and asshole comments from the soccer team drowned out her words.
“Dude, you’re supposed to get a doggie bag, not bag the doggie.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore. They weren’t just being disrespectful to me, they were disrespecting Abby. I stood up and took a few steps, and they started to shove each other out the
door, tripping and stumbling over a dozen pairs of feet.
Abby’s eyes penetrated the back of my head, bringing me back to my senses, and I planted myself back in the booth. She raised an eyebrow, and immediately my frustration and anger melted
away.
“You were going to say why you chose this school,” I said. Pretending that little sideshow didn’t happen was probably the best way to continue.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said, shrugging. “I guess it just felt right.”
If there was a phrase to explain the way I felt at that moment, that was it. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing or why, but something about sitting across from her in that booth
brought me a weird sense of calm. Even in the middle of a rage.
I smiled and opened my menu. “I know what you mean.”
CHAPTER THREE
White Knight
S HEPLEY STOOD AT THE DOOR LIKE A LOVESICK IDIOT , waving to America as she pulled out of the parking lot. He shut the door,
and then collapsed in the recliner with the most ridiculous smile on his face.
“You’re dumb,” I said.
“Me? You should have seen you. Abby couldn’t get out of here quick enough.”
I frowned. Abby didn’t seem in a hurry to me, but now that Shepley had said something, I remembered that she
was
pretty quiet when we got back. “You think so?”
Shepley laughed, stretching back in the chair and pulling the footrest up. “She hates you. Give it up.”
“She doesn’t hate me. I nailed that date—dinner.”
Shepley’s eyebrows shot up. “Date? Trav. What are you doing? Because if this is just a game to you and you fuck this up for me, I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
I fell against the couch and grabbed the remote. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not doing that.”
Shepley looked confused. I wouldn’t let him see that I was just as baffled as he was.
“I wasn’t kidding,” he said, keeping his eyes on the TV screen. “I’ll smother you.”
“I heard you,” I snapped. The whole feeling-out-of-my-element thing was pissing me off, and then I had Pepé Le Pew over there threatening my death. Shepley with a crush was
annoying. Shepley in love was almost intolerable.
“Remember Anya?”
“It’s not like that,” Shepley said, exasperated. “It’s different with Mare. She’s the one.”
“You know that after a couple of months?” I asked, dubious.
“I knew it when I saw her.”
I shook my head. I hated it when he was like this. Unicorns and butterflies flying out of his ass and hearts floating in the air. He always ended up getting his heart broken, and then I had to
make sure he didn’t drink himself to death for six months solid. America seemed to like it, though.
Whatever. No woman could make me blubber and get slobbering drunk over losing her. If they didn’t stick around, they weren’t worth it anyway.
Shepley stood and stretched, and then ambled toward his room.
“You’re full of shit, Shep.”
“How would you know?” he asked.
He was right. I’d never been in love, but I couldn’t imagine it changing me that much.
I decided to turn in, too. I stripped down and lay back on the mattress in a huff. The second my head hit the pillow, I thought of Abby. Our conversation replayed verbatim in my mind. A few
times she had showed a glint of interest. She didn’t totally hate me, and that helped me relax. I wasn’t exactly apologetic about my reputation, but she didn’t expect me to
pretend. Women didn’t make me nervous. Abby made me feel distracted and focused at the same time. Agitated and relaxed. Pissed off and damn near giddy. I’d never felt so at odds with
myself. Something about
Eugene Burdick, Harvey Wheeler