Page 14 of Boyfriend
“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?
“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.
