“I wouldn’t say it’s easy if you’re getting hit in the face.”
“What? You’re worried about me?” he winked. I made a face and he chuckled. “I don’t get hit that often. If they swing, I move. It’s not that hard.”
I laughed once. “You act as if no one else has come to that conclusion.”
“When I throw a punch they take it and try to reciprocate. That’s not gonna win a fight.”
I rolled my eyes. “What are you…the Karate Kid? Where did you learn to fight?”
Shepley and America glanced at each other, and then their eyes wandered to the floor. It didn’t take long to recognize I had said something wrong.
Travis didn’t seem affected. “I had a dad with a drinking problem and a bad temper, and four older brothers that carried the asshole gene.”
“Oh.” My ears smoldered.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Pidge. Dad quit drinking, the brothers grew up.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” I fidgeted with the falling strands of my hair and then decided to pull it down and smooth it into another bun, trying to ignore the awkward silence.
“I like the au naturel thing you have going on. Girls don’t come over here like that.”
“I was coerced into coming here. It didn’t occur to me to impress you,” I said, aggravated that my plan had failed.
He smiled his boyish, amused grin, and I turned up my anger a notch, hoping it would cover my unease. I didn’t know how most girls felt around him, but I’d seen how they behaved. I was experiencing more of a disorientated, nauseous feeling than giggly infatuation, and the harder he worked to make me smile, the more unsettled I felt.
“I’m already impressed. I don’t normally have to beg girls to come to my apartment.”
“I’m sure,” I said, screwing my face into disgust.
He was the worst kind of confident. Not only was he shamelessly aware of his appeal, he was so used to women throwing themselves at him that he regarded my cool demeanor as refreshing instead of an insult. I would have to change my strategy.
America pointed the remote at the television and switched it on. “There’s a good movie on tonight. Anyone want to find out where Baby Jane is?”
Travis stood up. “I was just heading out for dinner. You hungry, Pidge?”
“I already ate,” I shrugged.
“No you haven’t,” America said before realizing her mistake. “Oh…er…that’s right, I forgot you grabbed a…pizza? Before we left.”
I grimaced at her miserable attempt to fix her blunder, and then waited for Travis’ reaction.
He walked across the room and opened the door. “C’mon. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
“Where are you going?”
“Wherever you want. We can hit a pizza place.”
I looked down at my clothes. “I’m not really dressed.”
He appraised me for a moment and then grinned. “You look fine. Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”
I stood up and waved to America, passing Travis to walk down the stairs. I stopped in the parking lot, watching in horror as he straddled a matte black motorcycle.
“Uh….” I trailed off, scrunching my exposed toes.
He shot me an impatient glare. “Oh, get on. I’ll go slow.”
“What is that?” I asked, reading the writing on the gas tank too late.
“It’s a Harley Night Rod. She’s the love of my life, so don’t scratch the paint when you get on.”
“I’m wearing flip flops!”
Travis stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language. “I’m wearing boots. Get on.”