Home > Boyfriend (Moo U #0)(8)

Boyfriend (Moo U #0)(8)
Author: Sarina Bowen

“Yes. Thank you.” She still looks angry. So I choose a juicy-looking slice of turkey and deliver it to her plate before serving myself. Then I pass it across to her step-stepbrother, who’s grinning evilly.

“So where did you two meet?” Dalton asks, passing a plate of dumplings in my direction.

“At work,” Abbi says smoothly. “Weston’s team comes into the Biscuit several times a week.”

“We love the Biscuit. I’m half chicken wing at this point, as Abbi knows. She keeps me from starving.”

“That’s a nice story,” Lila says sweetly.

“Abbi works so hard,” Dalton says. “I’m glad that job brought her something good. She works so many hours just to afford that cramped little apartment.”

“I like my place,” Abbi says quickly. “So convenient for school. Besides, I have to put up with that job for a little longer. In a few months I’ll pass the one-year mark. Everyone who makes it a year gets a fat bonus.”

“Nice,” Lila says. “I guess I’d stick with it, too.”

“I will,” Abbi agrees. “But you know what’s crazy? The weekend bouncers get a bonus at the three-month mark.” She rolls her eyes. “There’s a lot of turnover in that job. But it doesn’t seem fair.”

“Pretty easy job, too,” I point out. “They just have to stand at the door and look tough.”

“They don’t even have to stand,” Abbi scoffs. “They have a stool to sit on, and free soda or coffee. They check IDs and walk the waitresses to their cars at the end of the night. If I could bench two hundred pounds, I’d switch jobs.”

“Sorry, babe,” I say, drizzling sauce all over my dumplings. “You aren’t scary enough to be a bouncer. Maybe if we gave you a Mohawk and some tats.”

Abbi puts a hand in front of her face and laughs. “I swear, it would almost be worth it.”

We exchange an amused glance, and I give myself a mental high five for getting her to smile.

 

 

"I may never eat again,” I declare an hour later as I dry off the crystal goblets that Abbi hands me. “That was magnificent, Mrs. Ritter.” It’s not a lie. This was my best fake Thanksgiving date yet. “That pumpkin chai pie was exquisite.”

She beams. “There’s a pie shop in New York City that I admire—Posy’s Pie Shop—and I recreated the recipe.”

“My compliments to whoever Posy is,” I say. “I’m so full I may burst.”

“Too full to play some pool?” Dalton asks. “I like to shoot pool while I digest. There’s a TV in the game room, too, if you need to keep track of the football score.”

I glance at Abbi. “What do you think? Want to play on my team?”

“Sure,” she says. “I’m terrible, though.”

“Me too,” I promise her. “Let’s be terrible together.”

And we are. Abbi’s stepfather knows how to set up complicated shots that quickly leave us in the dust. “It’s a good thing I’m on a hockey scholarship and not a pool scholarship,” I say as I scratch on the eight ball.

“Good thing,” Abbi chirps, and we smile at each other like a couple of conspirators.

I don’t mind losing at pool, because I’m winning at life. Every time we step back from the table, there’s a new opportunity for me to talk to Abbi. I’ve woken up Mr. Smooth from his food coma, and put him to work.

I’m putting out all the signals, and she’s waving me in. I hope so, anyway.

Life is good, in spite of Abbi’s creepy-ass stepbrother smirking at us from a sofa across the room. Every time I miss a shot, he chuckles.

Whatever, punk. Meet me on the ice sometime, and I’ll show you how it’s done. The guy looks like he’s never been to the gym in his life.

As the sky begins to darken outside the windows of the well-appointed game room, I see Abbi sneak a look at her watch. And I remember that there’s a bottle of white wine chilling outside in the car, and a quiet holiday night ahead of us, when nobody is expected to work or go to hockey practice.

Maybe Abbi will invite me in when we get back to her place.

After we lose another game, and Abbi checks her watch a second time, I slip an arm around my fake girlfriend. Even this simple gesture is a shock to my system, because she feels so good leaning against me.

And it’s not just me, either. I catch Abbi’s sideways glance, and it’s full of heat.

“Should we head back soon?” I ask, my voice weirdly husky. Mr. Smooth has already deserted me. “Uh, I was hoping to put in an hour or two on that…anatomy paper I told you about.”

“Oh, sure.” She licks her kissable lips. “No problem.”

“What’s the paper about?” Dr. Ritter asks. “I used to teach anatomy to the first-year med students at Moo U. Are you premed?”

Well, fuck me. Why did I have to invent an assignment? And why did I pick anatomy? I don’t have a paper due. My subconscious is obviously hung up on exploring Abbi’s anatomy. Thanks, brain.

“I am premed. And my topic is, uh, the spinal cord,” I say quickly. “And which parts affect which, uh, motor skills.”

Abbi’s smile widens. She knows I’m talking out of my ass right now. I can only hope that she finds idiots attractive.

“Step into my office,” he says. “I have a skeleton that’s really great for understanding vertebrae in 3D.”

“Wow, thanks,” I say as Abbi hides a smile behind her hand. At least we can laugh about this later.

“I’ll grab our coats,” she says.

“Abbi, honey?” Lila says as we leave the game room. “Could you come with me a moment? There’s a stack of your mother’s cookbooks I want to ask you about. Maybe there’s something here you’d like to keep.”

Abbi’s face falls. “Sure. No problem.”

Lord, I can’t even imagine what this must be like for her. A new woman in her mother’s former space. Regretfully, I allow myself to be pulled into Dalton’s office for a lengthy description of the regions of the spinal cord.

It’s a shame I’m not writing a paper on this. It would be a snap now. The man drones on and on while I nod politely.

“Well, thanks,” I say at the first moment that it won’t seem rude. “I’d better get Abbi home so I can get some work done.”

He claps me on the back. “So great of you to be here today. Abbi works too hard and has too few friends. I worry about her.”

“It was all my pleasure,” I say, feeling like a chump, because I can’t really reassure him. Although I’m glad the man cares about his stepdaughter. He seems like a genuinely nice guy, if a little bland and clueless.

Luckily the phone on his desk rings just then, and I can drop my boyfriend act. I excuse myself and go searching for Abbi. She’s not in the foyer. So I venture through the living room and toward the dimly lit kitchen, where I think I hear voices.

“Come on. Move.” I hear Abbi say. “Weston is probably looking for me.”

“Not until you admit it,” a male voice says.

I turn around in confusion. I’m alone in the kitchen. Where are they?

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