A guy stood at the sink. A tall guy with his back to her. A white T-shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders and faded jeans clung to his ass. And what a nice ass it was. She allowed herself a moment to admire it, a smirk flitting across her mouth before she approached him.
“Excuse me.” She tried to pitch her voice loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party without shouting. No response.
She tapped on his shoulder, stretched up on her tiptoes, and practically yelled in his ear. “Excuse me!”
As he turned, someone knocked into Abby from behind. She lurched forward against the guy’s chest, crushing her cup against his abs and splashing the remains of her drink all over them both.
He let out a surprised shout, grabbing her upper arms to steady her when she fell into him, but pushed her away when the cold liquid soaked his shirt.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Abby covered her mouth with her hand, feeling like a complete moron. He stood there with his arms out looking down at the mess on his shirt. Then he noticed the matching stain on her shirt, and his lips twitched like he might be suppressing a smile.
He cleared his throat. “It’s okay.” There was laughter in his voice.
Abby crinkled her brows in confusion. Why is he laughing at me? I just spilled my drink all over him.
Then she realized that his eyes were glued to her chest.
Abby looked down and gasped. Her light pink tank was more or less see-through now that it was wet. She could clearly see the pattern of the lace on her bra, as well as her pointed nipples. Great. Just what I always wanted—to participate in a wet T-shirt contest at a frat party. With a frustrated sigh, she reactively crossed her arms over her chest. Having random dudes talk to her boobs wasn’t a new thing, but it always made her uncomfortable, like her entire worth to some guys was as a walking pair of tits. But covering herself had the opposite effect of making the guy snort, starting to lose the battle to suppress his laughter.
“Can you move, please?” She put an edge on her demand, giving free rein to her irritation. The smug bastard was still snorting with barely suppressed mirth and staring at her boobs, not even trying to hide it. The fact that he was disgustingly attractive somehow made it worse—dark hair, square jaw, a dimple in his left cheek that gave him a hint of boyishness belied by his height and obvious muscles.
He stepped to the side and leaned one hip against the counter, allowing Abby access to the sink and himself a front row seat. His snorting turned into chuckling and quickly progressed to full-blown laughter. Abby shot him a glare while she turned on the sink and looked for a towel or paper towel or something to use to wipe off the soda.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to do much to help your shirt.” A slight drawl stretched and flattened the vowels of his voice low, rumbly voice. When he leaned forward to talk to her, his breath fluttered the tiny hairs on the back of her neck that had escaped from her ponytail.
“Yes, I realize that.” She spit the words through clenched teeth while suppressing a shiver at his nearness. “But I’d like to at least get the stickiness off my skin before figuring out how to get home.” When she turned to look at him, his face was only inches away from her own. His dark brown eyes had flecks of gold in them this close, and his dark brows arched high at her words. If either of them moved an inch or two closer to the other, their lips would meet.
Before she could react to his closeness, he leaned back and snagged a roll of paper towels off the counter. The move caused his shirt to lift, revealing an appealing strip of tanned skin. Her eyes snapped back up to his face as he handed her the paper towels. Amusement still glinted in his dark eyes.
Annoyed and off-kilter, Abby ripped off two or three paper towels, got them wet, and started mopping up the worst of the mess on her arms and legs. She had to use more paper towels when she got to her sandals. After trying and failing to wipe her sandals out, she gave up and just stuck them under the running water, leaving them soaked but clean.
And now she was ready to go home. Though walking home with wet sandals sounded like a recipe for blisters. Was it worth it to try to find Megan?
Charlie Chuckles’s laugh track next to her while she attempted to de-soda-ify herself didn’t help with the decision-making process. He might have a nice ass, and okay, nice arms, and, if she were honest, a nice everything else, but he didn’t have very nice manners. She was getting sick of that smile and that laugh that she’d otherwise enjoy if they weren’t being used to embarrass her.
“Enjoying the show?” Abby reached for more paper towels.
“Very much.” He didn’t even bother to hide his smile, but it somehow seemed more disarming now and less mocking. Abby huffed in annoyance and turned back to her sandals, the corners of her mouth twitching in response. She wanted to hold onto her irritation, but found it difficult when he kept grinning at her like that.
“I’m Lance.” Chuckles stuck out his hand when she was done with her sandals. Glancing at his face and then his hand, she placed her hand in his and gave it a quick, firm shake.
“Hi.” Abby dropped his hand right away, ignoring his firm grip and the slight callouses on his palm. She turned away from him, trying to plot the best route to get to the front door through the drunken bodies clustered around the room.
“Usually when someone introduces himself, it’s polite to give your name in return.”
She didn’t spare him more than a glance, still scanning for an opening to make her escape. “When someone’s covered in soda, it’s polite not to stare at their see-through shirt and laugh at them while they clean their shoes.”
He laughed softly, the sound just reaching her ears over the noise. “Touché.”
Spotting a hole, Abby started to go, but stopped when he put his hand on her shoulder. “Do you need a ride?” All trace of laughter vanished from his voice with the question.
She turned back to face him, surprised to find him unsmiling now. “What?” He stood close beside her, his head bent toward hers to talk into her ear.
“You said you’d need to find your way home. How’d you get here?” His hand lingered on her shoulder, heavy and warm, holding her in place.
“I came with a friend. She drove, but judging by the last time I saw her, I don’t think she’ll be driving home anytime soon.” She’d found Isaac and they’d been getting ready to do body shots, giggling and heading for a room so they could strip and get drunk in private. “I have no idea where she is now, but I’m ready to leave.” She gestured to her shirt.
“Let me give you a ride.” Those gold-flecked brown eyes swept over her face, sincerity shining in their depths.
“I don’t even know you.” She shrugged off his hand, disconcerted by his continued touch and proximity. She didn’t like when people insisted on touching her for no reason, especially random strangers. Turning toward the crowd again, she was disappointed—but not surprised—to find that the gap she’d intended to use had vanished, a new cluster of drunk people filling the empty space. Nature hates a void, after all.
And fate must hate her, because Hot Laughing Guy was still talking to her.
“Sure you do,” he said, his voice taking on a cajoling quality. “I’m Lance. On the other hand, I don’t know you, so maybe you’re right.” He stood close behind her, and she only had to turn her head to see him grinning again.
“Right, you’re very funny.” She sighed. “Fine. I’m Abby.”
Lance threw an arm around her shoulders and started steering her toward the door. He just laughed again when she once again shrugged out of his hold. His shoulders shook as he walked in front of her, his broad frame clearing a path for them both.
Once outside, Lance turned to her. “Do you need to find your friend and let her know you’re leaving?”
“No, I’ll just text her. There’s a good chance I don’t want to find her right now anyway.” Lance waited while Abby pulled out her phone, texted Megan that she was leaving, and slipped her
phone back in her pocket. “Thanks,” she said, grateful that he gave her a little more space than he had inside.
It was after ten now, and the late twilight of June had finally given way to night. The concrete and asphalt radiated the heat from the day, but the darkness and cool breeze were a relief after being in a house full of the fug of bodies and alcohol.
She followed Lance to his car about a block away. The slight breeze plastered her still-wet shirt against her body. She plucked it away, grimacing at the way it stuck to her skin, painfully aware of her erect nipples.
She didn’t know what to make of Lance. He made her feel by turns embarrassed and flattered by his attention. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention and didn’t crave the spotlight. And while he wasn’t the first guy to ever flirt with her, he was the first to be so brazen in his appraisal of her body and not a complete douchebag. At least she didn’t think he was. He seemed genuine about offering her a ride home, and his hilarity at her expense quickly turned to concern when he found out she didn’t have one.
That was the problem, though. While his looks were very attractive, she was self aware enough to know that she didn’t belong with someone like him. But for some reason, his arm had felt right around her shoulders. She’d enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the feel of his hand where it rested on her arm, the hardness of the muscles hidden by his shirt. The guy obviously worked out.
And liking the feel of him disconcerted her so much that she had to put space between them.
Lance walked a few steps ahead of her, leading the way to his car. He didn’t say anything, but glanced her way now and then to make sure she still followed him.
Stopping halfway down the block, he used a key to unlock the passenger side door of his car. Like actually stuck it in the lock on the door and turned to unlock it. His car wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d pegged him as driving a flashy sports car—something red, maybe, and fast. Definitely with automatic locks. But the door he held open for her belonged to a beat-up old muscle car. It was some indeterminate yellowy gray rust combination that she couldn’t quite make out in the light from the nearby street lamp. She looked at him for a minute before sliding into the car.
Abby waited until Lance got in the driver’s side. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“Open my door for me.”
Lance flashed that grin at her again. He probably thought he was charming. He wasn’t wrong. “My mom taught me to always open the door for a lady. She’d whoop me if she found out I did anything else.”
“So you have to open the door for me, but staring at my bra through my wet shirt is fine? How does that work?”
“She’d probably whoop me for that, too.” The grin never left his face. He didn’t even pretend to be sorry.
Abby shook her head, trying not to grin back. “Should I save her the trouble and do the honors myself?”
Lance laughed. “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you decided to try.” He turned and winked at her. Abby snorted, crossing her arms. And immediately uncrossed them because that just trapped the sticky, wet fabric against her chest.
Lance started the car and pulled away from the curb. He’d rolled down his window while they talked, and now the wind blew in, playing with the wisps of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.
“Where are we going?” She realized he’d never asked her address.
“We just need to make a quick pit stop.” Abby examined his profile as he drove, wondering where he could be taking her, but decided not to push it. The guy was giving her a ride home, and while he acted flirtatious and cocky, she didn’t get a bad feeling about him. For some reason he made her feel comfortable and safe. It was strange, since she didn’t normally trust people she didn’t know, but she decided to just go with it for now. It wasn’t like she’d see him again after he dropped her off at home. She rolled down her window and rested her arm on the ledge, letting her hand ride the stream of air flowing past.
After a few minutes Lance pulled into the driveway of a one-story brick house. It appeared well kept up, if a little shabby around the edges, with a crack in the driveway and weeds in the yard. They were in an older neighborhood with big trees, mostly pines, but a few maples here and there.
Lance cut the engine and looked at Abby. “Do you want to come in? My roommates should be gone, so you won’t have to deal with any other random guys.”
“Uh, no. I’ll just wait in the car.” Lance examined her face, lingering on her lips for a second longer than necessary. Then he shrugged.
“Okay. Be back in a sec.” He got out of the car, and only hit two of the three steps to get to the front door.
Abby looked around the interior of the car now that she had nothing else to distract her. It was surprisingly comfortable and clean compared to the rundown look of the paint job. The tan vinyl was torn in a couple places, but there no clutter or trash lurked in the corners or on the floor.
Lance came back out a few minutes later wearing a clean T-shirt. He carried another shirt in one hand, flipping his keys around the first finger of his other hand as he jogged down the front steps. He slid into the car and put the extra shirt on the bench seat next to him, turning his body to face Abby.
“I wondered if you wanted to go hang out somewhere. I brought an extra shirt for you in case you said yes.”
“Where would we go?” Her tone of voice betrayed her surprise, but she was curious too.
“Wherever. We could get dessert somewhere or something. I’m not ready to be home for the night.”
“You could just drop me off at home and go back to the party.” Abby felt compelled to point that out.
Lance nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess. I was bored at the party, though. The friends I came with were already wasted, but I’m too picky about my booze to get drunk on crappy beer and bottom-shelf liquor. I was looking for an excuse to leave when you crashed into me.”
Abby reached out and picked up the shirt. Staring at it in her lap, she fingered the soft blue fabric while she considered her answer. Did she want to go out with this guy she’d just met? Or would she rather go home? Since Megan was still at the party, she’d have the apartment to herself.
“You could just take me home and let me change into one of my own shirts and then we could go out.” She looked at his face, gauging his reaction.
Lance still faced her, his eyes locked with hers. A small smile curved his lips. “I could.” He drew the words out. “But then you might overthink it and tell me no. This way you change and we can go. Plus, there’s a twenty-four-hour diner with great pie not far from here, and I’m hungry now. It’d take too long to drive you home first.”
Abby thought about it for another minute. “Can I at least change inside? I don’t make it a habit to flash guys I’ve just met.” Even though you’ve pretty much seen it all already. She stopped herself before she said the last part out loud.
Lance opened his mouth like he was about to say something, a mischievous look on his face. Then he seemed to think better of it, his expression clearing. “Sure. Come on.”
Abby followed him up the front steps, his pace less hurried than the first time. The front door opened into the living room. College guys definitely lived here. It was comfortable enough, but mostly utilitarian, with no concern for décor. A large flat screen TV dominated the wall to the right, with wires, gaming consoles, and controllers in a jumble around the small entertainment center. Battered and mismatched furniture completed the room, looking like hand me downs or thrift store finds. There were no pictures on the walls, and the curtains covering the large bay window had either come with the house or were hand-me-downs from someone’s mom.
Lance opened a door to the left of the TV. “This is my room.” He reached in and turned on the light. “You can change in here.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The comfortable and utilitarian theme extended into the bedr
oom, with a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a bookshelf crammed with books the only furniture. Discarded clothes littered the floor between the bed and the door to the bathroom.
Abby went into the small bathroom. It was surprisingly clean from what she knew of college guys’ bathrooms. No globs of toothpaste left in the sink, and only a few items on the small counter—hand soap, deodorant, shaving cream, aftershave lotion, and a razor. The soap sat on the edge of the sink, the other items clustered neatly in the corner next to the wall.
Abby stripped off her tank top, dropping it on the floor. She grabbed a washcloth from a pile of mismatched towels under the sink, got a corner of it wet, and wiped up the soda that had seeped through her shirt. She slipped Lance’s T-shirt on and looked at herself in the mirror.
She snorted when she saw the Superman logo in the middle of her chest. Well, somewhat below the middle of her chest, because the shirt swallowed her. The shoulder seams came almost halfway down her upper arms, and the shirt covered her shorts.
She tried pulling the shirt tight around her torso, twisting the extra fabric behind her and tucking it in at the small of her back. She’d seen other girls do that and look cute. On her, she thought it just looked silly. She fidgeted with the shirt some more, folding here, tucking there, trying different things so she didn’t look like a toddler wearing her dad’s clothes. With a huff of annoyance, she gave up and let the shirt hang loose.
“It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.” Abby reached up and redid her ponytail as she talked to herself in the mirror. “I’ve already dumped soda over both of us and treated the guy to a personal wet T-shirt contest. Worrying about making a good impression on the hot guy sort of went out the window already.”
Anyone But You Page 27
