My stomach sank, and I spoke before thinking. “You’re not staying with me tonight?”
“No, I am. I just had to grab a few things that I forgot.”
“Like what?”
“Well, my razor for one. What do you care?”
Damn, I liked her. “It’s about time you shaved your legs. They’ve been tearing the hell outta mine.”
Finch’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Abby frowned. “That’s how rumors get started!” She looked to Finch. “I’m sleeping in his bed . . . just sleeping.”
“Right,” Finch said with a smug smile.
Before I knew what happened, she was inside, tromping up the stairs to her room. I took two steps at a time to catch up with her.
“Oh, don’t be mad. I was just kidding.”
“Everyone already assumes we’re having sex. You’re making it worse.”
Apparently her having sex with me was a bad thing. If I had questions of whether she was into me like that at all, she’d just given the answer: not just no, but hell no. “Who cares what they think?”
“I do, Travis! I do!” She pushed open the door to her dorm room, and then zoomed from one side of the room to the other, opening and shutting drawers, and shoving things into a bag. I was suddenly drowning in an intense feeling of loss, the kind where you either have to laugh or cry. A chuckle escaped from my throat.
Abby’s gray eyes darkened and targeted me. “It’s not funny. Do you want the whole school to think I’m one of your sluts?”
My sluts? They weren’t mine. Hence them being sluts.
I took the bag from her hands. This wasn’t going well. To her, being associated with me, not to mention being in a relationship with me, meant sinking her reputation. Why did she still want to be my friend if that was how she felt?
“No one thinks that. And if they do, they better hope I don’t hear about it.”
I held open the door, and she stomped through. Just as I let go and began to follow her, she stopped, forcing me to balance on the tips of my toes to keep from running into her. The door closed behind me, shoving me forward. “Whoa!” I said, bumping into her.
She turned. “Oh my God!” At first I thought our collision had hurt her. The shocked look on her face had me worried for a second, but then she continued, “People probably think we’re together and you’re shamelessly continuing your . . . lifestyle. I must look pathetic!” She paused, lost in the horror of her realization, and then shook her head. “I don’t think I should stay with you anymore. We should just stay away from each other in general for a while.”
She took her bag from my hands, and I grabbed it back. “No one thinks we’re together, Pidge. You don’t have to quit talking to me to prove a point.” I felt a little desperate, which was nothing less than unsettling.
She pulled on her bag. Determined, I yanked it back. After a few tugs, she growled in frustration.
“Have you ever had a girl—that’s a friend—stay with you? Have you ever given girls rides to and from school? Have you eaten lunch with them every day? No one knows what to think about us, even when we tell them!”
I walked to the parking lot with her bag, my mind racing. “I’ll fix this, okay? I don’t want anyone thinking less of you because of me.”
Abby was always a mystery, but the grieved look in her eyes took me by surprise. It was disturbing to the point where I wanted to make anything that didn’t make her smile go away. She was fidgeting, and clearly upset. I hated it so much that it made me regret every questionable thing I’d ever done because it was just one more thing that got in the way.
That’s when the realization hit: as a couple, we weren’t going to work. No matter what I did, or how I finagled my way into her good graces, I would never be good enough for her. I didn’t want her to end up with someone like me. I would just have to settle for whatever scraps of time I could get with her.
Admitting that to myself was a jagged pill to swallow, but at the same time, a familiar voice whispered from the dark corners of my mind that I needed to fight for what I wanted. Fighting seemed much easier than the alternative.
“Let me make it up to you,” I said. “Why don’t we go to the Dutch tonight?” The Dutch was a hole-in-the-wall, but a lot less crowded than the Red. Not as many vultures hanging around.
“That’s a biker bar.” She frowned.
“Okay, then let’s go to the club. I’ll take you to dinner and then we can go to the Red Door. My treat.”
“How will going out to dinner and then to a club fix the problem? When people see us out together, it will make it worse.”
I finished tying her bag to the back of my bike and then straddled the seat. She didn’t argue about the bag this time. That was always promising.
“Think about it. Me, drunk, in a room full of scantily clad women? It won’t take long for people to figure out we’re not a couple.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Take a guy home from the bar to drive the point home?”
I frowned. The thought of her leaving with a guy made my jaw tense, as if I’d poured lemon juice in my mouth. “I didn’t say that. No need to get carried away.”
She rolled her eyes, and then climbed onto the seat, wrapping her arms around my middle. “Some random girl is going to follow us home from the bar? That’s how you’re going to make it up to me?”
“You’re not jealous, are you, Pigeon?”
“Jealous of what? The STD-infested imbecile you’re going to piss off in the morning?”
I chuckled, and then started the engine. If she only knew how impossible that was. When she was around, everyone else seemed to disappear. It took all of my focus and concentration to stay a step ahead of her.
We informed Shepley and America of our plans, and then the girls began their routine. I hopped in the shower first, realizing too late that I should have been last, because the girls took a lot longer than me and Shepley to get ready.
Me, Shepley, and America waited for an eternity for Abby to come out of the bathroom, but when she finally emerged, I nearly lost my balance. Her legs looked like they went on forever in her short, black dress. Her tits were playing peek-a-boo, just barely making their presence known when she turned a certain way, and her long curls hung off to the side instead of over her chest.
I didn’t remember her being that tan, but her skin had a healthy glow against the dark fabric of her dress.
“Nice legs,” I said.
She smiled. “Did I mention the razor is magic?”
Magic my ass. She was f**king gorgeous. “I don’t think it’s the razor.”
I pulled her out the door by her hand, leading her to Shepley’s Charger. She didn’t pull it away, and I held it in mine until we got to the car. It felt wrong to let go. When we got to the sushi restaurant, I interlaced my fingers between hers as we walked in.
I ordered one round of sake, and then another. The waitress didn’t card us until I ordered beer. I knew America had a fake ID, and I was impressed when Abby whipped hers out like a champ. Once the waitress looked it over and walked away, I grabbed it. Her picture was in the corner, and everything looked legit as far as I knew. I’d never seen a Kansas ID before, but this one was flawless. The name read Jessica James, and for some reason, that turned me on. Hard.