Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRAYSON
T he parking lot of Harry’s Bar is packed, which is weird for a Tuesday night. Then again, I’ve never been here. I’d moved away by the time I was old enough to drink, and it’s not like Owen’s the type to hang out at bars and socialize. It’s a wonder Harper got him to come here at all.
That girl has him wrapped around her finger so tight, I’m surprised he can walk. He seems to like it, though.
I’d debated forever about coming here tonight. I’d texted Abby earlier, wanting to clear the air, but she’d said she was busy. Was that true or a way for her to subtly let me know she didn’t want to rehash what happened last night? Or rather, almost happened. She’d been about to strip for me, like my own private show.
And then barely talked to me after the thing at her parents’ house. She’d said she was rattled, but again, was that because she was embarrassed?
Christ, I sound like a girl going on and on about this in my head. If I want to know what’s up with her, I just have to ask her.
It’s noisy and packed when I enter, the speakers playing some kind of 70s soft rock, maybe America. I look around, but the crowd is too dense to easily spot my group.
“Ah, the prodigal son returns.”
I glance over at Ruth Cooper, her gray hair in a bun so tight, her scalp shows through the strands. Of course she’d be here the night I want to talk to Abby. Nothing escapes her notice.
I nod at her politely. “I think that’d imply I’m making a repentant return.”
She takes a sip of her beer. “You were always a smart-aleck.”
“Takes one to know one, Ruth.”
She shakes her head and laughs, seemingly against her will. “Your new sister-in-law is making a right fool of herself over there.”
She tips the neck of her beer bottle toward the far end of the bar. Harper’s dancing with one of her friends, making a semi-spectacle of herself as she holds up a shot glass, then drains it. Nearby, Owen’s on a barstool, scowling at Greg, who’s looking at the two women with interest.
Oh God, he’s not doing the cliche possessive husband thing, is he?
“Grayson!”
Someone jumps at me and I instinctively catch them. It’s Abby, a sloppy grin on her face as she looks up at me.
“You’re finally here,” she says. “I thought you bailed on us like Kristen.”
I peek at Ruth, who’s staring at us with unabashed interest. We’ve never needed a local paper because Ruth spreads news faster than any newspaper ever could. This’ll be all over town tomorrow.
“Excuse us,” I say, putting Abby back on the ground and leading her over to Harper and her friends.
Abby grabs my hand and intertwines our fingers. “Because we’re dating,” she says in a loud whisper, then holds her finger to her lips, making a shh sound.
Except she uses the finger attached to mine, so my hand knocks into her mouth.
What the hell is up with her? And I swear if Ruth heard that…
“Abby, what—” My question dies when I finally notice her outfit. It’s an obscenely short dress, something I can’t imagine Abby would actually own. “What are you wearing?” I blurt out, my mouth not catching up with my brain.
“You like it?” She lets go of my hand and twirls, the dress riding up to show off the bottoms of her underwear. “Kelly and I switched clothes. Isn’t that funny?”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, grabbing her shoulders to stop her from twirling.
I look over at Kelly, who’s half a foot shorter than Abby, wearing jeans rolled at the cuffs and a shirt that hangs loose on her.
“Are you drunk?” I ask her.
“I had some shots,” she says solemnly, as if she’s confessing. “At first, I had three. But then you didn’t show up, so I had more. I figured, fuck it, right?”
I blink stupidly. I’ve never heard Abby curse. I didn’t know librarians were allowed to.
Then again, they also don’t strip in their kitchen and seductively ask if they should take off their bra or panties next.
Okay, not thinking about that right now.
“At first, the taste was awful,” she continues. “But I can’t even taste them now. See?” She goes over to the bar, picks up a random shot, and swallows it.
Who the hell’s shot was that?
I follow her and ask Owen, “What the fuck’s going on? Why’d you let Abby get plastered?”
“What?” Most of his attention is on Harper, taking off her heels in the middle of the bar.
“Abby’s drunk. And wearing Kelly’s clothes?” I have no idea what that’s about.
“Yeah, I can’t keep track of all of them,” Owen says, collecting the shoes from a barefoot Harper. “I figured Kristen could handle Abby and I’d get Harper and her friends. No, don’t drink that.” He takes a half-full glass out of Harper’s hands that’s evidently not hers.
Okay, he clearly has too much on his plate. “Abby said something about Kristen bailing?”
“She had to go home,” Harper yells, needlessly loud, even with the music and general din of noise in here. “Jamie’s sick.”
Owen frowns. “She didn’t tell me she was leaving.”
“She texted our group chat.” She wags a finger playfully at him. “No boys allowed.” Her finger gets closer and closer to him until she boops him on the nose, then kisses him. “God, you’re sexy. I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”
Owen’s normally stoic face softens. “We’re already married.”
“Mmm. Even better.”
I turn away before they start making out. Wait, where’d Abby go?
Scanning the crowd, I finally spot her over by the jukebox, dancing with Greg. Something sharp stabs my chest and I glance down, half-surprised when there’s nothing there. That was an internal stab.
I shake off the sensation and stalk over to them, pushing through the other couples on the dance floor. When Abby spots me, she waves excitedly and leaves Greg’s side.
He glares at me as he sees who Abby left him for, but I don’t care about that right now.
“Abby—”
“You wanna dance?” she asks, putting her hands on my shoulders.
“Um, sure. Listen—”
“Oh, I love this song. You can go your own way ,” she sings along. Holy crap, her voice is terrible.
I grin, the urgency of finding out how she got like this fading. I’ve never seen her this way.
She sings the last verse, lost in her own world, and her hands squeeze my shoulders. “You have the best shoulders. Very broad.”
“Uh, thanks.” It’s all I can do not to laugh. There’s no way she’d be doing all this sober.
“Do you work out?”
“I do.” Although this week my usual gym schedule is completely thrown out the window.
She nods. “I try to work out, but I always forget. Like I’ll do it for a couple of weeks, then life gets in the way and suddenly it’s a month later and I have to start all over again. Does that ever happen to you?”
It’s dizzying keeping up with her rambling and changes in topic. “Can’t say that it does.”
“That’s good. You’re very committed. That’s admirable. I’ve always admired you.”
She has? “Thanks.”
“And I could tell you work out, even before I asked you. When you took your shirt off for me yesterday, it was obvious.”
Took your shirt off for me . The way she phrases it makes it sound like I was taking it off specifically for her, not the poker game. Which, I guess I was. It was only us two playing, after all.
She leans in closer, whispering, “You know, when your shirt was off, I saw your happy trail.”
I don’t know if it’s her words or her breath in my ear, but my stomach pleasantly curls with anticipation. “Yeah?”
“I liked seeing it,” she confesses. “It made me all tingly.”
And my stomach bottoms out all the way. Holy shit. I should tell her to stop talking right now. To not reveal anything else when her lips are this loose.
But I don’t. I desperately want to know what else she’ll say.
“Tingly in a good way?” I ask.
“Mmm.” She gives a dreamy sigh. “Very good. Can I tell you a secret?”
Hell yeah, she can.
There’s a tap on my shoulder and I glance over at Greg. “Can I cut in?”
I give him a death glare. Fuck off , I mouth at him.
He flips me the middle finger before disappearing back into the crowd.
Fucking prick. I never liked him in school. And now he’s trying to edge in on my—
I cut off that train of thought. Abby’s not anything to me. Not yet, at least.
No, not not yet . Not anytime. Didn’t I decide yesterday it was a good thing we got interrupted last night? Things were getting too heated. Starting something up with Abby wouldn’t be right. It’s one thing to do this fake dating for Mom’s benefit. It’d be another thing to do it for real.
Wait, wasn’t she telling me about a secret?
She turns her head. “Was that Greg?”
“Yeah. About that sec—”
“You know, he asked me to prom senior year. And I almost said yes, but then I found out he only asked me because, like, ten other girls said no first. And I didn’t want to be the eleventh pick.”
Oh, I guess we’re on the next topic now. “No one wants that,” I agree.
“I wish…” She trails off, still swaying to whatever song’s playing now. Another Fleetwood Mac maybe.
“What do you wish?”
“I wish you would have come home from college and taken me to prom.”
My forehead wrinkles. What? “We barely talked back then.”
She sighs. “I know. You never noticed me.”
Something like shame swirls in my gut, even though logically I have nothing to feel guilty for. “It’s not that I didn’t notice you.” Actually, that’s true. But I don’t want her to feel bad about it. “You were my sister’s best friend. Off limits.”
She stops swaying and looks up at me. Her voice goes husky as she asks, “Am I still off limits?”
My mouth dries. If I wasn’t sure about her flirting before, I’m definitely sure now.
But she’s drunk. I can’t actually answer her. She might not even remember this in the morning.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Owen approaching us, Harper stumbling next to him. “I’m taking all the girls home. They’re getting out of control.”
“You’re out of control,” Harper mumbles half-heartedly.
“Yeah, good idea. I’ll take Abby home.”
Abby’s grip on my shoulders tightens and she leans in to whisper, “You’re going to come home with me?”
A shiver races down my spine, and I pray Owen didn’t hear her.
“Come on.” I lead her off the dance floor, and it almost feels like Owen and I are doing the walk of shame as we pass Ruth, her judgmental gaze heavy on our pack of drunk girls.
“I can’t believe Harry wouldn’t serve us anymore,” Elena grumbles once we’re in the parking lot. “What kind of bar is this?”
“A responsible one,” I mutter.
It’s like a slapstick show watching Harper, Elena, and Kelly stuff themselves into Owen’s truck, but they manage.
“You’ll be okay?” I ask him. I don’t envy the man.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Harper warned me they wanted to let loose tonight.”
I apparently missed a lot getting to the bar as late as I did. As I open the passenger door of my car for Abby, I realize I didn’t even get a drink there. Probably for the best, anyway. Someone needs a clear head.
Abby keeps up a stream of chatter on the way back to her place, thankfully away from the topic of our limits, and when we get there I open her door, letting her lean on my arm for balance as we head inside.
I flick on the light in the front hallway and Leo peers up at me lazily from his spot on the floor. At least he’s not running this time.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken care of a drunk girl, and even that just mostly involved dropping them back at their dorm in college. “I can make coffee. Might sober you up some.”
She shakes her head, hair swinging wildly around her face. “Let’s go to bed.”
I chuckle nervously, even as an unexpected thread of desire tugs at me. “I’ll help you get to bed. Then I have to go home.”
“Right,” she says, tugging me down the hall.
We pass the living room and kitchen and head further into the house where I haven’t been yet. The last room down the hallway is her bedroom, and she switches on the light, revealing a cozy room done up in shades of cream and blue. A queen bed with an oversized tufted headboard and fluffy duvet sits in the middle of the room, and there are more bookshelves in here, the books color coordinated on each shelf. How many books does she own?
She slips off her shoes and tosses them in the corner, then tugs at her dress. “How do I…”
“Hey, whoa, whoa. Why don’t you undress in the bathroom?” It looks like there’s an en suite bathroom attached. “I’ll get you some pajamas.” I turn toward her dresser, then realize I don’t know where anything is. “Which drawer are they in?”
She’s still tugging at her dress, to no avail. “Second from the top.”
I find her a matching set of top and bottoms, then hand them to her. “Go change.”
She leaves and I look around the room. Okay, what will she need? A trashcan by her bedside, in case she gets sick. Oh, and some water and ibuprofen for when she inevitably wakes up with a headache.
I retrieve a glass of water for her from the kitchen, and when I return, she has the bathroom door open.
“Grayson?” she calls.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t get this dress off.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There’s a zipper in the back.”
“Can you help me with it? I can’t reach it.”
I want to ask her how she got it on in the first place, but who knows what those girls were up to before I got to the bar.
She walks over, able to keep her balance now across the room, and presents her back to me, pulling the curtain of her hair over one shoulder to give me better access.
There’s something suggestive about it, but I push that out of my mind as I unzip her dress, down, down, revealing a black bra that contrasts with her pale skin. The mood of the room shifts, my gaze traveling over each part I reveal. It’s a long fucking zipper, stopping at her lower back, nestled right above her ass.
The dress slides down her shoulders, loose now, and I should look away, give her some privacy. But as she turns around, catching my eye, it’s obvious she doesn’t want me to look away. She pulls it down further, the fabric sliding over her cleavage, revealing more and more of it. This bra is sexier than the one she wore last night, the cups lower cut, barely skimming the edge of her nipples.
“Abby,” I breathe, unable to look away for the life of me.
She pulls the dress down all the way, molding her hands over her breasts, teasing me, pushing them together. “You like that?”
I tear my gaze away, looking at her face, at the desire there.
Holy fuck.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” I ask without thinking.
Her gaze drops to my lips. “Is it working?”
“You’re drunk,” I reply, needing to say it. She clearly had way too much alcohol tonight. She’s not thinking right. She’d never do this sober.
Didn’t she take her clothes off for you last night, too?
As part of the game. But this isn’t a game anymore. I couldn’t take advantage of her like this.
She moves forward, hands settling on my shoulders, mouth pressing to mine.
Her lips are soft and eager as they move over mine, her breasts pushed against my chest. A bolt of lust rushes through me, and I want more than anything in this moment to slant my mouth over hers and kiss her back, to discover how much she wants this, how far she’s willing to go.
But I can’t.
I step back, telling her gently but firmly, “You’ve had too much to drink. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Her face takes on a mulish expression. “I know what I want.”
“You’re drunk,” I repeat. And besides that, everything is moving way too fast for me to keep up with. I wasn’t even attracted to Abby before yesterday. And now she’s not only kissing me, but I’m dying to kiss her back?
The stubbornness evaporates as she continues to look at me, her lips quivering the slightest bit. “So you’re rejecting me?”
My stomach drops. “Abby, no.”
Before I can reach for her, she’s across the room, staring at me with accusatory eyes. “Just go.”
“Don’t you need help—”
“Go,” she says in a low voice, then turns and slams the bathroom door shut behind her, leaving me alone in her bedroom.
Fuck.
I stride over and knock on the door. “Abby—”
“Go,” she yells, and my hand drops.
I rub the back of my neck, an anguished ache beating in my chest. That was not how I wanted this to go. I’m not rejecting her, I’m being responsible. If I took her up on everything she was promising tonight, she’d be horrified tomorrow. She’d feel violated.
She’s not in her right mind. Can’t make sensible decisions.
So why do I feel like absolute shit?