Page 42 of Boyfriend
She looks worried.
Huh.
I watch her trot off to the bar. And then I watch her do a hundred other things in the space of ten minutes. She looks frantic. And I know it’s not because of the packed tables or the drink orders. Abbi doesn’t get overwhelmed at work.
She keeps looking at the door to the bar, though. As if she expects Dracula himself to come through it. And I wish I knew why.
Finally, there’s just a few minutes left until midnight. I’m rehearsing my speech in my head. Listen, Abbi, there’s something I need to ask you. And if you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.
This setup does, I realize, come perilously close to my personal rule of never hitting on people who are just trying to make it through a shift at work. But Abbi and I are friends. And I wouldn’t go there if I didn’t think she was into me.
I slide off my bar stool. “Well guys, wish me luck.”
“Oh shit,” Hudson says, his eyes big. “Don’t crash and burn, man. We’ll have to find another hangout. Hell—even if you knock her on her ass with your sex appeal, we’re still in trouble.”
“How do you figure?” I ask. I’m not really worried, but Hudson is entertaining.
“Dude, you’re a heartbreaker,” he says. “When you’re done with her, she won’t bring us beer.”
“You know, I don’t think that will happen this time.”
“Oh God!” Tate moans. “I hope you all like pizza.”
“And you guys call yourselves my friends? Here goes nothing.”
The music has stopped, and all the bar TVs are tuned in to Times Square. The countdown is just a minute or so away. I dodge between tables, heading for the back, where I last saw Abbi.
Sure enough, she’s standing in the shadows near the kitchen door, whispering with the other waitress, Carly. Their heads are bent together in conversation, and then Abbi gestures toward the door.
I hate to interrupt, but I’m a man on a mission. “Hey, ladies.”
They both straighten quickly, as if caught out. “Do you need something, Weston?” Abbi asks.
“Oh yeah, he does,” Carly snickers. Then she steps around me and makes herself scarce.
“Well, in a manner speaking,” I say with a Mr. Smooth chuckle. “You got a minute?”
“For you, of course. But—and this is so embarrassing—I have to ask you a small favor. Another platter of wings kind of favor.”
“No problem. Hit me up.” I lean against the paneled wall and give her a smile. And then I let my gaze drift to Abbi’s pretty mouth. I’d like to own it with mine.
But maybe I’m slipping, because it doesn’t erase the crease of worry in Abbi’s forehead. “Price is outside. My idiot step-stepbrother.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Remember him?”
“Unfortunately.” This is not where I’d hoped to take the conversation. Behind me, the New Year’s revelers begin counting down.
“He seems to have landed a job as a bouncer here. I should never have said that it’s an easy job, or that the pay rate was so great.” She lets out a heavy breath. “And now he’s the guy who’s supposed to walk me home? He just told me he was looking forward to it.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathe.
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms. “If you’re still here when I get off shift, could you, uh, reprise your award-winning role as my boyfriend? Just this once, as a little reminder.”
“Of course,” I say immediately. “Anytime, Abbi. Seriously. We’re super good at this now, right? It’s like rolling off a log.”
She gives me a smile that’s both sad and grateful. “I can’t believe I have to deal with him here. The only reason I work here at all was to get away from him.”
“I know. Shit. That’s terrible.”
“FIVE…FOUR…THREE…TWO…ONE…HAPPY NEW YEAR!” screams the entire bar.
