Page 89 of Boyfriend
Thirty-One
All That Gratuitous Sex
Weston
Abbi is still pretty wiped out by the flu. “You probably shouldn’t be this close to me,” she says as I hold her tightly. “What about the playoffs?”
“I had a flu shot,” I mumble, hoping that actually matters. “There’s no way I can leave you alone right now. I miss you too much. Just deal with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s more like it. Can you eat some more? We need to build you up.”
“For all that gratuitous sex?” she asks.
“Exactly,” I say gruffly. But it’s a lie. I just want Abbi to be okay. “How about a frozen fruit bar? I got a box for you at the grocery store.” Plus a hundred other things. That’s what a distraught guy does when the woman he loves has a fever.
Abbi goes still. “You brought me frozen fruit bars?”
“Yeah, and then I had to jam the box into your tiny freezer. Please don’t tell me you hate them.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I love them. That’s what my mother used to buy me when I had a fever.”
Oh, man. See? This flawed, jaded guy really can do a thing or two right once in a while. “I think they’re mixed berry. Want one?”
“Let’s each have one.”
I get up and fetch two bars, and I also put a movie on my laptop. We spend the evening curled up together. Abbi nods off from time to time, her soft hair tickling my chin. But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.
When you love someone, reruns and fruit bars are all the fun you need in your life. It’s more than enough.
* * *
The next night, though, I don’t go over to her place after practice. After a grueling pre-playoffs practice, I send her a delivery of hot soup and a series of texts to make sure she’s doing okay.
Totally fine here, Westie. Getting bored, though. I want to call Kippy and beg for my job back, but I think I should write a letter instead. Dalton says he’ll give me a doctor’s note.
A paper trail is a good idea, I reply. But the truth is that I have a few ideas of my own.
After practice, as we’re all toweling off in the locker room, my teammates bring up the Biscuit as a matter of course. “You coming?” Tate asks, snapping his towel in my direction. “Maybe we should send Abbi some takeout.”
“I got that covered already,” I admit. “But I was planning on stopping by the Biscuit anyway. I need your help with something, guys. Listen up, okay?”
They gather around me, and I lay out my plan.
* * *
A half hour later, we’re assembled around table seventeen, as usual. Carly—after inquiring about Abbi’s progress—has dropped off glasses of water and reeled off the specials. But when she comes back to take our order, I ask to speak to the manager instead. “We have something to say to him. Can you let him know?”
She blinks. “Of course. Just don’t get me fired.”
“I would never.”
Kippy arrives a couple of minutes later, his eyes shifting around the table, looking for problems. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Well, we were doing some math earlier,” I say. “According to my credit card bill, I’ve spent nine hundred dollars here in the last few months. And I’m not the only one. Guys?”
“I spent a thousand,” Lex says.
