The date party would be my first, yes, and I was going with my girlfriend for the first time, but the knot in my stomach was from something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As if something terrible was lurking in the immediate future.
On edge, I went back into the kitchen and poured another shot of whiskey. The doorbell rang, and I looked up from the counter to see Shepley jogging across the living room from his room, a towel around his waist.
“I could’ve gotten it.”
“Yeah, but then you would have had to stop crying in your Jim Beam,” he grumbled, pulling on the door. A small man carrying two mammoth bouquets bigger than he was stood in the doorway.
“Uh, yeah . . . this way, buddy,” Shepley said, opening the door wider.
Ten minutes later, the apartment was beginning to look the way I’d imagined. The thought of getting Abby flowers before the date party had come to mind, but one bouquet wasn’t enough.
Just as one delivery guy left, another arrived, and then another. Once every surface in the apartment proudly displayed at least two or three ostentatious bouquets of red, pink, yellow, and white roses, Shepley and I were satisfied.
I took a quick shower, shaved, and was slipping on a pair of jeans as the Honda’s engine whirred loudly in the parking lot. A few moments after it shut off, America pushed through the front door, and then Abby. Their reaction to the flowers was immediate, and Shepley and I were grinning like idiots as they squealed in delight.
Shepley looked around the room, standing proud. “We went to buy you two flowers, but neither of us thought just one bouquet would do it.”
Abby wrapped her arms around my neck. “You guys are . . . you’re amazing. Thank you.”
I smacked her ass, letting my palm linger on the gentle curve just above her upper thigh. “Thirty minutes until the party, Pidge.”
The girls dressed in Shepley’s room while we waited. It took me all of five minutes to button up my shirt, find a belt, and slip on socks and shoes. The girls, however, took for fucking ever.
Shepley, impatient, knocked on the door. The party had started fifteen minutes earlier.
“Time to go, ladies,” Shepley said.
America walked out in a dress that looked like a second skin, and Shepley whistled, sparking an instant smile on her face.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Abby’s having some trouble with her shoe. She’ll be out in just a sec,” America explained.
“The suspense is killin’ me, Pigeon!” I called.
The door squeaked, and out walked Abby, fidgeting with her short, white dress. Her hair was swept to one side, and even though her tits were carefully hidden, they were accentuated by the tight-fitting fabric.
America elbowed me, and I blinked. “Holy shit.”
“Are you ready to be freaked out?” America asked.
“I’m not freaked out—she looks amazing.”
Abby smiled with mischief in her eyes, and then slowly turned around to show the steep dip of the fabric in the back.
“Okay, now I’m freakin’ out,” I said, walking over to her and turning her away from Shepley’s eyes.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“You need a jacket.” I jogged to the rack and hastily draped Abby’s coat over her shoulders.
“She can’t wear that all night, Trav.” America chuckled.
“You look beautiful, Abby,” Shepley said, trying to apologize for my behavior.
“You do,” I said, desperate to be heard and understood without causing a fight. “You look incredible . . . but you can’t wear that. Your skirt is . . . wow, your legs are . . . your skirt is too short and it’s only half a dress! It doesn’t even have a back on it!”
“That’s the way it’s made, Travis.” Abby smiled. At least she wasn’t pissed.
“Do you two live to torture each other?” Shepley frowned.
“Do you have a longer dress?” I asked.
Abby looked down. “It’s actually pretty modest in the front. It’s just the back that shows off a lot of skin.”
“Pigeon,” I said, wincing, “I don’t want you to be mad, but I can’t take you to my frat house looking like that. I’ll get in a fight the first five minutes.”
She leaned up and kissed my lips. “I have faith in you.”
“This night is gonna suck,” I groaned.
“This night is going to be fantastic,” America said, offended.
“Just think of how easy it will be to get it off later,” Abby said. She pushed up on the balls of her feet to kiss my neck.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let her lips, sticky from her lip gloss, weaken my case. “That’s the problem. Every other guy there will be thinking the same thing.”
“But you’re the only one that gets to find out,” she lilted. When I didn’t respond, she leaned back to look me in the eyes. “Do you really want me to change?”