Beautiful Disaster (11 page)

“I like him,” I said, emphasizing every word.

He seemed stunned at my confession, and then his features turned severe. “Fine. If he ends up holding you down in the backseat of his car, don't come crying to me.”

My mouth popped open, offended and instantly furious. “Don't worry, I won't,” I said, shouldering past him.

Travis grabbed my arm and sighed, peering at me over his shoulder. “I didn't mean it, Pidge. If he hurts you—if he even makes you feel uncomfortable—you let me know.”

The anger subsided, and my shoulders fell. “I know you didn't. But you have got to curb this overprotective big-brother thing you've got going on.”

Travis laughed once. “I'm not playing the big brother, Pigeon. Not even close.”

Parker rounded the corner and pushed his hands inside his pockets, offering his elbow to me. “All set?”

Travis clenched his jaw, and I stepped to the other side of Parker to distract him from Travis's expression. “Yeah, let's go.” I took Parker's arm and walked with him a few steps before turning to say goodbye to Travis, but he was glowering at the back of Parker's head. His eyes darted to me and then his features smoothed.

“Stop it,” I said through my teeth, following Parker through the remnants of the crowd to his car.

“I'm the silver one.” The headlights of his car blinked twice when he hit the keyless entry.

He opened the passenger side door, and I laughed. “You drive a Porsche?”

“She's not just a Porsche. She's a Porsche 911 GT3. There's a difference.”

“Let me guess, it's the love of your life?” I said, quoting Travis's statement about his motorcycle.

“No, it's a car. The love of my life will be a woman with my last name.”

I allowed a small smile, trying not to be overly affected by his sentiment. He held my hand to help me into the car, and when he slid behind the wheel, he leaned his head against his seat and smiled at me.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” I asked.

“It's morning. I want to ask you to dinner before someone else beats me to it.”

A grin extended across my face. “I don't have any plans.”

“I'll pick you up at six?”

“Okay,” I said, watching him slink his fingers between mine.

Parker took me straight to Travis's, keeping to the speed limit and my hand in his. He pulled behind the Harley, and as before, opened my door. Once we reached the landing, he leaned down to kiss my cheek.

“Get some rest. I'll see you tonight,” he whispered in my ear.

“Bye,” I said, turning the knob. When I pushed, the door gave way and I surged forward.

Travis grabbed my arm before I fell. “Easy there, Grace.”

I turned to see Parker staring at us with an uncomfortable expression. He leaned over to peer into the apartment. “Any humiliated, stranded girls in there I need to give a ride?”

Travis glared at Parker. “Don't start with me.”

Parker smiled and winked. “I'm always giving him a hard time. I don't get to quite as often since he's realized it's easier if he can get them to drive their own cars.”

“I guess that does simplify things,” I said, teasing Travis.

“Not funny, Pidge.”

“Pidge?” Parker asked.

“It's uh … short for Pigeon. It's just a nickname, I don't even know where he came up with it,” I said. It was the first time I'd felt awkward about the name Travis had bestowed on me the night we met.

“You're going to have to fill me in when you find out. Sounds like a good story,” Parker smiled. “Night, Abby.”

“Don't you mean good morning?” I said, watching him trot down the stairs.

“That too,” he called back with a sweet smile.

Travis slammed the door, and I had to jerk my head back before it caught me in the face. “What?” I snapped.

Travis shook his head and walked to his bedroom. I followed him, and then hopped on one foot to pull off my heel. “He's nice, Trav.”

He sighed and walked over to me. “You're gonna hurt yourself,” he said, hooking his arm around my waist with one hand, and pulling off my heels with the other. He tossed them into the closet, and then pulled off his shirt, making his way to the bed.

I unzipped my dress and shimmied it over my hips, kicking it into the corner. I yanked a T-shirt over my head and then unsnapped my bra, pulling it through the sleeve of my shirt. When I wrapped my hair into a bun on top of my head, I noticed him staring.

“I'm sure there's nothing I have that you haven't seen before,” I said, rolling my eyes. I slid under the covers and settled against my pillow, curling into a ball. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down, stepping out of them.

I waited while he stood quietly for a moment. I had my back to him, so I wondered what he was doing, standing beside the bed in silence. The bed concaved when he finally crawled onto the mattress beside me, and I stiffened when his hand rested on my hip.

“I missed a fight tonight,” he said. “Adam called. I didn't go.”

“Why?” I said, turning to face him.

“I wanted to make sure you got home.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You didn't have to babysit me.”

He traced the length of my arm with his finger, sending shivers up my spine. “I know. I guess I still feel bad about the other night.”

“I told you I didn't care.”

He sat up on his elbow, a dubious frown on his face. “Is that why you slept on the recliner? Because you didn't care?”

“I couldn't fall asleep after your … friends left.”

“You slept just fine in the recliner. Why couldn't you sleep with me?”

“You mean next to a guy who still smelled like the pair of barflies he had just sent home? I don't know! How selfish of me!”

Travis winced. “I said I was sorry.”

“And I said I didn't care. Good night,” I said, turning over.

Several moments of silence passed. He slid his hand across the top of my pillow, resting his hand on mine. He caressed the delicate pieces of skin between my fingers, and then he pressed his lips against my hair. “As worried as I was that you'd never speak to me again … I think it's worse that you're indifferent.”

My eyes closed. “What do you want from me, Travis? You don't want me to be upset about what you did, but you want me to care. You tell America that you don't want to date me, but you get so pissed off when I say the same thing, that you storm out and get ridiculously drunk. You don't make any sense.”

“Is that why you said those things to America? Because I said I wouldn't date you?”

My teeth clenched. He had just insinuated that I was playing games with him. I formed the most direct answer I could think of. “No, I meant what I said. I just didn't mean it as an insult.”

“I just said that because,” he scratched his short hair nervously, “I don't want to ruin anything. I
wouldn't even know how to go about being who you deserve. I was just trying to get it worked out in my head.”

“Whatever that means. I have to get some sleep. I have a date tonight.”

“With Parker?” he asked, anger seeping through his tone.

“Yes. Can I please go to sleep?”

“Sure,” he said, shoving himself off the bed and then slamming the door behind him. The recliner squeaked under his weight and then muffled voices from the television drifted down the hall. I forced my eyes shut and tried to calm down enough to doze off, even if it was just for a few hours.

The clock read three p.m. when I peeled my eyes open. I grabbed a towel and my robe, and then trudged into the bathroom. As soon as I closed the shower curtain, the door opened and shut. I waited for someone to speak, but the only sound was the toilet lid smacking against porcelain.

“Travis?”

“Nope, it's me,” America said.

“Do you have to pee in here? You have your own bathroom.”

“Shep has been in there for half an hour with the beer shits. Not going in there.”

“Nice.”

“I hear you have a date tonight. Travis is pissed!” she lilted.

“At six! He is so sweet, America. He's just …” I trailed off, sighing. I was gushing, and it wasn't like me to gush. I kept thinking about how perfect he had
been since the moment we'd met. He was exactly what I needed: the polar opposite of Travis.

“Rendered you speechless?” she giggled.

I poked my head from the curtain. “I didn't want to come home! I could have talked to him forever!”

“Sounds promising. Isn't it kind of weird that you're here, though?”

I ducked under the water, rinsing away the suds. “I explained it to him.”

The toilet flushed, and the faucet turned on, making the water flash cold for a moment. I cried out and the door flew open.

“Pidge?” Travis said.

America laughed. “I just flushed the toilet, Trav, calm down.”

“Oh. You all right, Pigeon?”

“I'm great. Get out.” The door shut again and I sighed. “Is it too much to ask for locks on the doors?” America didn't answer. “Mare?”

“It's really too bad you two couldn't get on the same page. You're the only girl that could have …” she sighed. “Never mind. It doesn't matter, now.”

I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel. “You're as bad as he is. It's a sickness … no one here makes sense. You're pissed at him, remember?”

“I know,” she nodded.

I turned on my new hairdryer and began the process of primping for my date with Parker. I curled my hair and painted my nails and lips a deep shade of red. It was a bit much for a first date. I frowned at myself in the mirror. It wasn't Parker I was trying to impress. I wasn't in a position to be insulted when Travis accused me of playing games, after all.

As I took one last glance at myself in the mirror, guilt washed over me. Travis was trying so hard, and I was being a stubborn brat. I walked out into the living room and Travis smiled, not the reaction I expected at all.

“You … are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, rattled by the absence of irritation or jealousy in his voice.

Shepley whistled. “Nice choice, Abby. Guys dig red.”

“And the curls are gorgeous,” America added.

The doorbell chimed and America smiled, waving with exaggerated excitement. “Have fun!”

I opened the door. Parker held a small bouquet of flowers, wearing slacks and a tie. His eyes did a quick once-over from my dress to my shoes and then back up.

“You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen,” he said, enamored.

I looked behind me to wave to America, whose smile was so wide I could see every one of her teeth. Shepley had the expression of a proud father, and Travis kept his eyes on the television.

Parker held out his hand, leading me to his shiny Porsche. Once we were inside, he let out a puff of air.

“What?” I asked.

“I have to say, I was a bit nervous about picking up the woman Travis Maddox is in love with … from his apartment. You don't know how many people have accused me of insanity today.”

“Travis is not in love with me. He can barely stand to be near me sometimes.”

“Then it's a love/hate relationship? Because when I broke it to my brothers that I was taking you out tonight, they all said the same thing. He's been behaving so erratically—even more than usual—that they've all come to the same conclusion.”

“They're wrong,” I insisted.

Parker shook his head as if I were utterly clueless. He rested his hand on mine. “We'd better go. I have a table waiting.”

“Where?”

“Biasetti's. I took a chance … I hope you like Italian.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Wasn't it short notice for reservations? That place is always packed.”

“Well … it's our restaurant. Half, anyway.”

“I like Italian.”

Parker drove to the restaurant at exactly the speed limit, using his turn signal appropriately and slowing at a reasonable rate for each yellow light. When he spoke, he barely took his eyes from the road. When we arrived at the restaurant, I giggled.

“What?” he asked.

“You're just … a very cautious driver. It's a good thing.”

“Different from the back of Travis's motorcycle?” he smiled.

I should have laughed, but the difference didn't feel like a good thing. “Let's not talk about Travis tonight. Okay?”

“Fair enough,” he said, leaving his seat to open my door.

We were seated right away at a table by a large bay window. Although I was in a dress, I looked
impoverished compared to the other women in the restaurant. They were dripping in diamonds and wearing cocktail dresses. I'd never eaten anywhere so swanky.

We ordered, and Parker closed his menu, smiling at the waiter. “And bring us a bottle of the Allegrini Amarone, please.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said, taking our menus.

“This place is unbelievable,” I whispered, leaning against the table.

His green eyes softened. “Thank you, I'll let my father know you think so.”

A woman approached our table. Her hair was pulled into a tight blond French bun, a gray streak interrupting the smooth wave of her bangs. I tried not to stare at the sparkling jewels resting around her neck, or those swaying back and forth on her ears, but they were made to be noticed. Her squinty blue eyes targeted me.

She quickly turned away to look at my date. “Who's your friend, Parker?”

“Mother, this is Abby Abernathy. Abby, this is my mother, Vivienne Hayes.”

I extended my hand and she shook it once. In a well-practiced move, interest lit the sharp features of her face, and she looked to Parker. “Abernathy?”

I gulped, worried that she had recognized the name.

Parker's expression turned impatient. “She's from Wichita, Mom. You don't know her family. She goes to Eastern.”