I grinned. “I promise nothing.”
CHAPTER TWO
Backfire
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” SHEPLEY ASKED. HE STOOD IN the middle of the room, a pair of sneakers in one hand, a dirty pair of underwear in the other.
“Uh, cleaning?” I asked, shoving shot glasses into the dishwasher.
“I see that. But . . . why?”
I smiled, my back turned to Shepley. He was going to kick my ass. “I’m expecting company.”
“So?”
“The pigeon.”
“Huh?”
“Abby, Shep. I invited Abby.”
“Dude, no. No! Don’t f**k this up for me, man. Please don’t.”
I turned, crossing my arms across my chest. “I tried, Shep. I did. But, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “There’s something about her. I couldn’t help myself.”
Shepley’s jaw worked under his skin, and then he stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him.
I finished loading the dishwasher, and then circled the couch to make sure I hadn’t missed any visible empty condom wrappers. That was never fun to explain.
The fact that I had bagged a good portion of beautiful coeds at this school was no secret, but I didn’t see a reason to remind them when they came to my apartment. It was all about presentation.
Pigeon, though. It would take far more than false advertising to bag her on my couch. At this point, the strategy was to take her one step at a time. If I focused on the end result, the process could easily be f**ked up. She noticed things. She was farther from naive than I was; light-years away. This operation was nothing less than precarious.
I was in my bedroom sorting dirty laundry when I heard the front door open. Shepley usually listened for America’s car to pull in so he could greet her at the door.
Pussy.
Murmuring, and then the closing of Shepley’s door was my signal. I walked into the front room, and there she sat: glasses, her hair all piled on top of her head, and what might have been pajamas. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been molding in the bottom of her laundry hamper.
It was so hard not to bust into laughter. Never once had a female come to my apartment dressed like that. My front door had seen jean skirts, dresses, even a see-through tube dress over a string bikini. A handful of times, spackled-on makeup and glitter lotion. Never pajamas.
Her appearance immediately explained why she’d so easily agreed to come over. She was going to try to nauseate me into leaving her alone. If she didn’t look absolutely sexy like that, it might have worked, but her skin was impeccable, and the lack of makeup and the frames of her glasses just made her eye color stand out even more.
“It’s about time you showed up,” I said, falling onto the couch.
At first she seemed proud of her idea, but as we talked and I remained impervious, it was clear that she knew her plan had failed. The less she smiled, the more I had to stop myself from grinning from ear to ear. She was so much fun. I just couldn’t get over it.
Shepley and America joined us ten minutes later. Abby was flustered, and I was damn near light-headed. Our conversation had gone from her doubting that I could write a simple paper to her questioning my penchant for fighting. I kind of liked talking to her about normal stuff. It was preferable to the awkward task of asking her to leave once I bagged her. She didn’t understand me, and I kind of wanted her to, even though I seemed to piss her off.
“What are you, the Karate Kid? Where did you learn to fight?”
Shepley and America seemed to be embarrassed for Abby. I don’t know why; I sure as hell didn’t mind. Just because I didn’t talk about my childhood much didn’t mean I was ashamed.
“I had a dad with a drinking problem and a bad temper, and four older brothers that carried the ass**le gene.”
“Oh,” she said simply. Her cheeks turned red, and at that moment, I felt a twinge in my chest. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it bugged me. “Don’t be embarrassed, Pidge. Dad quit drinking. The brothers grew up.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” Her body language didn’t match her words. I struggled to think of something to change the subject, and then her sexy, frumpy look came to mind. Her embarrassment was immediately replaced by irritation, something I was far more comfortable with.
America suggested watching TV. The last thing I wanted to do was to be in a room with Abby but unable to talk to her. I stood. “You hungry, Pidge?”
“I already ate.”
America’s eyebrows pulled in. “No, you haven’t. Oh . . . er . . . that’s right. I forgot. You grabbed a . . . pizza? Before we left.”
Abby was embarrassed again, but her anger quickly covered it. Learning her emotional pattern didn’t take long.
I opened the door, trying to keep my voice casual. I’d never been so eager to get a girl alone—especially to not have sex with her. “C’mon. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Where are you going?”
“Wherever you want. We can hit a pizza place.” I inwardly cringed. That might have been too eager.
She looked down at her sweatpants. “I’m not really dressed.”
She had no idea how beautiful she was. That made her even more appealing. “You look fine. Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”
Once she was on the back of my Harley, I could finally think straight again. My thoughts were usually more relaxed on my bike. Abby’s legs had my hips in a vise grip, but that was oddly relaxing, too. Almost a relief.
This weird sensation I felt around her was disorienting. I didn’t like it, but then again it reminded me that she was around, so it was as comforting as it was unsettling. I decided to get my shit together. Abby might be a pigeon, but she was just a f**king girl. No need to get my boxers in a bunch.
Besides, there was something under the good girl facade. She hated me on sight because she’d been burned by someone like me before. No way was she a slut, though. Not even a reformed slut. I could spot them a mile away. My game face slowly melted away. I’d finally found a girl that was interesting enough to get to know, and a version of me had already hurt her.
Even though we’d just met, the thought of some jackhole hurting Pidge infuriated me. Abby associating me with someone that would hurt her was even worse. I gunned the throttle as I pulled into the Pizza Shack. That ride wasn’t long enough to sort out the clusterfuck in my head.
I wasn’t even thinking about my speed, so when Abby jumped off my bike and started yelling, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I went the speed limit.”
“Yeah, if we were on the autobahn!” She ripped the wild bun down from the crown of her head, and then brushed her long hair with her fingers.
I couldn’t stop staring while she rewrapped it and tied it back again. I imagined that this was what she looked like in the morning, and then had to think about the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan to keep my dick from getting hard. Blood. Screaming. Visible intestines. Grenades. Gunfire. More blood.
I held the door open. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Pigeon.”
She angrily stomped past me and into the restaurant, ignoring my gesture. It was a damn shame; she was the first girl that I had ever wanted to open the door for. I’d been looking forward to that moment, and she didn’t even notice.
After following her inside, I headed for the corner booth I usually commandeered. The soccer team was seated at several tables pushed together in the middle of the room. They were already howling that I had walked in with a date, and I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want Abby to hear.