I took a sip of my beer, the second glass of the night—I'd promised myself no more than three— and sat back, shaking my head. “It ain't no thing. It's nice to just get out a bit and chill. Hell, it feels good just being able to pay for the beer."
"Well, you still owe me about fifty more pitchers, by my calculations," Chris said with a laugh. "Do that over the course of the rest of our lives, and I'll call it even on that loan. No way in hell am I taking half of your first paycheck."
"Dude, you need to at least let me give you something," I objected. "Pay you some rent, something. And we go half on the groceries.”
Chris took another drink of his own beer—he was most of the way done with number four and warming up for number five—and it looked like he was about to object for a second, then he shrugged. "All right. We go half on the groceries, and your rent's four hundred a month. You pay me with your next paycheck."
Chris finished off his beer and looked around, seeing something that caught his eye. "Damn, check out the tits on that one. Phew, she'd be able to hold this whole glass in between those puppies."
I looked over and saw who he was talking about, a curvy girl who looked to be in her early twenties. She was pretty light skinned, but she still stood out in a place like Roundups, where most of the clientele was a shade lighter. "I see you still like chasing the younger ones," I said. “Though she isn't jailbait. When did you grow out of them?"
"About the time I started getting strange looks around the high schools," Chris said with another laugh. "So I graduated up to college girls, and that one looks like just about my type. You know what the best thing about undergrads is, Dane?"
"What's that?" I asked, feeling like the years were falling away. We weren't pushing thirty anymore but were twenty-three and on leave in between Airborne School and heading back to Fort Campbell to join the 101st, and everything was relaxed and cool.
"I keep getting older, they keep staying the same age," Chris finished with a laugh. "Why don't you try for that one? You always struck me as a tits man."
I shook my head. "Nah, that's okay." I looked around for someone else to take my attention from the girl, someone who looked like she was already attached. It wasn't that the girl wasn't hot, it was just I wasn't interested in a one-night stand. Besides, the inner voice said, that isn't Abby. "How about that one?"
Chris looked over at who I pointed out, laughing. “Her? Didn't think you chased married women."
I shrugged. "Maybe it's just the beer, then. Hey, what ever happened between you and that girl you were dating right before I went up? You know, the one we called Miss Teen USA?"
Chris polished off the rest of beer number four, his expression darkening. "Never came to anything, man. Just . . . never came to anything. Listen, you going to find some pussy or not? If not, I'm going to look around myself.”
I looked around and shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. Probably got whiskey dick right now anyway."
Chris grunted and heaved himself out of his chair, putting his glass down on the table. I looked, and the girl he'd first shown interest in had seemingly disappeared, while the woman I'd indicated seemed like she was still there. Chris studied her for a second and shrugged. "Hell, any port in a goddamn storm. Yo, you good at getting home tonight by yourself if you need? I'd rather not bring this one home, if you know what I mean."
"I'm good, man. Happy hunting."
"You're goddamn right about that."
Chapter 9
Abby
I came out of the Clough Undergraduate Commons building, frustrated with myself. I'd stopped by the building to find a quiet spot to do some studying for my European History final, which was the next day, when I'd fallen asleep in one of the comfortable chairs that you could find in the study rooms. When a chime had woken me up, I was pissed to find that it was already noon, and I had agreed to meet Shawnie for lunch in fifteen minutes. If I hurried, I'd just make it.
Heading off campus, I rounded a corner to come to a screeching halt before I got run over by someone on a bicycle. "Hey, watch where you're going!"
The bike came to a stop, and I saw that the man was wearing a business suit, one of the seeming army of young executives on bikes that had sprung up around Atlanta as the city became more bike friendly. This one had the whole nine yards of gear, including aerodynamic minimalist helmet and even a protective tight spat on his right lower leg to protect his suit pants from the oil and dirt of his chain.
When he turned, I felt like I'd been smacked in the face. "C-Chris?"
Chris blinked, his momentary expression of anger over being yelled at being replaced by a gape of surprise. "Abby? Abby Rawlings?"
I smiled, stunned. "Yeah. Wow, it's been so long."
He got off his bike and came over, grinning. "Yeah, it has been. How have you been?"
I shrugged. "Well, you know . . . nearly done with college now. And you?"