Page 43 of Damaged Professor

“I’m already heading out there,” I say, snatching the keys and barreling outside. It’s dark out, the streetlights are glowing and the stars are bright in the sky above. There are rows of houses across the street, and I can’t help but look them over, wondering which one might belong to Sara.

Funny, how things can fall apart when they’ve barely even begun.

I slide into my Range Rover. “Alright Nichole, I have to hang up so I can GPS the bar. Tell Abby to stop texting pictures before she sends it to the wrong person on accident.”

“Right,” says Nichole. She sounds pretty pleased, quickly saying goodbye. I type in the location and get going. The one good thing about living in this city is that everything is fairly close together even if it’s considered to be on the outskirts, like this particular bar appears to be.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling in front of the first western themed drinking spot that I’ve seen in a while. I find parking right up front. Stepping inside, I’m assaulted with old style country music. It’s lit bright, but the walls are covered in spurs and coiled ropes, and other bits of horse tack that make you think of old western movies.

The three bartenders fit the vibe of the place with their cowboy hats and boots. It’s a nice enough looking spot despite the ridiculous overdone theme. And I can hang with a city cowboy as well as the next guy.

It’s easy to spot Abby, who is clearly tanked, and her friend, Nichole. Walking over towards them, I raise up a hand in a wave. Nichole reaches over, tapping Abby on the shoulder and pointing at me. Abby turns in her seat.

Her face goes bright, and she stumbles out of the booth and onto her feet. “Dylan!”

“Abby,” I say. “You look like you might be ready to go home.”

“We’re both ready to go home,” says Nichole. “Here. You want to pay for us?”

Nichole slides her card into Abby’s hand and urges her over to the bar. Abby’s drunk enough that she goes without too much of a fuss, and then Nichole looks me over. She looks oddly impressed. Nichole says, “I wasn’t sure if you would actually drive all the way out here to get her.”

“Of course I would. She was texting me,” I said. “And then I called, and after hearing her on the phone there was no way I wasn’t going to make sure she got home safe.”

Nichole points out, “But you spoke with me too. You knew that I would take her home.” And then, before I can respond, “Take it as a compliment, Professor. I’ve just seen a lot of guys who wouldn’t have done that. I get why she likes you so much.”

“I’m pretty taken with her too,” I say.

Nichole lets out a bark of laughter. “Taken. Damn, I like it.”

And then before we can get any further along in our conversation, Abby walks back over with a sway in her step. First, she throws her arms around Nichole, giving her a great big hug. “Thank you for coming out with me!”

“You know me,” says Nichole, patting her on the back and giving her a wink. “I’m always up for a trip to the bar with you, no matter the time. And tonight, I didn’t even have to convince you that country was clearly the way to go.”

As soon as Abby pulls away from Nichole’s hug—which goes on a few moments too long, as all drunk hugs tend to do—she turns and leans up against me instead. She wraps both of her arms around one of mine, looking up at me.

Abby says, “Hey, handsome.”

“Hey yourself,” I tell her, smiling a little bit. “How about we head home?”

“We could just head to the car,” says Abby, clearly trying to come on to me.

I shake my head and tell her, “I think it's better to just take you home tonight. Do you have your house keys?”

“No,” says Abby, her lower lip jutting out. Like a flip has been switched, she instantly looks as though she’s about to start crying. Her lower lip even wobbles a little bit, and her big, green eyes get glossy and wet. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be by myself. I want to go home with you.”

“Alright,” I say, unable to tell that sad, wet eyed look no. “Of course, we can go back to my place. I’m going to get you to bed. Then I’ll make sure you get a good breakfast, my darling.”

It’s what I want most anyway, Abby with me. Though I prefer my women less intoxicated.

Abby keeps pouting, but at least she lets me take her out to the car. I can feel Nichole watching me the whole way there. I get the sense Nichole trusts that I will take good care of Abby. She continues to watch as I get Abby buckled into the passenger seat.

Nichole is standing back from my car. I wave her over, bidding her to get in the Range Rover. I have no intention of leaving her behind, and clearly she shouldn't be driving herself home tonight. Luckily she does have her keys.

“You know what, give me your email address,” she whispers. Nichole hands me her phone with the app already open and I add my address for her. “I'm going to send you an email. You check it out, okay?” I nod. I think that she wants me to be able to properly argue against whatever it is that Abby has planned to say to me.

Nichole guides me to her house which is an easy drive and not too far out of the way. The girls banter back and forth incoherently about their hijinks at the bar, and other random topics until I’m pulling into Nichole’s driveway. Me and Abby watch her get inside safely. Clearly, she is more practiced at holding her liquor than Abby.

Because as soon as Nichole is in her house, Abby is on me, trying to plaster messy, open-mouthed, drunken kisses to the side of my face. I catch her in both hands, not wanting to hurt her feelings, and give her a deep kiss back. I can taste the liquor on the back of her tongue, I can taste the way that it burns.

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