11. Abbie
11
ABBIE
T he fluorescent lights of the classroom flicker as I shove my untouched textbook into my bag. Notifications again - another text from Corey. My stomach does that weird flip thing it's been doing every time his name pops up on my screen.
"Miss Stiles?" Professor Warren's voice breaks through my daze. "Did you have any questions about tonight's lecture?"
"Oh, um..." I flush, embarassed. I can't remember a single thing he said in the past two hours. "No, I think I got it all."
My phone goes off again. I try not to check it immediately.
"Are you sure? You seemed... distracted tonight."
"Just tired from work," I lie, shouldering my bag. The truth is, I've been too busy exchanging messages with Corey about everything and nothing - his morning coffee preference (black, no sugar), his thoughts on true crime podcasts (overrated), whether pineapple belongs on pizza (absolutely not).
In the hallway, I finally pull out my phone, seeing a text from him.
Had dinner yet? There's this great Thai place downtown…
My fingers graze the keyboard. Why would someone like him want to have dinner with me? He probably takes beautiful, sophisticated women to fancy restaurants all the time. Women who know which fork to use first and don't stumble over wine pronunciations.
The screen of my phone reflects my image - messy curls escaping my half-hearted bun, minimal makeup from this morning's application, wrinkled sweater that's seen better days. Nothing special.
Another text comes through: Their Pad Thai is legendary. Almost as intriguing as your theory about Jung's collective unconscious.
I snort despite myself. That had been a rambling midnight text about my psych studies, and he'd actually engaged in the conversation instead of ghosting me.
Still, my thumb hovers uncertainly over the reply button. What could a successful businessman possibly see in a student bartender who can't even make a decent mixed drink?
Can't tonight. Still seeing you on Saturday?
Absolutely!
It’s hard to concentrate on the drive home; I wish I’d accepted the dinner invitation, but I don’t want to seem too eager. Never encountered a guy like him before, and I want to play this right. I can’t wait to show Tess what we’ve been firing back and forth all day.
The sound of laughter and music hits me before I even open our apartment door. Tessa's got her party playlist blasting - heavy on Taylor Swift with a dash of throwback 2000s hits.
"Look who finally showed up!" Tessa bounces over, red solo cup in hand. "We're playing Never Have I Ever!"
Our living room has transformed into party central. Sarah and Jamie from our old dorm sprawl across our secondhand couch, while Mike and his boyfriend Derek occupy our mismatched armchairs.
"Here." Tessa shoves a drink in my hand. "It's vodka cranberry. Catch up, bestie."
I receive another text. I try to hide my smile but fail miserably.
"Ooh, is that silver fox?" Tessa peers over my shoulder.
"Silver fox?" Jamie perks up. "I need the deets!"
The vodka cranberry goes down easy. Too easy. Two drinks in and I'm showing them Corey's profile picture on social media.
“Holy shit," Sarah whistles. "That's not a silver fox, that's a whole silver wolf."
"Never have I ever," Derek raises his cup with a wicked grin, "wanted to climb an older man like a tree."
I drink. So does Mike, making Derek gasp in mock offense.
"Never have I ever," Tessa announces, "turned down a dinner date because I was too scared."
"That's targeting!" I protest, but drink anyway.
Corey's sent a photo of his dinner - takeout from that Thai place, eaten alone at his desk.
Wish you were here to share it.
The warmth spreading through my body isn't just from the vodka anymore.
"Earth to Abbie!" Mike waves his hand in front of my face. "Your turn."
"Never have I ever..." I pause, the alcohol making me braver. "Never have I ever wanted someone this much this fast."
Everyone drinks. Tessa wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
"Get it, girl," she whispers in my ear. "You deserve something good."
Hours later, the front door clicks shut behind our last guest, and I stare at the chaos of our living room. Red solo cups perch precariously on every surface, and someone's left a half-eaten pizza on our coffee table.
"We should..." I wave vaguely at the mess, my head swimming pleasantly from the vodka cranberries.
Tessa picks up a cup, tilts it sideways, and watches as a drop of something purple drips onto our already-stained carpet. "Oops."
"That's not helping." I bend down to grab an empty chip bag and immediately regret it as the room spins. "Okay, maybe we shouldn't."
"Tomorrow?" Tessa steadies herself against the wall. "Tomorrow sounds better."
"Tomorrow." I nod, then stop because that makes everything wobble. "First person up makes coffee?"
"Deal." She stumbles toward her room, then turns back. "Hey Abs?"
"Mm?"
"I'm glad you're happy again. Even if it's because of some sexy grandpa."
"He's forty-something, not eighty." I feel a vibration in my pocket - speak of the devil. "And I'm not... I mean, we haven't even..."
"Girl, I saw your face every time your phone lit up tonight. You're smitten."
"Go to bed, Tess."
She blows me a kiss and disappears down the hall. I make it to my own room, kicking off my shoes and falling face-first onto my bed. The soft ping of a chime makes my heart race.
Sweet dreams.
What is he doing with me? He’s so sweet…..too sweet. This can’t be real. I wonder if he’s on the other end of these texts, laughing at me. I have to know what this is.
My drunk, slippery fingers hover over the phone screen, vodka cranberry courage coursing through my veins. The question that's been nagging at me since our first text finally spills out:
What exactly is this? Is this some kind of midlife crisis thing? Like, talking to me makes you feel young again? Or am I just your latest pet project?
The moment I hit send, my stomach lurches. Not from the alcohol, but from the instant regret that follows. I drop my phone onto my bedspread like it's suddenly burning hot.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god." I hold my palms against my eyes until I see stars. "What the fuck did I just do?”
My phone starts vibrating. Corey's name lights up the screen.
My heart hammers against my ribs. The room tilts slightly as I sit up, staring at his name like it might bite me.
"No, no, no." I push my pillow against my face. "Please don't call. Please just pretend I didn't?—"
The phone keeps buzzing. Insistent. Unavoidable.
Through the wall, I hear Tessa's muffled voice singing along to what sounds like "All Too Well" - Taylor's version, of course. The irony of the age-gap anthem isn't lost on me.
My thumb hovers over the green answer button. What's worse - answering and facing what I just said, or letting it go to voicemail and dying of embarrassment tomorrow?
The phone continues its persistent dance across my comforter.
"Fuck it." I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
My voice comes out smaller than intended, muffled against my pillow.
"Abbie. What’s going on?”
“I shouldn’t have answered. I’m sorry.” My tongue is betraying me right now.
“Are you drunk, sweetheart?”
A long pause follows. “Maybe a little. I’m sorry, I’m just having a lot of feelings right now…..”
A low chuckle rumbles through the phone, sending shivers coursing through me. "You're extraordinary, you know that?"
"I..." The vodka makes my tongue loose. "You don't have to say that."
"I don't have to do anything. I'm saying it because it's true." There's rustling on his end, like he's settling into bed. "Your mind fascinates me. The way you analyze everything, how you light up talking about psychology. And Christ, when you smile..."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Stop."
"Why would you think you're some kind of project?"
"Because..." I roll onto my back, staring at my ceiling fan spinning lazy circles. I try my best not to slur my words as the confession spills out of me."My ex, he just... he said I wasn't fun anymore. That I got boring because I wanted to study and work instead of party. And I'm not...I'm not like those Instagram girls. I'm thick, and my hair's always a mess, and I can't even make a fucking cocktail yet?—"
"Abbie." His voice cuts through my rambling, firm but gentle. "First, your ex sounds like an absolute tool. Second..." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped lower, sending tingles across my skin. "Your curves drive me crazy. And that wild hair of yours? I've been imagining running my fingers through it since the moment I saw you."
I hold my breath. "Oh."
"As for the cocktails..." There's a smile in his voice now. "I didn't come to the bar for the drinks."
My whole body tingles at his words, the alcohol making everything feel warm and hazy.
"Let me tell you something right now." His voice drops even lower, a growl that makes heat pool in my pelvis. "I've spent every night since we met thinking about those gorgeous lips of yours. About how perfectly you'd fit in my lap. About marking that beautiful neck so everyone knows exactly who you belong to."
I clench my thighs together, suddenly breathless. "Corey..."
"You want to know what I see when I look at you? A woman who makes my blood boil. Who makes me want to pin her against my office wall and show her exactly how 'boring' she isn't."
The room spins, and it's not from the vodka anymore. My skin feels too tight, too hot.
"Tell me to stop," he says, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
"I..." My fingers clutch the bedspread. "I can't."
"Because you want it too, don't you? Want me to show you how a real man treats a woman like you?"
A whimper escapes my throat.
"That sound..." He groans. "Christ, Abbie. The things I want to do to hear more of those pretty noises."
Who am I, and what is happening right now?