“It could happen. In fact, it’s not the worst idea.”
She gapes at me, incredulous. “Not the worst idea? It’s barbaric and archaic. Are you out of your mind?”
Yes.
The word, “apparently,” slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, but Abbott is too worked up to notice the blunder.
“You would defend the concept? The plot, if you will?” Her lean sags deeper as she settles in to hear me speak. “By all means, do go on.”
Is she patronizing me? It’s hard to tell because she’s smiling that megawatt smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. Cue a flash of teeth as she saucily bites down on her bottom lip.
Anddd there it is!
“All I’m saying is that as far as the concept goes, a few men having a club where they get together for a common goal—it’s not terrible.”
“Right, but we’re specifically talking about them making a pact to be single.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She huffs. “It’s not realistic.”
“Why? Plenty of people don’t want to get married. Or have babies. Or have relationships.”
Abbott considers this. “True.” She straightens herself, coming off the wall and balancing the bag in her arms, gripping it like she’s holding a toddler. I wonder what’s inside—dinner? Lunch for tomorrow? Snacks? Shit, will I ever find out, or is she going to torture me by not sharing?
“You know what’s archaic, Miss Know-It-All? The ideology that everyone has to be in a relationship to be happy.” I volley back, taken off guard and suddenly defensive. “That’s what’s archaic.”
So there. Take that.
“Most people aren’t like that. Most people want to meet someone.”
“I don’t know who you’re hanging out with, but the guys I know don’t.”
“Who?”
“My best friends.”
“Like I care about them.” Abbott is quiet for a moment, letting this new information soak in. “What about you?”
“Same.”
That one word lingers in the air, in the hallway, floating above our heads, a heavy weight suddenly thrust upon the light mood and clouding over.
My cute neighbor forces herself to continue to smile, a big, fat, fake smile that I find unattractive. I prefer the fun, carefree Abbott—not this one, the one suddenly sullen in response to my declared singledom.
Sure, I get it. No single young woman on the prowl for an eligible bachelor wants to hear there is one less candidate for her to sink her claws into.
Even if Abbott is way out of my league, it still must sting that she can’t have me. Not that she wants me, but I can only assume…
“You don’t want to be in a relationship?”
“I thought you knew that.” Pause. “That whole friend-zone thing is for a reason.”
“Oh. So you don’t just not like me?”
“Abbott, if I were going to hand in my Bastard Bachelor card, it would be for you.”
“Your what?”
Shit. What did I just say? Why are her eyes so wide?
“What’s a bastard bachelor?”
Shit. Fuck. “A what?” I ask, hoping to throw her off the scent. Maybe she’ll think she misheard me if I pretend not to know what she’s talking about.
“A bastard bachelor. You said ‘If I were going to hand in my bastard bachelor card, it would be for you.’”
I did say that. I said those exact words, but try getting me to admit it.
Deny, deny, deny. “What I meant was, I’d date you if I were dating. But I’m not, so…yeah.”
“Are you gay?”
“No.” Another pause. “Would I have gone down on you if I were gay?”
“Maybe.” Her petite shoulders give me a shrug, and she adjusts the groceries in her arms. “I don’t know. I’m sure some guys would take one for the team, just to make their friend happy.”
“No one eats someone’s pussy just to make them happy.”
As those words leave my mouth, I’m unexpectedly positive there are plenty of people out there, gay and straight—right this second—giving oral to their good friend to make them happy. I’d put money on it. Because that’s what good friends do!
Sacrifice for the sake of the team.
Abbott and me? We make a great team; if only she would get it out of her head that she can take me out of the friend-zone. Granted, she’s never once said those words, or hinted at it, but I know women, and she would be a damn fool not to want me as a boyfriend.
I’m a fucking catch.
But so is she.
We’d make one amazing couple…
“Earth to Brooks.” She has one hand free and is waving it in front of my face. “Hello?”
“Sorry.”
“We start talking about oral sex and you start daydreaming—seems legit.” One blue eye shoots me a wink, her smile authentic and real. Just like her boobs probably are.
Tits.
I’ve given hers a lot of thought after going down on her last night, wondering what they look like. The color of her nipples and their shape. Bet they’re squishy in all the best ways.
“You’re doing it again,” she chastises. “So, I have dinner in this bag. If you want to get settled, I can come over in a few and we can hang out?”
“Why does it have to be my place?”
“Because we never spend any time there! It’s not fair. Let’s just try it, okay?”
I feel a pout coming on, repressing it with a groan. “Fine.”
“Are you showering? How much time do you need?”
“Meh, I can be quick. I’ll just toss on sweats.”
“I’ll do the same. Feed the cat and come over.”
A night where that hairball isn’t staring me down? Perfect.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “What’s in the bag?” I know she said dinner, but I want specifics. “Be specific.”
Abbott lowers it so she can peer inside, checking the contents. “Um, let’s see…cashew chicken, shrimp fried rice. A few spring rolls.”
My stomach growls. “You got Chinese takeout?” Honestly, could she be any more perfect? Abbott Margolis is my dream girl.
Sexy. Funny—fuck, I’ve been down this road before, rationalizing and listing all the things I love about her despite the bet looming.
Blaine and Phillip are in no danger of losing since neither of them are seeing anyone—dating, sexing, or otherwise. I’m the only asshole who seems to have gotten himself into something of a…predicament. One not a soul besides myself knows anything about.
If they knew about Abbott, they would hand me my ass. They would take my season tickets and battle it out between them, and I cannot allow that to happen.
Those tickets mean too much.
Why the fuck did I put them on the table? What else could I stand to lose?
Cash? Airline travel vouchers?
Not much else. I don’t own a condo. I don’t own land. I lease my luxury SUV (paying out the wazoo for the parking every month like a fucking idiot). No vacation properties, no timeshares.
What I do have is a fuck ton of Amazon boxes being delivered to my apartment daily, which always leaves me oddly satisfied. What I do have is an unhealthy new codependency on my next-door neighbor, who does and does not want to date me. What I do have is a relationship with her fluffy fucking cat, who hates to love me, and loves to hate me, and at any moment is going to tear my balls off.