13. Four Times More Awkward

CHAPTER 13

FOUR TIMES MORE AWKWARD

ABBI

“And then what happened?” Carly demands.

“Then his brother believed us,” I say, rolling another fork and knife into a napkin. “At least I think he did. How could he not?”

“No—forget the brother.” Carly tosses a silverware roll into the bin and blinks at me. “Please tell me this story has a very happy ending. Tell me you both turned to one another and started ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Nope. We went to sleep.” Eventually. The truth is that I faked sleep for a good long time. After hearing Weston moan from close range, I was too stirred up to sleep.

“Abbi!” she shrieks. “Why the hell didn’t you have actual sex?”

I shrug. “He didn't touch me. He was a perfect gentleman. I don't think he likes me that way.”

She blinks. “I do not believe this. First of all, does it really matter? Anyone who simulates sex for five minutes loudly, with great enthusiasm, is going to be into it. He’s a horny college guy.”

“But—”

“If you’d just leaned over and kissed him, you could have spent the next twelve hours in pound town. You whiffed it! Someone lobbed you a nice easy pitch, and you let it fly right by. I'm so disappointed!”

“Carly, stop it.”

She giggles.

But to me, this is no laughing matter. “The thing is, if I leaned over and kissed him, and he really really wasn't into it, then I would have made a super awkward evening four times more awkward than it already was.”

“Details.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just sad for you and your vagina.”

“I’ll admit that part of my body isn't really speaking to me right now.”

She cracks up.

“But I still don't really have any regrets. Because we’re friends . Good friends. And that’s important.”

“I guess.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “But, lordy. One of us should ride that bull before we graduate. We’re due for some good times, don’t you think?”

“Not sure it works that way,” I mumble. Good times are nice, but they don’t pay the rent. I have to keep my head down and focus on what’s important. Like graduating and finding a real job.

Weston got me through another holiday season without my mom, and I’ll always be grateful. But Weston is not boyfriend material. And there’s no other guy around here that’s half as interesting to me. So I don’t see the point of being sad about it.

Although—and I’m not about to confess this to Carly—I’ve worn my snuggly team sweatshirt, with his jersey number on the back, two mornings in a row. If anyone asked me why I like it so much, I’d point out that the sweatshirt is warm, and my apartment is cold.

But my crush on Weston is stronger than ever now. Becoming friends only made him more attractive to me. He’s a good man. I’m lucky to know him. Even if I’d prefer to know him naked.

“Ladies, I have a job for you.” Carly and I both look up to find Kippy—the lazy manager—standing over us with a stack of fliers.

“We’re doing our job right now,” Carly points out. She says this in a cheerful voice, but I can hear the underlying snark that’s often there when Carly speaks to Kippy. He’s such a tool .

“Yeah, but I need you two to pin these up all over campus,” he says. “New Year’s Eve is only a few days away. I’ll need you both to work late that night, obviously. And these need to be up all over campus by tomorrow morning. You can do it together after your shift.”

“After our shift,” she repeats. “At eleven?”

“Sure,” he says, dropping the flyers onto the table. “Thanks.”

Our eyes meet after he walks away. “That lazy motherf—” She bites back the rest. “He knows we’re not going to complain.”

“It’s too close,” I point out. Both Carly and I are coming up on our anniversary bonus. “That’s why he asked us.”

She nods, her eyes flashing. “He could probably ask me for a damn blow job at this point, and I’d do it.”

“Carly!” I squeak. “Ew.”

She giggles. “You should see your expression. Hilarious.”

“I’m repulsed.”

“I know! I wouldn’t really do it,” she says, grinning. “But getting this bonus is like a crusade for me, now. It’s more than just fifteen hundred bucks. It’s an investment of a year. I’ve earned it. I want it. And no weasel-faced manager is going to get in my way.”

“Have you started counting down the days?”

“I’m going to. Tonight. Right after we hang flyers all over the campus. In the December cold. At midnight.” She rolls her eyes. “At least the event looks fun.” She grabs a flyer and holds it up so I can see.

The Biscuit’s Raucous New Year’s Eve: Featuring Live Music from The Hardwick Boys

Midnight countdown. Two-for-one wings 6p-9p. Join the party!

“Well, the tips will be great,” I point out. “If people are drinking their faces off from nine until midnight.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go out on New Year’s like a normal person, though?”

I shrug, because I don’t even know who I’d go out with .

“Maybe Weston will come,” Carly says, her eyes brightening.

“Maybe. The hockey team is on campus already. They don’t get a long Christmas break.”

“That’s right,” she hoots. “Your new boyfriend probably told you their schedule.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t make me regret telling you that story.”

“So table seventeen might be hopping on New Year’s.” Her smile is brilliant. “Has he called you since you guys got back?”

“No, but why would he?” I shrug.

Her smile goes dreamy. “Because he probably misses you. I bet he woke up the day after Christmas and thought about you. He probably wants to reenact your fake sex scene for real. I bet he’s still thinking about it.”

“That’s not how my life works,” I mutter.

“It should be,” Carly says, tossing the last silverware roll into the bin.

“How fast do you think we can hang up twenty fliers after work?” I ask.

“Let’s hang up ten and recycle the rest,” she whispers.

“But if New Year’s is a flop, we won’t get good tips,” I point out.

“Fine,” she says, standing up to tie on her apron. “But it won’t be a flop. I just know it.”

Four nights later, I find out she’s right.

There’s a sweet spot to waitressing. When the place is dead, I get bored and make too little in tips. But when the place is slammed, the customers get crabby and I get stressed out. In the middle zone is where this job is really pretty great. When the stars align, you can have happy customers and fat tips as the hours fly by.

And then there’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve never seen the Biscuit so crowded. Every table is taken, and it’s standing room only at the bar. Every available staff member is on shift, and I heard they started a new bouncer tonight just to double up on security.

The clientele is in a good mood, though, and The Hardwick Boys sound terrific. It’s tricky to hear the patrons shout their orders over the music, but I don’t even mind. The lively atmosphere and the holiday tips make it all worthwhile.

And—even better—table seventeen is chock-full of hockey players, including my favorite one. Every time I drop off a beer or even pass by, Weston gives me a warm smile.

I’m trying not to pay too much attention. I’m a busy girl. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all week. Spending time together as friends has only made him more appealing.

And sometimes? I think he’s attracted to me, too. Am I crazy, or does he keep glancing at me? Or did I dream that?

I did. I dreamt it. Weston isn’t shy. If he wanted me, he’d just say so.

“He keeps looking this way!” Carly shouts as we stand in front of the bar, waiting for various drinks to be made. “That boy wants you!”

“What boy?” I shout back.

Carly rolls her eyes. “You don’t fool me. I’m not stupid. But I think you might be. Don’t look, but he’s watching you even as we speak.”

I don’t look, because I don’t want to encourage her. I’m deep in the friend zone with Weston, and that’s just the way it is. “He’s just waiting for his beer!”

“Yeah? Well he looks especially thirsty tonight,” Carly yells back. “Get on that.” She winks as the bartender plunks her drinks down onto the bar. With a cheeky smile, she loads them onto her tray and goes.

“Hey,” the bartender says, rapping his knuckles on the bar like he always does. “Abbi, I’m gonna need another minute on your order. But the new bouncer is asking for you.”

“What? Table zero is not in my section.” It’s always somebody’s job to keep the bouncer in free coffee and soda.

He shrugs. “He just came on shift, and asked for you by name. You’re very popular tonight. Go take him this?” He sets a glass of Coke on the bar. “Tell him I couldn’t add rum. House rules.”

Oh good grief . Like I don’t have enough to do already. But it would take longer to argue than to deliver the man’s soda. I take the drink and head for the vestibule .

On my way, I notice that table fifteen’s beers are empty. Better make this quick. I hurry toward the front door, where the bite of winter air chills my skin. “Here’s your?—”

The sentence dies in my throat when I see who the new bouncer is.