Page 83 of Boyfriend
“Fix this, Weston,” Tate says. “Do it for the team.”
“Okay, guys,” I sigh. “Let's go to the Biscuit.”
* * *
I feel tense as we walk through the door. And part of me expects to see the lacrosse team newly installed at table seventeen, gloating while we try to find adjacent booths in the dining room.
But, no, our table is waiting. I take my usual seat and look around. Maybe Abbi will emerge from the kitchen and smile at me like she always does. Can't we at least stay friends? At least I’d have that.
But the minutes tick by with no sign of her. And it’s that lazy manager, Kippy, who finally swings by to drop off waters and menus. As if anyone at table seventeen needs a menu. "Someone will be with you in just a couple of minutes,” he says. “We're short-handed tonight."
That's when I feel the first twinge of concern. And it only gets worse when a harried Carly hurries up, pen and pad in hand, and works her way down the table scribbling down orders. But the whole time she's shooting me curious glances.
And when Carly reaches me, she doesn’t ask for my order. "Where is Abbi?" she demands instead.
"What do you mean?" I fire back. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Abbi won't take my calls."
Carly blinks. “You're kidding. She won't take mine either. She didn’t show up for work last night or tonight! And it's her one-year anniversary." She glances over her shoulder before continuing. "Kippy won't give her the bonus she's worked so hard for," she hisses. "He said she blew it by going AWOL. But Abbi would never do that.”
My stomach bottoms out. What the hell happened to Abbi?
“I’ve been calling her every ten minutes for the past two hours,” Carly says. “And she doesn’t answer. I’m going to go knock on her door on my break."
But I'm already pulling on my coat. "Let me do it.”
“What about dinner?" Paxton asks. "Should we put in your order?" I don't even bother to answer him. I'm already headed for the door.
But I pull up short as I pass the bar. That cretin Price is behind it, cutting limes into wedges. "Have you seen her?'' I bark.
"Seen who?" he says with a snake-like smile.
"Abbi."
He makes a show of shrugging. “Thought you were the boyfriend. Isn't that your story? Aren't you sticking with it?"
I want to punch him in the throat, but I’m in too big a hurry. So I dart out of the restaurant and start hoofing it uphill toward Abbi’s place.
Thought you were the boyfriend, Price said. Aren’t you sticking with it?
I had been, if I’m honest. I’d stuck to it until two nights ago. And I’d been happy, too. Playing the part of Abbi’s boyfriend—and then becoming Abbi’s boyfriend—had suited me just fine.
Then I freaked out when she said she might stay in Burlington. And now it’s hard to remember why. If something has happened to her, I will lose my shit.
I’ll lose it at myself, I guess, because I’ll be the one to blame.
I break into a run and make it to Abbi’s front porch in record time. Her car is parked at the curb, which is a good sign, right? I lean on the buzzer to her apartment unit, and then I try the doorknob of the front door. It’s usually open.
But nope. Not tonight.
Shit.
I buzz again, and I start pounding on the front door until I see someone descending the stairs. It’s another college student, I think—a skinny guy with round glasses.
Stepping back, I try to look nonthreatening. Although he’s eyeing me warily when he opens the door. “Hey man,” I say. “My girlfriend didn’t show up for work two days in a row, and I’m panicking. Can you let me knock on her door?”
“Uh…” he says, looking a little unsure.
“Or let me talk to your landlord? Abbi said the old lady lives on the first floor, and never turns up the heat.”
