I looked into America’s eyes. She was completely serious. America was like a sister to Abby, and protective like a mother bear. They would never encourage anything for each other that could be hurtful. For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope.
The wooden boards creaked in the hall, and we all froze. My bedroom door shut, and then Abby’s footsteps sounded in the hall.
“Hey, Abby,” America said with a grin. “How was your nap?”
“I was out for five hours. That’s closer to a coma than a nap.”
Her mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was matted against her head. She was stunning. She smiled at me, and I stood, took her hand, and led her straight to the bedroom. Abby looked confused and apprehensive, making me even more desperate to make amends.
“I’m so sorry, Pidge. I was an asshole to you earlier.”
Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t know you were mad at me.”
“I wasn’t mad at you. I just have a bad habit of lashing out at those I care about. It’s a piss-poor excuse, I know, but I am sorry,” I said, enveloping her in my arms.
“What were you mad about?” she asked, nestling her cheek into my chest. Damn, that felt so good. If I wasn’t a dick, I would have explained to her that I knew the boilers had been fixed, and the thought of her leaving here and spending more time with Parker scared the shit out of me, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“It’s not important. The only thing I’m worried about is you.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “I can handle your temper tantrums.”
I scanned her face for several moments before a small smile spread across my lips. “I don’t know why you put up with me, and I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”
Her eyes slowly fell from my eyes to my lips, and her breath caught. Every hair on my skin stood on end, and I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or not. I leaned in less than a centimeter, waiting to see if she would protest, but then my fucking phone rang. We both jumped.
“Yeah,” I said impatiently.
“Mad Dog. Brady will be at Jefferson in ninety.”
“Hoffman? Jesus . . . all right. That’ll be an easy grand. Jefferson?”
“Jefferson,” Adam said. “You in?”
I looked at Abby and winked. “We’ll be there.” I hung up, stuck my phone in my pocket, and grabbed Abby’s hand. “Come with me.”
I led her to the living room. “That was Adam,” I said to Shepley. “Brady Hoffman will be at Jefferson in ninety minutes.”
CHAPTER NINE
Crushed
SHEPLEY’S EXPRESSION CHANGED. HE WAS ALL BUSINESS when Adam called with a fight time. His fingers tapped against his phone, clicking away, texting to the people on his list. When Shepley disappeared behind his door, America’s eyes widened over her smile.
“Here we go! We’d better freshen up!”
Before I could say anything, America pulled Abby down the hall. The fuss was unnecessary. I’d kick the guy’s ass, make the next few months’ worth of rent and bills, and life would return to normal. Well, sort of normal. Abby would move back to Morgan Hall, and I would imprison myself to keep from killing Parker.
America was barking at Abby to change, and Shepley was now off the phone, Charger keys in hand. He bent backward to peek down the hall, and then rolled his eyes.
“Let’s go!” he yelled.
America ran down the hall, but instead of joining us, she ducked into Shepley’s room. He rolled his eyes again but was also smiling.
A few moments later, America burst out of Shepley’s room in a short, green dress, and Abby rounded the hall corner in tight jeans and a yellow top, her tits bouncing every time she moved.
“Oh, hell, no. Are you trying to get me killed? You’ve gotta change, Pidge.”
“What?” She looked down at her jeans. The jeans weren’t the problem.
“She looks cute, Trav, leave her alone!” America snapped.
I led Abby down the hall. “Get a T-shirt on, and some sneakers. Something comfortable.”
“What?” she asked, confusion distorting her face. “Why?”
I stopped at my door. “Because I’ll be more worried about who’s looking at your tits in that shirt instead of Hoffman,” I said. Call it sexist, but it was true. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate, and I wasn’t going to lose a fight over Abby’s rack.
“I thought you said you didn’t give a damn about what anyone else thought?” she said, steaming.
She really didn’t get it. “That’s a different scenario, Pigeon.” I looked down at her breasts, proudly pushed up in a white, lacy bra. Canceling the fight suddenly became a tempting idea, if only to spend the rest of the night trying to find a way to get them naked and against my chest.