I leaned back to look up at him. “I can handle your temper tantrums.”
His eyes scanned my face for several moments before a small smile spread across his lips. “I don’t know why you put up with me, and I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”
I could smell the mixture of cigarettes and mint on his breath, and I looked at his lips, my body reacting to how close we were. Travis’ expression changed and his breathing staggered—he had noticed, too.
He leaned in infinitesimally, and then we both jumped when his cell phone rang. He sighed, pulling it from his pocket.
“Yeah. Hoffman? Jesus…all right. That’ll be an easy grand. Jefferson?” He looked at me and winked. “We’ll be there.” He hung up and took my hand. “Come with me.” He pulled me down the hall. “That was Adam,” he said to Shepley. “Brady Hoffman will be at Jefferson in ninety minutes.”
Shepley nodded and stood up, digging his cell phone from his pocket. After a few moments, he repeated what Travis had told him into his phone, hung up, dialed again, and then repeated the information once more. He dialed another number as he shut his bedroom door behind him.
“Here we go,” America said, smiling. “We better freshen up!”
The air in the apartment was tense and buoyant at the same time. Travis seemed the least affected, slipping on his boots and a white tank top as if he were leaving to run an errand.
America led me down the hall to Travis’ bedroom and frowned. “You have to change, Abby. You can’t wear that to the fight.”
“I wore a freaking cardigan last time and you didn’t say anything!” I protested.
“I didn’t think you’d go last time. Here,” she threw clothes at me, “put this on.”
“I am not wearing this!”
“Let’s go!” Shepley called from the living room.
“Hurry up!” America snapped, running into Shepley’s room.
I pulled on the deep cut, yellow halter top and tight, low-rise jeans America had thrown at me, and then slipped on a pair of heels, raking a brush through my hair as I shuffled down the hall. America came out of her room with a short, green baby doll dress and matching heels, and when we rounded the corner, Travis and Shepley were standing at the door.
Travis’ mouth fell open. “Oh, hell no. Are you trying to get me killed? You’ve gotta change, Pidge.”
“What?” I asked, looking down.
America grabbed her hips. “She looks cute, Trav, leave her alone!”
Travis took my hand and led me down the hall. “Get a t-shirt on…and some sneakers. Something comfortable.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’ll be more worried about who’s looking at your tits in that shirt instead of Hoffman,” he said, stopping at his door.
“I thought you said you didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought?”
“That’s a different scenario, Pigeon.” Travis looked down at my chest and then up at me. “You can’t wear this to the fight, so please…just…please just change,” he stuttered, shoving me into the room and shutting me in.
“Travis!” I yelled. I kicked off my heels, and shoved my feet into my Converse. Then I wiggled out of my halter top, throwing it across the room. The first cotton shirt that touched my hands I yanked over my head, and then ran down the hall, standing in the doorway.
“Better?” I huffed, pulling my hair into a pony tail.
“Yes!” Travis said, relieved. “Let’s go!”
We raced to the parking lot. I jumped on the back of Travis’ motorcycle as he ripped the engine and peeled out, flying down the road to the college. I squeezed his middle in anticipation; the rushing to get out the door had sent adrenaline surging through my veins.
Travis drove over the curb, parking his motorcycle in the shadows behind the Jefferson Liberal Arts building. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and then grabbed my hand, smiling as we snuck to the back of the building. He stopped at an open window near the ground.