Home > Boyfriend (Moo U #0)(9)

Boyfriend (Moo U #0)(9)
Author: Sarina Bowen

“It’s none of your damn business,” Abbi says, the pitch of her voice rising.

“Did you give it up for him right away? Or did you make him work for it. I bet you just spread your legs for him. Is that it? Are you one of those hockey sluts? Do you let the whole team do you?”

“Get away from me!”

All my blood curdles. I spin around again and finally notice a door that blends right into the kitchen cabinetry. Like a walk-in pantry, maybe. I cross the kitchen in two steps and yank the door open.

Price’s back is to me, but he’s got Abbi caged in against a tall built-in bookshelf, his hands on either side of the narrow space.

His reaction time is slow, so he’s just turning his head when I grab him by the waistband of his khaki pants and yank him backward.

“Hey! Fuck!” is all he manages to say before I haul him out of the pantry.

"Shut up,” I snarl, shoving him roughly against the refrigerator. I am made of adrenaline right now. I can actually feel blood pulsing against my eardrums, and my right hand is already wrapped into a fist.

“Take it easy,” he hisses. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too fucking late,” I sputter. “You don’t ever put your hands on her.”

“I didn’t. We were just having a friendly chat.”

Somehow I manage not to punch him in the mouth. I don’t even know how. My hand is itching to feel the bite of his teeth against my knuckles.

But some kind of protective impulse makes me glance toward Abbi first. She’s watching with wide eyes. And she gives her head a little shake, like she can read my mind.

I grab his shirt instead, my hand close to his throat. “No more friendly chats. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. Or I will punch you so hard that you’ll be coughing up your teeth for days. Even if I break my goddamn hand, it’ll still be worth it.”

His eyes narrow. “Get your hands off me, fucktard. This is my fucking house,” he hisses. “She’s the little stuck-up bitch who keeps showing up here so that Dalton will keep writing checks. It will not look good for Abbi if I tell ‘em you’re a violent piece of shit.”

That’s when I hear the tap tap tap of Mrs. Ritter’s heels approaching the kitchen. And I take a quick step backward.

Abbi grabs me by the elbow and turns me toward the kitchen door just as her step-stepmother walks through it. “Oh there you are!” she says gaily. “Abbi, did you decide which books you want to keep?” she asks.

“All of them,” Abbi says quickly. “She made notes in them.”

Lila frowns, as if that answer isn’t to her liking. “I could box them up and put them in the basement, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Abbi says tightly.

“Thanks for everything,” I say, finding my voice. “We’ve really got to run, though.” Before I maim your shitbag of a son. I can hear him behind me, where he’s opened the fridge. I hear the pull tab of a beer can as he goes about his shitbag day.

“Of course!” she says brightly. “It was so lovely to meet you. Come back anytime!”

I manage to make the right polite noises as we get the hell out of there. And two minutes later I’m standing outside Abbi’s car as she bleeps the locks open with a shaking hand.

“Hey. Can I drive?” I ask.

“Uh, sure. If you want.”

I take the keys out of her hand, and walk around to the street side of the car. It takes me a minute to move her seat back far enough that I can fit my body into the vehicle. Then I buckle up, start the car and locate the headlights. I pull away from the curb and navigate toward the main road.

Driving calms me down. It isn’t until I reach the intersection that I turn and glance at Abbi. She’s sitting ramrod straight in the passenger seat, eyes glassy, expression grim. Like a person in shock.

Right there at the intersection, I put the car in park. It’s dead quiet anyway. There’s nobody behind me. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look fine. And it’s just dawning on me that I failed her. “If I’d known why you needed a date today, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

Abbi glances quickly in my direction, and then away again. But not before I see tears in her eyes. “It’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to explain.”

I put the car back into gear and proceed onto the little highway that will take us back into Burlington. "That sucks, Abbi. And I don’t mean to pry. But is there any reason we didn’t march his stupid ass in front of your stepparents and tell them that he harasses you?”

She lets out a long breath. “I tried. Before he moved in, I told Dalton that he was always making inappropriate comments to me. And Dalton said that Price was just intimidated by me. That I was so much smarter and more successful, that he was just trying to get my attention.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is. But he’s newly married. He doesn’t want to hear me say anything bad about Lila or her thug of a kid. I’m not his daughter, Weston. I need him to help me with one more term at school. And I need to finish sorting through my mother’s things, before Lila throws all her stuff away. One year from now I’ll be free. Then I’ll never have to set foot inside that house again.”

“Oh. Shit.” That’s so depressing. But I can’t say I’d make a different choice if I were her. “Is Price the reason you moved out?”

“Yeah.” She wipes her eyes. “I’m pretty good at avoiding him. Dalton and I go out to lunch sometimes. That’s how I stay friendly with him and avoid Price. But Thanksgiving is hard.”

“What about Christmas?” I ask, worrying.

She shrugs. “I’ll think of something. A weekend away at a friend’s house, maybe. Or—worst case scenario—a pretend last-minute ski trip opportunity.”

That’s just grim. But I’ll be across the state, and in no position to help. “I’m sorry,” I say again. But it sounds useless.

“It’s really okay,” she says. “You put the fear of God into him anyway. Seriously. That was your best bit of acting, by the way.”

“Because it wasn’t,” I snort. “I was ready to rip his face off. A guy like that can’t get a woman to talk to him unless he backs her into a corner. And apparently that’s okay with him.”

“He’ll probably leave me alone now,” she says, just to sound upbeat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

And to think that I had a tryst planned for the two of us. That’s not happening now. You can’t put the moves on someone who only needs you around so that she can keep a slimy asshole’s mitts off of her.

Abbi doesn’t need another guy trying to get her clothes off. She needs a pay raise and a night off and a new family. And none of those things is something I can help her with.

“But how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?” I joke. “Those dumplings really were excellent. Just saying.”

Abbi laughs and then shakes her head.

 

 

Five

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