants to talk about that," Ryan said. "Let's play pool."
"So that's what the kids are calling it these days -- talking about Dad'," Josh said, his meaning plain, his eyes still laughing. "Nice way to get ahead in the business."
That hit a little too close.
"I'm not fucking the boss' son to get ahead," Ryan said, stepping closer, inviting confrontation, teeth clenched. "He has a girlfriend. We're not talking about him anymore. Clear?"
"Whoa, Atwood," Josh said, setting his bottle down and spreading a hand in conciliation. "No harm, no foul, OK?"
Ryan slammed his bottle of beer on the edge of the pool table. It was still mostly full, and a little sour brew sloshed onto the green felt. Ryan glared at Josh. He felt his hands tightening into fists and he forced himself to let them go. He stomped to the bathroom.
Ryan's temper was escaping. It was a bad sign. He hadn't punched anyone in ages, and he could almost taste the way Josh's skin would feel around his knuckles, the way Josh's nose would buckle. The temper called to him, tempting him to let it go. For a few minutes he would know nothing but fury, body and red anger and fists. There would be no money troubles, no Summer troubles. He wouldn't even be Ryan Atwood, victim of the accursed Atwood luck. It would just be slamming and giving pain and receiving it and the sound of flesh on flesh.
He tried to tell himself the price would be too high for the oblivion. At the end of it, there would be sirens and bars. Sirens and bars and jumpsuits. He wasn't doing that again.
He washed his hot face in the tepid tap water, letting it trickle through his hands, and stared into the cracked mirror. Deep blue eyes stared out past sun lines on a tanned face with scars at the cheekbones. His hair was getting too long. He needed to buzz it again, even though Summer would complain about it.
Summer.
He had forgotten Summer in his fury over being thought Seth's boytoy. He was a boytoy, all right, just not Seth's. And it wasn't as if he wouldn't drop to his knees fast enough if Seth really wanted him to. He was just lucky Seth was a nice guy. Ryan knew how to do the expedient thing. He'd learned it the hard way and was unlikely to forget.
He almost started laughing, then stopped himself. In his current mood, it could turn into something ... different. Meaner.
He steeled himself to go back out and not look at Summer, to not glance at her olive legs or her bubble butt or what was indeed, he had to admit, a mighty fine rack. Josh had a way with the words.
And Ryan needed to apologize. Again.
He found Josh at a corner table. Other pool players had taken over the game, and Josh was using his bottle bottom to draw condensation rings on the table top. Ryan sat down.
"Sorry, man," Ryan said. His eyes met Josh's then he looked at the table.
"Hey, it's cool," Josh said. "I just wanted to let you know we know and nobody cares, OK?"
"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Ryan said. "Especially not about.... If Mrs. Cohen knew ... I need this job, man. It could be bad."
"Yeah, that's another thing," Josh said, leaning forward. "Chip told us he knew Cohen in high school and he was gay then, so whatever line he's feeding you about a girlfriend, don't believe it. Don't let a rich kid like that use you."
"Buy you a beer?" Ryan said.
"Naw, I'm at my limit," Josh said, sitting back and thumping his bottle for emphasis. "Marie won't kill me for looking at other women, but if I come home too drunk to perform, my ass is grass."
Ryan glanced toward the bar. Summer had gotten the bartender to mix her something pink with an umbrella. And was that a pineapple wedge? Probably put on her best airhead routine with a little bosom flashing just for the fun of watching the bartender scramble around trying to find umbrellas and tiny plastic swords and cherries and whatnot. Of course, now she would have to drink the vile-looking ... whatever that was.
He watched her lean into Mr. Saunders, flirting. He looked away. He wasn't supposed to be noticing Summer.
"Do you want me to drive you home?" Ryan offered.
"I'm good," Josh said. He stood and slapped down a dollar for a tip, then lurched toward the door, home and Marie. Ryan watched him go, envying his simple life.
Ryan wandered toward the bar and put his elbows on it.
"Orange juice," he told the bartender. He got a google-eyed response. Maybe Summer had scrambled the guy's brains permanently. He watched the bouncer-size bartender scrounge for juice and thought about Josh's words.
All his co-workers thought he was gay. Realistically, that wasn't so bad. If they all thought he was gay, they wouldn't be thinking about the possibility of him having sex with Summer. Hey, no wonder Mr. Roberts had been willing to send Ryan out alone with Summer. And no wonder no one had teased him when he got back from an entire afternoon with the boss' hottie daughter.
Ryan barely noticed as the juice arrived in a thick rocks glass. Deep in thought, the smells of spilled beer and too many bodies in too tight an area weren't bothering him anymore. He paid no attention to the loud, bass-driven music pumping through the air.
But he did notice when he smelled flowers: Summer.
He glanced to one side, and there she was. Mr. Saunders was on the other side of her, staring down into her black-and-white striped dress. Ryan pressed his lips together and looked back at his orange juice. He was about to take a drink when he felt a bump. He looked down
Summer had backed her glorious bubble butt into his thigh. And she was rubbing it against his pants, ever so slightly, while encouraging Mr. Saunders to continue the stupid story he was telling. Ryan could look down on the top of her head and from there straight down her striped dress himself.
Ryan felt his eyes crossing. He gulped down orange juice with a squeezed grasp on the glass and tried to regain his wits as he heard Summer laughing. He checked again. Mr. Saunders was still staring at Summer's cleavage and pretending to listen to her.
Then Ryan noticed it: a red cast on Summer's left arm.
She was hurt. Summer was hurt. How could it have happened? She hadn't been hurt when she left his place the night before. Something had happened, and he hadn't prevented it. Worse, he hadn't noticed when she walked into the bar.
Ryan looked at his watch as he felt another surreptitious rub. It was almost 10. He should go, but he wasn't going to leave until he found out what had happened.
He settled in for what he imagined would be a long wait when he heard Mr. Saunders excuse himself.
As Mr. Saunders left, presumably for the bathroom, Summer turned toward the bar. She didn't look at Ryan.
Ryan kept his eyes on the mirror behind the bar as he said quietly, intensely, "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Long story," Summer said, her eyes also on the mirror. "Here's the short version: I can't drive with this arm and with the drugs I'm taking. You're my driver, got it?"
Ryan nodded once into the mirror.
"Does it hurt?"
"A little, but I need to talk to Chip," she said, looking at his reflection.
"Then ... here he comes," she said, looking over Ryan's reflection's shoulder.
Mr. Saunders pushed his way back to the bar between Ryan and Summer.
"Miss me?" he asked.
"Just like toe cheese when I'm hungry," Summer said.
Mr. Saunders took a moment to think about that before he decided it was funny. He laughed.
Ryan listened and watched them in the bar mirror with a new appreciation for Summer. Mr. Saunders was no brain trust, and Summer had no pity, but Mr. Saunders never knew it.
"Excuse me, Mr. Saunders," Ryan said at a break in the conversation. "Miss Roberts, it's past 10 o'clock."
"Oh, right, Atwood," Summer said. "Ten more minutes, OK?"
Ryan nodded, turned away and asked for a refill on his juice, noticing Mr. Saunders' glare.
"What's that all about?" Mr. Saunders demanded of Summer, not at all softly. "I can take you home if you need a ride later. You don't have to leave right away."
"Thanks, but I have to be up early tomorrow, and these drugs are starting to wear off," Summer said.
"Then I can take you home right now," Mr. Saunders said.
"Atwood is my driver," Summer said.
"I just want to make sure we're still on for tomorrow night." Mr. Saunders said.
"Of course," Summer said. "Pick me up at 7. I'll be wearing red." She brandished her red cast at him with a bright smile.
Ryan felt less like smiling.He knew Summer dated a lot. Usually on Saturday nights, she went to a charity event with an escort, wearing something by a designer with an unpronounceable name and an unthinkable price tag. Sometimes she would show up at his room afterward, bored and ready for sweaty entertainment. He always obliged, but he had never met one of her dates, the ones for whom the dresses were really intended.
"OK," Mr. Saunders said. "I'll see you then."
Summer turned to Ryan and caught his eyes. He lifted his eyebrows in question. It was her play, and he wasn't sure what she wanted him to do.
"Let's go, Atwood," she said with real annoyance in her voice.
Ryan nodded, stood up and gestured toward the door.
He nodded politely at Mr. Saunders.
"Wait a minute," Mr. Saunders said, blocking Ryan's path as Summer moved further away. "Why are you her driver?"
Ryan shrugged slightly, looking at the sticky floor.
"I don't have to worry about you trying anything, do I?" Mr. Saunders said.
"No, sir," Ryan said softly.
"Summer and I have an understanding," Mr. Roberts said. "We've been dating since high school."
There was a pause. He seemed to be waiting for a response, even though there had been no question, so Ryan finally said, "Yes, sir."
There was another long pause. Ryan felt Mr. Saunders' eyes examining him. He looked up and waited.
"Don't talk much, do you?" Mr. Saunders said.
Ryan shrugged again and sent his eyes back to the floor.
Mr. Saunders waited another long moment, then said, "I'm giving her an engagement ring for Valentine's."
Ryan kept on looking at the floor. His breathing didn't change but he felt winded. He thought the engagement ring was probably just big talk -- surely Summer would have told him if she were close to an engagement. Probably.
"Don't tell her, OK?" Mr. Saunders said.
Ryan nodded.
"She's waiting," Mr. Saunders said.
Ryan nodded one last time, turned and walked out of the bar into the fresh night air, hoping it would cool his head.
Summer was waiting beside her car in the glow of a parking lot light, leaning against the passenger door impatiently.
"What took so long?" she said, flipping him the keys.
"I'm sorry," he said, opening the door for her.
She frowned slightly and stuck out her good right hand. He accepted it to help her in, sliding his other arm around her waist as she sunk into the seat. He closed the door and walked to the driver's side.
"Where?" he said as the car rolled to the edge of the parking lot.
"Your place," Summer said, reaching out for the controls to put the convertible top down. The machinery started humming behind them, and the roof lifted and folded itself. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Ryan said. It was a lie, but his job was to make her happy, not to tell her the complete truth. He waited for the white convertible top to finish moving before he eased the car onto the access road. "What happened to your arm?"
"I tripped over the stepmonster's evil cat," Summer said. "It obviously was sent from hell along with the Wicked Witch of the West Coast."
"When?"
"This morning as I was leaving for class. Didn't see it over my stack of books. Spent the morning in the doctor's office getting X-rays and this lovely accessory. I picked red. Thought it would go with the most things. Though I'm probably going to be sick of it before I get it off."
"How long?"
"...do I have to wear it? Six weeks. And I have some nice drugs that I can't mix with alcohol and will have to hide from the stepmonster," Summer said. "I'm not supposed to drive while I'm taking them, so I kidnapped you. Getting here was a bitch with this arm."
"What were you drinking?"
"A Shirley Temple. I thought that guy's eyes were going to pop out of his head when I asked for it. I know he had to look it up; I saw him flipping through a book."
"How much chest did you have to flash to get it?" Ryan said slyly.
Then he winced. A cast added some heft to Summer's normal thwacking style.
"Ow," she said. "Don't make me hit you again. It hurts my arm."
"Ow, yourself. Don't hit me with your hurt arm," Ryan said. "What does Mr. Saunders drive?"
"A Beamer," Summer said, frowning at the change of topic. "Why?"
"I think he's following us."
Summer turned in her seat, catching herself just as Ryan said, "Don't look. I'll pull over."
Ryan stopped at a convenience store.
"What do you need?" he said, getting out.
"A red-flavored Slurpee."
Ryan made a "really?" face at her.
"Yes, really," she said.
Ryan entered the store and came back out, carrying the Slurpee cup well away from him as if the sticky red syrup were radioactive. He wasn't sure that it wasn't. That was a bright, bright red. Summer grabbed the cup and sucked heartily.
"Delicious," she proclaimed. "And you're right. That was Chip."
Ryan let the night air fill the convertible.
"Let's just sit here a minute and while I finish this delightful taste treat, you can tell me what's wrong."