“She gets under my skin. I think I just need to bag her and get it over with.”
Shepley eyed me for a while, unsure. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you not fucking up my life with your newfound restraint, but you’ve never needed my permission before . . . unless . . . don’t tell me you finally give a shit about someone.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
Shepley couldn’t contain his grin. “You care about her. I guess it just took a girl refusing to sleeping with you for more than a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Laura made me wait a week.”
“Abby won’t give you the time of day, though?”
“She just wants to be friends. I guess I’m lucky she doesn’t treat me like a leper.”
After an awkward silence, Shepley nodded. “You’re scared.”
“Of what?” I asked with a dubious smirk.
“Rejection. Mad Dog is one of us after all.”
My eye twitched. “You know I fucking hate that, Shep.”
Shepley smiled. “I know. Almost as much as you hate the way you feel right now.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“So you like her and you’re scared. Now what?”
“Nothing. It just sucks that I finally found the girl worth having and she’s too good for me.”
Shepley tried to stifle a laugh. It was irritating that he was so amused about my predicament. He straightened his smile and then said, “Why don’t you let her make that decision for herself?”
“Because I care about her just enough to want to make it for he r.”
Shepley stretched and then stood, his bare feet dragging across the carpet. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah. Let’s drink to friendship.”
“So you’re going to keep hanging out with her? Why? That sounds like torture to me.”
I thought about it for a minute. It did sound like torture, but not as bad as just watching her from afar. “I don’t want her to end up with me . . . or any other dick.”
“You mean or anyone else. Dude, that’s nuts.”
“Get my fuckin’ beer and shut up.”
Shepley shrugged. Unlike Chris Jenks, Shepley knew when to shut up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Distracted
THE DECISION WAS CRAZY, BUT FREEING. THE NEXT DAY I walked into the cafeteria, and without a second thought, sat in the empty seat across from Abby. Being around her was natural and easy, and other than having to put up with the prodding eyes of the general student population, and even some professors, she seemed to like having me around.
“We studying today or what?”
“We are,” she said, unfazed.
The only negative about hanging out with her as friends was the more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. It was harder to forget the color and shape of her eyes, and the way her lotion smelled on her skin. I also noticed more about her, like how long her legs were, and the colors she wore most often. I even got a pretty good handle on which week I shouldn’t give her any extra shit, which fortunately for Shepley, was the same week not to fuck with America. That way, we had three weeks to not be on guard instead of two, and we could give each other fair warning.
Even at her worst, Abby wasn’t fussy like most girls. The only thing that seemed to affect her was the occasional questions about our relationship, but as long as I took care of it, she got over it pretty fast.
As more time passed, people speculated less. We ate lunch together on most days, and on the nights when we studied, I’d take her out to dinner. Shepley and America invited us to a movie once. It was never awkward, never a question of whether we were more than friends. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, especially since my decision not to pursue her in that way didn’t stop me from fantasizing about making her moan on my couch—until one night I was watching her and America poke and tickle each other at the apartment and I imagined Abby in my bed.
She needed to get outta my head.
The only cure was to stop thinking about her long enough to land my next conquest.
A few days later, a familiar face caught my eye. I’d seen her before with Janet Littleton. Lucy was fairly hot, never missed a chance to show off her cleavage, and very vocal about hating my guts. Fortunately it took me thirty minutes and a tentative invite to the Red to get her home. I’d barely shut the front door before she was removing my clothes. So much for the deep well of hatred she had harbored toward me since last year. She left with a smile on her face and disappointment in her eyes.
I still had Abby on my mind.
Not even postorgasm fatigue was going to cure it, and I felt something new: guilt.