“Abbott,” I feebly call out after her.
But she’s already through my door, slamming it behind her, and in the hallway, shouting, “Bye!”
I’m an idiot, and instead of going into the hall, I stand there in my foyer with my head tipped back. “Abbottttt,” I yell, sounding suspiciously like Rocky Balboa—what the fuck?
“I said bye!” she yells back, still in the hallway. Her place is only feet away; she could have easily gone inside rather than lingering outside my door. “Find your own nan!”
“I never had a nan—mine died!” I shout the lie to be dramatic and hear her loud gasp through the door. In three strides, I yank it open again and stare at her. Abbott remains in the vestibule, immobile in front of her own apartment.
“Put some damn clothes on!” She gapes at me, actually covering her mouth with the palm of her dainty hand. “And don’t you dare play off my sympathy to get your own way. You have a grandma—she’s alive and well, so get your own nan!” she shouts again, so fucking loud I can hear a neighbor down the way cracking their door open to see what the fuss is. “And cover your dick.”
I can’t help it; I laugh.
Abbott’s potty mouth, coupled with the indignant expression on her face and the fact that I’m standing here naked—the entire situation makes me laugh until a tear drips from the corner of my eye. I swipe at it.
Abbott crosses her arms and shoots daggers across the corridor. But how pissed can she actually be if she’s still standing there glaring at me?
“Pfft, I’m going inside,” she huffs again. “If you came into the hall to stop me, you’re too late.”
“I didn’t come out here to stop you.”
Her head tilts. “Well you can’t, so…”
She hasn’t budged an inch.
“Then why are you standing out here, staring at me?” This confrontational side of her is totally uncharacteristic and a total turn-on. Based on what I know about her, based on the few short months we’ve been hanging out, Abbott isn’t one to pick arguments or even participate in them. She’s kind and loving. Well, fine—not too kind, but enough that she’s not a total asshole and wouldn’t deliberately get into a quarrel.
“I’m staring because you’re naked, duh. Plus, I wanted to see if you had the balls to follow me.”
The balls to follow her—who is she right now? Jesus she’s cute.
Her eyes stray to my balls and I laugh again, pointing to them. “Big balls.”
“Apparently.”
If I listen hard enough, the feeble mews of Desi coming from the inside of her apartment can be heard. That cat freaking loves me, bless its evil little heart.
She adds, “I just assumed my balls were bigger than yours.”
That’s the thing I love about Abbott—her ability to say dumb shit that makes me laugh and not care. She’s not trying to impress me with her intellect, although she’s wicked smart. Abbott makes me feel…
Good.
She makes me feel good.
Her family feels like the home I never had.
What the hell I’m supposed to do with that information is beyond me; I have way too much to lose by backing down from that bet, no matter what my feelings are toward her.
I cannot give up my season tickets. They are the only thing I’ve ever inherited, will ever inherit, and maybe someday I’ll have a son or daughter to take to the game…
A son or a daughter? Down boy, you’re not even in a relationship, let alone impregnating anyone. And for the sake of the Bastard Bachelor Society, you’re not allowed to be in one, anyway.
I feel Abbott watching me, can see the questions in her eyes that she doesn’t dare ask.
“Whatever is holding you back, I…” Her throat constricts as she swallows. “I won’t push you. I’ll leave it be. So.” The brown hair she just had highlighted gets tucked behind her ears. “This is me telling you to go live your best life.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” The words leave my lips before I can think twice about what I’m saying.
Her laugh is sardonic, despite the sad look in her blue eyes. “We’re not dating, remember? You went down on me once, slept with me once, and now I doubt you were even going to let me spend the night. Probably some rule about that.”
Leave it to Abbott to throw that back in my face.
“Abbott, I can’t be in a relationship, but I also don’t…” I pause, struggling to find words. “I don’t want…this.”
I don’t want it to be weird. I want what we had yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
Why do sex and feelings complicate everything? I should have known this shit was going to happen, dammit. Should have pumped the brakes when I had the chance. Should have pushed her away once and for all before sticking my dick inside her.
But she smells so fucking great and she is fucking great and why do I have to like her so fucking much?
Watch the mouth, Brooks.
“Well what is it you want then? To be besties? I’m not going to sleep with you according to your whims—I deserve more respect than that. And since you won’t tell me anything about your secret club, there is nothing I can do about that, either. So…” Her back hits her door and she continues watching me warily. “It is what it is.”
“I mean…” My door is open behind me and I lean against it, crossing my bare arms over my bare chest, nuts and berries still dangling for all the world to see. Well, the security cameras at least. “Plenty of people sleep with each other and they’re just friends.”
“Friends.” It’s a deadpan reply, no question mark tacked onto the end. “Ah.”
“I’m not going to ghost you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re the one who blew up and stormed out of my apartment.”
“Not ghost me? We’re friends! What do you think this is?” She motions at the empty space between us in the hall. “I’m not going to settle for someone who only wants to be my friend in public and is someone else behind closed doors and pity-fucks me. That’s total bullshit and completely unfair.”
Wow. She’s sworn at me twice now. Okay, so maybe the word balls doesn’t count as profanity, but it’s not like she curses on a regular basis, so it still sounds odd.
She must be hurt.
“Can you keep your voice down and get out of the hallway? Come back to bed.”
Her answer is a shocked laugh. “Come back to bed? Ha!” She makes a show of looking up and down the stark empty hallway with its cream paint, cream trim, and gold sconces lining the exteriors of every door. “Who’s around to hear us? No one. So say what you have to say, or don’t say it—no one cares. Except Desdemona, and she’s pissed at you, too.”
Behind her, the cat scratches on her door and meows pitifully.
“Desi isn’t pissed at me.”
“Yes, she is.”
“How do you know?”
Abbott’s chin goes up defiantly. “She does what I tell her to.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Abbott’s nostrils flare. “It’s my cat, and my nan, and that’s that. Get your own, you mooch.”