15. Something Came Up

CHAPTER 15

SOMETHING CAME UP

WESTON

The boys all look at me expectantly when I get back to the table. “Well?” Tate demands. “How’d it go?”

“Something came up,” I say.

“Was it your dick?” Hudson asks with a snicker, and I throw a napkin at him. “Stop, asshole. Abbi needs me to walk her home after her shift. There’s a guy who’s been bothering her.”

“Ah,” Tate says. “Could it be a ruse, maybe? Like—walk me home and take off my clothes?”

Sadly, I shake my head. “I’ve met this troublemaker already. Unfortunately, he’s real.”

“Bummer,” Vonne says.

“But it’s probably for the best,” Tate points out. “We won’t lose our table at the Biscuit.”

“You have such little faith in me,” I grumble. “I wasn’t going to break Abbi’s heart.”

“That’s what you always say, though,” Cooper points out. “It’s all sunshine until it’s not.”

I take a sip of my beer and ignore him. I wasn’t planning on asking Abbi to marry me, for fuck’s sake. I know better than to go down the path of forever. But two college students can have a fling without turning it into an epic story of love and betrayal .

Or, at the very least, they can have a lot of sex and then move several hundred miles apart.

As the new year takes its first tentative baby steps, I sip a beer and wait for Abbi’s shift to end. One by one my teammates depart. Tate is the first to go. Then Lex, his phone pressed to his ear, a grin on his face.

The men of the Moo U hockey team don’t share my caution around falling in love. Well, maybe Patrick does. But he doesn’t leave the bar alone, either. He’s found a hookup for the night, as he often does.

Eventually, I’m the last man at table seventeen. Abbi shoots me apologetic looks as she hustles around, finishing her shift. But I’m not going anywhere. Not if Abbi needs me.

“Sorry,” she says, appearing without her apron around two a.m. “That took forever.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I insist. “Let’s go.” I pull on my jacket, because it’s going to be a chilly walk up the hill toward her apartment.

We head outside, and I put on my game face. Protection isn’t the point of this exercise, I realize. Abbi could surely figure out how to avoid being alone with Price tonight. Rather , intimidation is the purpose of my involvement right now. When we walk outside together, I put a protective arm around her. Luckily Price is standing right outside.

“Hey, remember me?” I ask him, stopping to make my point.

“Nah,” the oaf says, scowling.

“Yeah, I bet you’d rather forget.” I give him a Mr. Smooth smile. “My offer still stands, though. Bother her, and you’re signing yourself up for a dental bill much higher than whatever they’re paying you to stand here and watch the door. It’s your call.”

Then I walk her home, leaving her on her front porch, where Abbi thanks me profusely. “It’s ridiculous that you had to do that. But Price and subtlety don’t mix.”

“I got that impression.”

When I leave her on her doorstep again, we share an awkward goodbye, wishing each other Happy New Year, before I turn and go.

The truth is that I never meant to be Abbi’s fake boyfriend for longer than it takes to eat a turkey dinner. But now Price is working regular weekends at the Biscuit. And so—as January rolls on—I consider it my sacred duty to keep up the charade.

And I have to say—it’s not a bad life. Over the next couple weeks, Abbi and I have lots of late-night talks as I walk her home. She brings me free wings on the regular. And then there are our lengthy text conversations about hockey, wing flavors, and school.

Honestly, if we could just have sex, all my needs would be met. She’s basically perfect.

Abbi keeps telling me that I shouldn’t bother to walk her home anymore. That Price isn’t threatening enough to warrant all this extra attention. But I don’t trust Price, so I keep up the vigil. Some nights I arrive late, have a single beer, and do some homework at the bar while Abbi finishes up her shift.

I like it here. The music is good. And even though my teammates have already gone home for the night, I’m pleasantly tipsy, nursing my last beer and reading a short story for my English class on my phone.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Abbi says as she swings by to grab Tate’s abandoned beer glass off table seventeen. She says it a lot, actually. “I can leave with Carly, or sneak out the back while he’s escorting someone else to her car.”

“Hey, I know,” I say with a shrug. “But I like the Biscuit, and it’s easier to read when there aren’t hockey players calling me to watch a game on TV. This is like the library for me. But with excellent beer.”

And, fine, I’m hung up on Abbi. I’m man enough to admit it. So where else would I rather be?

She gives me a sweet smile and a confused shake of her adorable head. And then she runs off to wipe down another table.

This is my life right now, and I’ve accepted it. Away games are a problem, though. Two weekends a month I’m on a bus with the team, playing U Mass or Maine.

Luckily, I have friends on the women’s hockey team. Women love me almost as much as I love women. So it’s really no problem to ask my friend Chrissy to have a drink at the bar until Abbi gets off shift the next weekend, and then walk out with her.

You really didn’t have to send a friend to babysit me! comes Abbi’s text the next morning. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself .

I know that , I quickly reply. But a good fake boyfriend looks after his fake girlfriend even when he’s busy making U Conn cry .

Nice win, by the way. Your fake girlfriend was super proud. That assist in the third period was extra sexy .

Thank you, baby!

See? We have the best relationship on campus. We have great chemistry. We’re mutually supportive of one another.

Except I haven’t been this horny since ninth grade, when Joey Birnbaum showed me how to find porn on my phone. And, sure, I could have hooked up on my road trip. The female hockey fans in Maine appreciate Mr. Smooth almost as much as the ones in Vermont.

But it just wouldn’t feel right, you know? Maybe I really should consider a career in Hollywood. I’m better at this acting thing than I’d thought. I’ve gone and convinced myself that Abbi and I are sexual soulmates. I can’t cheat on my soulmate.

So I haven’t hooked up at all. In fact, I haven’t gotten any action since before Thanksgiving—since the night I’d hoped to hook up with Abbi and then realized why we couldn’t.

After that, she was sort of under my skin, I guess. Now I’m looking at the longest dry spell in my adult life. It’s hard. I mean that literally. Some nights I can’t even concentrate because I’m so pent up. The guys are getting used to the way I space out in the middle of conversations.

Yesterday after practice I was sitting on the bench thinking lustful thoughts about Abbi when I spaced out in the middle of an argument between Pax and Patrick about a new defensive play we’re working on.

Coach Garfunkle tried to get my opinion, but I had no idea what they’d been saying. “You okay, son? You look a little unsteady.”

“He’s just horny,” Tate had cracked. “He’s got it bad for a girl he can’t have. Wait—is there a crystal for that?”

The whole team laughed, but Coach Garfunkle pulled a stone out of his pocket. It was—wait for it—oblong and pointy at the end. Like a rose quartz dick. “This is what you need.”

Two dozen hockey players roared their approval. “Really?” Lex Vonne had gasped. “Quartz can make you less horny?”

“Well…” Coach Garfunkle shrugged. “At least it will remind him that there’s something in the world harder than his junk.”

Yup, I’m the laughingstock of the team now. But at least there’s a good reason for it, and that reason is Abbi. I’m waiting for her at the bar again until she’s finally ready to leave the Biscuit.

She eventually arrives at my elbow, her apron and visor missing. She’s touched up her lipstick, and now I’m staring at her mouth again, the way a puppy eyes the burger on your plate. Hungrily.

“All right,” she says, one hand on her hip. “Let’s get on with this charade. Although I’m sure he’s got the message by now.”

“What charade?” a gruff voice barks at close range.

Fuck . I look up to see Price standing right behind her. “Nobody’s talking to you, are they?”

“Asshole,” Price growls. “You and this stuck-up bitch can have each other. I wouldn’t want your sloppy seconds anyway. She and her mom were just trailer trash.”

At the mention of her mom, pain flashes in Abbi’s eyes.

“Hey, fucknuts,” I growl, my blood suddenly pounding in my ears. “Now you’ve really done it. Take this outside?”

“No,” Abbi gasps, her hand shooting out to grasp my wrist. “Don’t get into trouble over him . He’s not worth it.”

Price makes a low chuckle. “Please. Make my day.”

I really want to. I could flatten him in seconds. I’m sure of it. But Abbi is begging me with her eyes not to.

Shit . It would feel great to deck him. But I know his type. He’ll call the cops and press charges for assault. Coach will lose his mind. I can hear the shouting already.

None of that matters, though. Only the look on Abbi’s face right now. It’s pleading with me for patience. If I hit Price, I’ll make her life more difficult in other ways.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Okay, honey.”

Now, the trouble with being a great actor is that sometimes you lose yourself in your work. That must be why I lean forward and give Abbi a very gentle kiss on the lips. It’s a kiss that says: your big strong boyfriend listens to you .

At least it was supposed to say that. But the moment our lips touch, something snaps. I’m not the fake boyfriend anymore. I’m not even Mr. Smooth. I’ve gone past that and straight on to Mr. Sexy Beast.

And Mr. Sexy Beast is famished. His kiss is firm and full of questions. Isn’t this nice? Can I have a taste? Why haven’t we done this before?

At first, Abbi goes still with surprise. But she gets over her shock in a heartbeat. Two hands quickly grip my jacket. Then she stands up on tiptoes to improve our connection.

I tilt my head and tease the seam of her lips with my tongue. Everything is bliss as Abbi lets out a little moan of longing.

But the sound seems to wake her up. Her eyes fly open again, and she takes a quick step backward. “Wow, I…” She takes a deep breath.

And then we both say “Sorry,” at the same time.

Yup. It’s awkward.

I look around and see a scowling Price on the far side of the room. He’s offering another waitress a walk to her car. And she’s turning him down.

Price is an honest-to-god predator. And I can’t forget that Abbi only asked for protection from him. She didn’t ask for my tongue in her mouth.

Right. Okay . I grab my backpack off the back of the bar stool and gesture for Abbi to precede me out of the Biscuit.

I have got to get a hold of myself. Abbi is a friend who asked for my help. The least I could do is not maul her like Price.

We walk away from the restaurant and head up the hill toward Abbi’s place in silence. I hope I haven’t totally fucked things up between us. But I’m not sure how to ask. And we arrive at the creaky front steps of her Victorian building before I work it out.

“So…” She clears her throat as we climb the steps. I always walk her all the way to the door.

“So.” I sigh. “Back there, that was…”

“Really great,” she says quickly. “Just putting that out there.”

Dude , Mr. Smooth whispers into my ear. You got this .

“It was, wasn’t it?” I smile at her. “And you know what?”

“What?” she squeaks, looking up at me with hope in her eyes.

“The truth is that I’m not a very good actor. Never have been. I'm only convincing when I’m really excited about the role.”

“Is that so?”

I don’t even answer the question. I take Abbi in my arms instead. And I stare down into her gray eyes as I take her mouth in a firm kiss. She melts against me. Finally . This kiss is 100% real. It’s the one we’ve needed since Thanksgiving. Since forever.

Mr. Smooth is nowhere to be found. I don’t feel smooth when Abbi’s around. There’s only the bumbling idiot who needs her so badly. And the Sexy Beast who’ll take over when he gets the chance.

And now is his chance. I wrap an arm around Abbi’s waist and pull her tightly to my body. Her bag goes thunk onto the porch, and her hands grip my jacket.

“Abbi,” I say between kisses. “Come home with me.”

“No,” she says, and I almost weep with disappointment. But then she says, “My place is closer.”

Yaaaaaas!

And then we’re in motion. I reach down and grab her bag, while she whips a hand inside, fishing for her keys, hurrying to open the outer door then unlock the door to her unit. The moment we step inside her apartment, I lean down and sweep her up into my arms again.

She lets out a little gasp of shock as her feet leave the floor.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

“Hell yes. I was just surprised.”

“Good.” I kick the door shut and then brace her against it. “Let’s get a few things straight before I carry you to bed.”

“O-kay,” she stammers, wrapping her legs around me.

She can probably feel my cock pressing against her core now. “Look, I’ve needed to kiss you for a long time. And I don’t want to wait any longer.” Just to prove my point, I skim my lips along her jaw, and then down her neck. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” she says with a shiver and a little groan.

“Good. There’s a few more things I need, if it’s okay.”

“Like what?” she whispers .

"No more acting, honey. I’m handing over my Academy Award. This time I want it to be real.” I glance into the shadows of her little one-room apartment. “Is that headboard sturdy?”

“ Y-yes …”

Abbi rolls her hips against me, and now it’s me who groans. “Aw, yeah. I’m going to need you to moan my name again. But this time, I want to be inside you when you do it.”

She swallows roughly. “That can be arranged.”

“Good.” I sink into another kiss, and her mouth is hot and welcoming.