Distracted

THE DECISION WAS CRAZY, BUT FREEING. THE NEXT DAY I walked into the cafeteria, and without a second thought, sat in the empty seat across from Abby. Being around her was natural and easy, and other than having to put up with the prodding eyes of the general student population, and even some professors, she seemed to like having me around.

“We studying today or what?”

“We are,” she said, unfazed.

The only negative about hanging out with her as friends was the more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. It was harder to forget the color and shape of her eyes, and the way her lotion smelled on her skin. I also noticed more about her, like how long her legs were, and the colors she wore most often. I even got a pretty good handle on which week I shouldn’t give her any extra shit, which fortunately for Shepley, was the same week not to fuck with America. That way, we had three weeks to not be on guard instead of two, and we could give each other fair warning.

Even at her worst, Abby wasn’t fussy like most girls. The only thing that seemed to affect her was the occasional questions about our relationship, but as long as I took care of it, she got over it pretty fast.

As more time passed, people speculated less. We ate lunch together on most days, and on the nights when we studied, I’d take her out to dinner. Shepley and America invited us to a movie once. It was never awkward, never a question of whether we were more than friends. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, especially since my decision not to pursue her in that way didn’t stop me from fantasizing about making her moan on my couch—until one night I was watching her and America poke and tickle each other at the apartment and I imagined Abby in my bed.

She needed to get outta my head.

The only cure was to stop thinking about her long enough to land my next conquest.

A few days later, a familiar face caught my eye. I’d seen her before with Janet Littleton. Lucy was fairly hot, never missed a chance to show off her cleavage, and very vocal about hating my guts.

Fortunately it took me thirty minutes and a tentative invite to the Red to get her home. I’d barely shut the front door before she was removing my clothes. So much for the deep well of hatred she had harbored toward me since last year. She left with a smile on her face and disappointment in her eyes.

I still had Abby on my mind.

Not even postorgasm fatigue was going to cure it, and I felt something new: guilt.

The next day, I rushed to history class and slid into the desk next to Abby. She already had out her laptop and book, barely acknowledging my presence when I sat down.

The classroom was darker than usual; the clouds outside robbed the room of the natural light that

usually poured in through the windows. I nudged her elbow, but she wasn’t as receptive as usual, so I snatched her pencil out of her hand and began doodling in the margins. Tattoos, mostly, but I scrawled her name in cool letters. She peeked over at me with an appreciative smile.

I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You wanna grab lunch off campus today?”

I can’t, she mouthed.

I scribbled in her book.

Y?

Because I have to make use of my meal plan.

Bullshit.

Seriously.

I wanted to argue but was running out of room on the page. Fine. Another mystery meal. Can’t wait.

She giggled, and I enjoyed that on-top-of-the-world feeling I experienced whenever I made her smile.

A few more doodles and a legit drawing of a dragon later, Chaney dismissed class.

I tossed Abby’s pencil in her backpack as she packed away the rest of her things, and then we walked to the cafeteria.

We didn’t get as many stares as we had in the past. The student populace had grown accustomed to seeing us together on a regular basis. When we went through the line, we made small talk about the new history paper Chaney had assigned. Abby ran her meal card and then made her way to the table. I immediately noticed one thing missing from her tray: the can of OJ she picked up every day.

I scanned the line of husky, no-nonsense servers who stood behind the buffet. Once the stern-looking woman behind the register came into view, I knew I’d found my target.

“Hey, Miss . . . uh . . . Miss . . .”

The cafeteria lady sized me up once before deciding I was going to cause her trouble, as most women did right before I made their thighs tingle.

“Armstrong,” she said in a gruff voice.

I tried to subdue my disgust as the thought of her thighs appeared in the dark corners of my mind. I flashed my most charming smile. “That’s lovely. I was wondering, because you seem like the boss here . . . No OJ today?”

“There’s some in the back. I’ve been too busy to bring any more to the front.”

I nodded. “You’re always running your ass off. They should give you a raise. No one else works as hard as you do. We all notice.”

She lifted her chin, minimizing the folds on her neck. “Thank you. It’s about time someone did. Did you need orange juice?”

“Just a can . . . if you don’t mind, of course.”

She winked. “Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

I brought the can to the table and sat it on Abby’s tray.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was going to grab one.” She peeled off her jacket and laid it across her lap, exposing her shoulders. They were still tan from the summer, and a little shiny, begging me to touch them.

A dozen dirty things flashed in my mind.

“Well, now you don’t have to,” I said. I offered one of my best smiles, but this time it was genuine. It was another one of those Happy Abby moments I sort of wished for these days.

Brazil snorted. “Did she turn you into a cabana boy, Travis? What’s next, fanning her with a palm tree leaf, wearing a Speedo?”

I craned my neck down the table to see Brazil with a smartass grin. He didn’t mean anything by it, but he ruined my moment, and it pissed me off. I probably did look a little bit like a pussy, bringing her a drink.

Abby leaned forward. “You couldn’t fill a Speedo, Brazil. Shut the hell up.”

“Easy, Abby! I was kidding!” Brazil said, holding up his hands.

“Just . . . don’t talk about him like that,” she said, frowning.

I stared for a moment, watching her anger subside a tiny bit as she turned her attention to me. That was definitely a first. “Now I’ve seen it all. I was just defended by a girl.” I offered her a small smile and then stood, glaring at Brazil one last time before leaving to dump my tray. I wasn’t that hungry, anyway.

The heavy metal doors easily gave way when I shoved through them. I pulled my cigarettes from my pocket and lit one up, trying to forget what had just happened.

I’d just made an ass of myself over a girl, and it was particularly satisfying to my frat brothers because I had been the one giving them a hard time for two years for even mentioning they might want to do more than just bag a girl. It was my turn now, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it—because I couldn’t. Even worse? I didn’t want to.

When the other smokers around me laughed, I did the same, even though I had no clue what they were talking about. Inside I was pissed off and humiliated, or pissed off that I was humiliated. Whichever. The girls pawed at me and took turns trying to make conversation. I nodded and smiled to be nice, but I really just wanted to get out of there and punch something. A public tantrum would show weakness, and I wasn’t havin’ that shit.

Abby passed, and I cut off one of the girls in midsentence to catch up with her. “Wait up, Pidge. I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to walk me to every class, Travis. I know how to get there on my own.”

I admit it: That stung a little. She didn’t even look at me when she said it, completely dismissive.

Just then a girl with a short skirt and mile-high legs passed by. Her shiny dark hair swayed against her back as she walked. That’s when it hit me: I had to give up. Bagging a random hot chick was what I did best, and Abby wanted nothing more than to be friends with me. I planned to do the right thing and keep things platonic, but if I didn’t do something drastic, that plan would get lost in the mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling inside of me.

It was time to finally draw a line. I didn’t deserve Abby, anyway. What was the point?

I threw my cigarette to the ground. “I’ll catch up with you later, Pidge.”

I put on my game face, but it wouldn’t take much. She had crossed my path on purpose, hoping her short skirt and hooker heels would get my attention. I got ahead of her and turned around, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“You in a hurry?”

She smiled. I already had her. “I’m going to class.”

“Oh yeah? What class?”

She stopped, one side of her mouth pulling to the side. “Travis Maddox, right?”

“Right. My reputation precedes me?”

“It does.”

“Guilty.”

She shook her head. “I have to get to class.”

I sighed, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was just going to ask you for some help.”

“With what?” Her tone was dubious, but she was still smiling. I could have just asked her to follow me home for a quick fuck and she probably would have gone for it, but a certain amount of charm went a long way for later.

“Getting to my apartment. I have a terrible sense of direction.”

“Is that so?” she asked, nodding, frowning, and then smiling. She was trying hard not to be flattered.

Her top two buttons were loose, leaving the bottom curve of her breasts and a few inches of her bra visible. I felt that familiar swelling in my jeans, and I switched my weight to the other foot.

“Terrible.” I smiled, watching her gaze drift to the dimple in my cheek. I don’t know why, but the dimple always seemed to seal the deal.

She shrugged, trying to remain cool. “Lead the way. If I see you veering off course, I’ll honk.”

“I’m this way,” I said, nodding in the direction of the parking lot.

She had her tongue down my throat before we got all the way up the apartment stairs and was pulling off my jacket before I could single out the right key. We were clumsy, but it was fun. I had plenty of practice opening the lock on the apartment door with my lips on someone else’s. She shoved me into the living room the second the bolt unlatched, and I grabbed her hips and pushed her against the door to close it. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I lifted her up, pressing my pelvis against hers.

She kissed me like she’d been starving and she knew there was food in my mouth. I don’t know, I kinda dug it. She bit my bottom lip, and I took a step back, losing my footing and crashing into the end table beside the recliner. Various items knocked to the floor.

“Oops,” she said, giggling.

I smiled and watched as she walked over to the couch and leaned forward over the back so her ass cheeks became visible along with the slightest trace of a thin strip of white lace.

I unbuckled my belt and took a step. She was going to make this easy. She arched her neck and whipped her long dark hair against her back. She was hot as hell, I’d give her that. My zipper could barely contain what was underneath.

She turned to look at me and I leaned over, planting my lips on hers.

“Maybe I should tell you my name?” she breathed.

“Why?” I panted. “I kinda like this.”

She smiled, hooked her thumbs onto each side of her panties and then pulled them down until they fell down to her ankles. Her eyes connected with mine, refreshingly wicked.

Abby’s disapproving eyes flashed in my mind.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, excited and impatient.

“Absolutely nothing,” I said, shaking my head. I tried to concentrate on her bare backside against my thighs. Having to concentrate to stay hard was definitely something new and different, and it was all Abby’s fault.

She turned around and yanked my shirt over my head, and then finished unzipping my jeans. Damn. I was either working at a turtle’s pace, or this woman was the female version of me. I kicked off my boots and then stepped out of the denim, kicking it all to the side.

One of her legs pulled up, and her knee hooked around my hip. “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she whispered against my ear. “Since I saw you at freshman orientation last year.”

I ran my hand up her thigh, trying to think if I’d talked to her before. By the time my fingers reached the end of the line, they were drenched. She wasn’t kidding. A year’s worth of mental foreplay made my job a lot easier.

She moaned the second my fingertips touched her tender skin. She was so wet my fingers didn’t get much traction, and my balls were starting to hurt. I had only bagged two women in as many weeks. This chick, and Janet’s friend Lucy. Oh wait. Megan made three. The morning after I met Abby. Abby. Guilt swept over me, and it had a rather negative effect on my hard on.

“Don’t move,” I said, running in only boxers to my bedroom. I fished out a square package from my nightstand, and then jogged back to where the brunette stunner was standing, exactly the way I’d left her.

She snatched the package out of my hand, and then got on her knees. After some creativity and rather surprising tricks with her tongue, I had the green light to put her on the couch.

So I did. Facedown with a reach around, and she loved every minute of it.