Walking Disaster
Page 6

“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.
CHAPTER FIVE
Roommates
THE SEXAHOLIC WAS IN THE BATHROOM, GETTING dressed and primping. She didn’t say much after we finished, and I was thinking I was going to have to get her number and put her on the very short list of girls—like Megan—that didn’t require a relationship to have sex, and were also worth a repeat.
Shepley’s phone chirped. It was a kiss noise, so it must have been America. She changed her text tone on his phone, and Shepley was more than happy to comply. They were good together, but they also made me wanna puke.
I was sitting on the couch clicking through channels, waiting for the girl to come out so I could send her home, when I noticed that Shepley was buzzing around the apartment.
My eyebrows pushed together. “What are you doing?”
“You might want to pick up your shit. Mare’s coming over with Abby.”
That got my attention. “Abby?”
“Yeah. The boiler went out again at Morgan.”
“So?”
“So they’re going to be staying here for a few days.”
I sat up. “They? As in Abby’s going to stay here? In our apartment?”
“Yes, buttmunch. Get your mind out of Jenna Jameson’s ass and listen to what I’m saying. They will be here in ten minutes. With luggage.”
“No fuckin’ way.”
Shepley stopped in his tracks and looked at me from under his brow. “Get your ass up and help me, and take your trash out,” he said, pointing to the bathroom.
“Oh, fuck,” I said, hopping to my feet.
Shepley nodded his head, his eyes wide. “Yeah.”
It finally hit. If it pissed America off that I had a straggler still here when she arrived with Abby, it would put Shepley in a bad spot. If Abby didn’t want to stay here because of it, it would become his problem—and mine.
My eyes focused on the bathroom door. The faucet had been running since she’d gone in there. I didn’t know if she was taking a shit or a shower. No way was I going to get her out of the apartment before the girls came. It would look worse if I was caught trying to sweep her out, so I decided to change the sheets on my bed and pick up a little bit, instead.
“Where is Abby going to sleep?” I asked, looking at the couch. I wasn’t going to let her sprawl out on fourteen months of body fluids.
“I don’t know. The recliner?”
“She’s not sleeping on the fucking recliner, assclown.” I scratched my head. “I guess she’ll sleep in my bed.”
Shepley howled, his laughter spanning at least two blocks. He bent over and grabbed his knees, his face turning red.
“What?”
He stood up and pointed, shaking his finger and his head at me. He was too amused to talk, so he just walked away, trying to continue cleaning while his body shuddered.
Eleven minutes later, Shepley was jogging across the front room to the door. He made his way down the stairs, and then nothing. The faucet in the bathroom finally shut off, and it became very quiet.
After a few minutes more, I heard the door bang open, and Shepley complaining between grunts.
“Christ, baby! Your suitcase is twenty pounds more than Abby’s!”
I walked into the hall, seeing my latest conquest emerge from the bathroom. She froze in the hallway, took one look at Abby and America, and then finished buttoning her blouse. She definitely wasn’t freshening up in there. She still had makeup smeared all over her face.
For a minute, I was completely distracted from the awkwardness by the letters W, T, and F. I guess she wasn’t as uncomplicated as previously thought, making America and Abby’s unannounced visit even more welcome. Even if I was still in my boxers.
“Hi,” she said to the girls. She looked down at their luggage, her surprise turning to total confusion.
America glared at Shepley.
He held up his hands. “She’s with Travis!”
That was my cue. I turned the corner and yawned, patting my guest’s ass. “My company’s here. You’d better go.”
She seemed to relax a bit and smiled. She wrapped her arms around me, and then kissed my neck. Her lips felt soft and warm not an hour ago. In front of Abby, they were like two sticky buns lined with barbed wire.
“I’ll leave my number on the counter.”
“Eh . . . don’t worry about it,” I said, purposefully nonchalant.
“What?” she asked, leaning back. The rejection in her eyes shone bright, searching mine for something other than what I truly meant. Glad this was coming out now. I might have called her again and made things very messy. Mistaking her for a possible frequent flyer was a bit startling. I was usually a better judge than that.
“Every time!” America said. She looked at the woman. “How are you surprised by this? He’s Travis Fucking Maddox! He is famous for this very thing, and every time they’re surprised!” she said, turning to Shepley. He put his arm around her, gesturing for her to calm down.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, on fire with anger and embarrassment, and then she stormed out, grabbing her purse on the way.
The door slammed, and Shepley’s shoulders tensed. Those moments bothered him. I, on the other hand, had a shrew to tame, so I strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge as if nothing had happened. The hell in her eyes foretold a wrath like I had never experienced (not because I hadn’t come across a woman who wanted to hand my ass to me on a silver platter, but because I’d never cared to stick around to hear it).
America shook her head and walked down the hall. Shepley followed her, angling his body to compensate for the weight of her suitcase as he trailed behind her.
Just when I thought Abby would strike, she collapsed into the recliner. Huh. Well . . . she’s pissed. Might as well get it over with.
I crossed my arms, keeping a minimum safe distance from her by staying in the kitchen. “What’s wrong, Pidge? Hard day?”
“No, I’m thoroughly disgusted.”
It was a start.
“With me?” I asked with a smile.
“Yes, you. How can you just use someone like that and treat them that way?”
And so it began. “How did I treat her? She offered her number, I declined.”
Her mouth fell open. I tried not to laugh. I don’t know why it amused me so much to see her flustered and appalled at my behavior, but it did. “You’ll have sex with her, but you won’t take her number?”
“Why would I want her number if I’m not going to call her?”
“Why would you sleep with her if you’re not going to call her?”
“I don’t promise anyone anything, Pidge. She didn’t stipulate a relationship before she spread-eagled on my couch.”
She stared at the couch with revulsion. “She’s someone’s daughter, Travis. What if, down the line, someone treats your daughter like that?”
The thought had crossed my mind, and I was prepared. “My daughter better not drop her panties for some jackass she just met, let’s put it that way.”
That was the truth. Did women deserve to be treated like sluts? No. Did sluts deserve to be treated like sluts? Yes. I was a slut. The first time I bagged Megan and she left without so much as a cuddle, I didn’t cry about it and eat a gallon of ice cream. I didn’t complain to my frat brothers that I put out on the first date and Megan treated me according to the way I behaved. It is what it is, no sense in pretending to protect your dignity if you set out to destroy it. Girls are notorious for judging each other, anyway, only taking a break long enough to judge a guy for doing it. I’d hear them label a classmate a whore before the thought ever crossed my mind. However, if I took that whore home, bagged her, and released her strings-free, I was suddenly the bad guy. Nonsense.
Abby crossed her arms, noticeably unable to argue, and that made her even angrier. “So, besides admitting that you’re a jackass, you’re saying that because she slept with you, she deserved to be tossed out like a stray cat?”
“I’m saying that I was honest with her. She’s an adult, it was consensual . . . she was a little too eager about it, if you want to know the truth. You act like I committed a crime.”
“She didn’t seem as clear about your intentions, Travis.”
“Women usually justify their actions with whatever they make up in their heads. She didn’t tell me up front that she expected a relationship any more than I told her I expected sex with no strings. How is it any different?”
“You’re a pig.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.” Regardless of my indifference, to hear her say that felt about as good as her shoving a two-by-four under my thumb nail. Even if it was true.
She stared at the couch, and then recoiled. “I guess I’m sleeping on the recliner.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sleeping on that thing! God knows what I’d be lying in!”
I lifted her duffel bag off the floor. “You’re not sleeping on the couch or the recliner. You’re sleeping in my bed.”
“Which is more unsanitary than the couch, I’m sure.”