Cold Bitch
RIDING HOME ALONE IN THE BACKSEAT OF SHEPLEY’S Charger was less than thrilling. America kicked off her heels and giggled as she poked Shepley’s cheek with her big toe. He must have been crazy in love with her, because he just smiled, amused by her infectious laughter.
My phone rang. It was Adam. “I got a rookie lined up in an hour. Bottom of Hellerton.”
“Yeah, uh . . . I can’t.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I said I can’t.”
“Are you sick?” Adam asked, the anger rising in his voice.
“No. I gotta make sure Pidge gets home okay.”
“I went to a lot of trouble to set this up, Maddox.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Gotta go.”
When Shepley pulled into his parking spot in front of the apartment and Parker’s Porsche was nowhere to be found, I sighed.
“You coming, cuz?” Shepley asked, turning around in his seat.
“Yeah,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Yeah, I guess.”
Shepley pulled his seat forward to let me out, and I stopped just short of America’s tiny frame.
“You have nothing to worry about, Trav. Trust me.”
I nodded once, and then followed them up the stairs. They went straight into Shepley’s bedroom and shut the door. I fell into the recliner, listening to America’s incessant giggling, and trying not to imagine Parker putting his hand on Abby’s knee—or thigh.
Less than ten minutes later, a car engine purred outside, and I made my way to the door, holding the knob. I could hear two pairs of feet walking up the stairs. One set was heels. A wave of relief washed over me. Abby was home.
Only their murmuring filtered through the door. When it got quiet and the knob turned, I twisted it the rest of the way and opened it quickly.
Abby fell through the threshold, and I grabbed her arm. “Easy there, Grace.”
She immediately turned to see the expression on Parker’s face. It was strained, like he didn’t know what to think, but he recovered quickly, pretending to look past me into the apartment.
“Any humiliated, stranded girls in there I need to give a ride?”
I glared at him. He had some damn nerve. “Don’t start with me.”
Parker smiled and winked at Abby. “I’m always giving him a hard time. I don’t get to quite as often since he’s realized it’s easier if he can get them to drive their own cars.”
“I guess that does simplify things,” Abby said, turning to me with an amused smile.
“Not funny, Pidge.”
“Pidge?” Parker asked.
Abby shifted nervously. “It’s uh . . . short for Pigeon. It’s just a nickname, I don’t even know where he came up with it.”
“You’re going to have to fill me in when you find out. Sounds like a good story.” Parker smiled.
“Night, Abby.”
“Don’t you mean good morning?” she asked.
“That, too,” he called back with a smile that made me want to puke.
Abby was busy swooning, so to snap her back to reality, I slammed the door without warning. She jerked back.
“What?” she snapped.
I stomped down the hall to the bedroom, with Abby on my tail. She stopped just inside the door, hopping on one foot, trying to take off her heel. “He’s nice, Trav.”
I watched her struggle to balance on one leg, and then finally decided to help before she fell over.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” I said, hooking my arm around her waist with one hand, and pulling off her heels with the other. I pulled off my shirt and threw it into the corner.
To my surprise, Abby reached behind her back to unzip her dress, slipped it down, and then yanked a T-shirt over her head. She did some sort of magic bra trick to get it off and out of her shirt. All women seemed to know the same maneuver.
“I’m sure there’s nothing I have that you haven’t seen before,” she said, rolling her eyes. She sat on the mattress, and then pushed her legs between the cover and the sheets. I watched her snuggle into her pillow, and then took off my jeans, kicking them to the corner, too.
She was curled in a ball, waiting for me to come to bed. It irritated me that she’d just rode home with Parker and then undressed in front of me like it was nothing, but at the same time, that was just the kind of fucked-up platonic situation we were in, and it was all my doing.
So many things were building up inside of me. I didn’t know what to do with them all. When we’d made the bet, it didn’t occur to me that she would be dating Parker. Throwing a tantrum would just drive her straight into his arms. Deep down, I knew I’d do anything to keep her around. If keeping a lid on my jealousy meant more time with Abby, that’s what I would have to do.
I crawled into the bed beside her and lifted my hand, resting it on her hip.
“I missed a fight tonight. Adam called. I didn’t go.”
“Why?” she asked, turning over.
“I wanted to make sure you got home.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t have to babysit me.”
I traced the length of her arm with my finger. She was so warm. “I know. I guess I still feel bad about the other night.”
“I told you I didn’t care.”
“Is that why you slept on the recliner? Because you didn’t care?”
“I couldn’t fall asleep after your . . . friends left.”
“You slept just fine in the recliner. Why couldn’t you sleep with me?”
“You mean next to a guy who still smelled like the pair of barflies he had just sent home? I don’t know!
How selfish of me!”
I recoiled, trying to keep the visual out of my head. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I said I didn’t care. Good night,” she said, turning over.
I reached across the pillow to put my hand on hers, caressing the insides of her fingers. I leaned over and kissed her hair. “As worried as I was that you’d never speak to me again . . . I think it’s worse that you’re indifferent.”
“What do you want from me, Travis? You don’t want me to be upset about what you did, but you want me to care. You tell America that you don’t want to date me, but you get so pissed off when I say the same thing that you storm out and get ridiculously drunk. You don’t make any sense.”
Her words surprised me. “Is that why you said those things to America? Because I said I wouldn’t date you?”
Her expression was a combination of shock and anger. “No, I meant what I said. I just didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“I just said that because I don’t want to ruin anything. I wouldn’t even know how to go about being who you deserve. I was just trying to get it worked out in my head.”
Saying the words made me feel sick, but they had to be said.
“Whatever that means. I have to get some sleep. I have a date tonight.”
“With Parker?”
“Yes. Can I please go to sleep?”
“Sure,” I said, shoving myself off the bed. Abby didn’t say a word as I left her behind. I sat in the recliner, switching on the television. So much for keeping my temper in check, but damn that woman got under my skin. Talking to her was like having a conversation with a black hole. It didn’t matter what I said, even the few times that I was clear about my feelings. Her selective hearing was infuriating. I couldn’t get through to her, and being direct just seemed to make her angry.
The sun came up half an hour later. Despite my residual anger, I was able to drift off.
A few moments later, my phone rang. I scrambled to find it, still half asleep, and then held it to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Asshat!” Trenton said, loud in my ear.
“What time is it?” I asked, looking at the TV. Saturday morning cartoons were on.
“Ten something. I need your help with Dad’s truck. I think it’s the ignition module. It’s not even turning over.”
“Trent,” I said through a yawn. “I don’t fucking know about cars. That’s why I have a bike.”
“Then ask Shepley. I have to go to work in an hour, and I don’t want to leave Dad stranded.”
I yawned again. “Fuck, Trent, I pulled an all-nighter. What’s Tyler doing?”
“Get your ass over here!” he yelled before hanging up.
I tossed my cell to the couch and then stood, looking at the clock on the television. Trent wasn’t far off when he guessed the time. It was 10:20.
Shepley’s door was closed, so I listened for a minute before I knocked twice and popped my head in.
“Hey. Shep. Shepley!”
“What?” Shepley said. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel and chased it with acid.
“I need your help.”
America whimpered but didn’t stir.
“With what?” Shepley asked. He sat up, grabbing a T-shirt off the floor and slipping it over his head.
“Dad’s truck didn’t start. Trent thinks it’s the ignition.”
Shepley finished getting dressed and then leaned over America. “Going to Jim’s for a few hours, baby.”
“Hmmm?”
Shepley kissed her forehead. “I’m going to help Travis with Jim’s truck. I’ll be back.”
“Okay,” America said, falling back asleep before Shepley left the room. He slipped on the pair of sneakers that were in the living room and grabbed his keys.
“You coming or what?” he asked.
I trudged down the hall and into my bedroom, dragging ass like any man that had only four hours of sleep—and not great sleep at that. I slipped on a tank top, and then a hoodie sweatshirt, and some jeans.
Trying my best to walk softly, I gently turned the knob of my bedroom door, but paused before leaving.
Abby’s back was to me, her breathing even, and her bare legs sprawled in opposite directions. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to crawl in bed with her.
“Let’s go!” Shepley called.
I shut the door and followed him out to the Charger. We took turns yawning all the way to Dad’s, too tired for conversation.
The gravel driveway crunched under the tires of the Charger, and I waved at Trenton and Dad before stepping out into the yard.
Dad’s truck was parked in front of the house. I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my hoodie, feeling the chill in the air. Fallen leaves crunched under my boots as I walked across the lawn.
“Well, hello there, Shepley,” Dad said with a smile.
“Hey, Uncle Jim. I hear you have an ignition problem.”
Dad rested a hand on his round middle. “We think so . . . we think so.” He nodded, staring at the engine.
“What makes you think that?” Shepley asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Trenton pointed to the firewall. “Uh . . . it’s melted. That was my first clue.”
“Good catch,” Shepley said. “Me and Trav will run up to the parts store and pick up a new one. I’ll put it in and you’ll be good to go.”
“In theory,” I said, handing Shepley a screwdriver.
He unscrewed the bolts of the ignition module and then pulled it off. We all stared at the melted casing.
Shepley pointed to the bare spot where the ignition module was. “We’re going to have to replace those wires. See the burn marks?” he asked, touching the metal. “The wire insulation is melted, too.”
“Thanks, Shep. I’m gonna go shower. I’ve gotta get ready for work,” Trenton said.
Shepley used the screwdriver to assist in a sloppy salute to Trenton, and then he threw it into the toolbox.
“You boys look like you had a long night,” Dad said.
Half of my mouth pulled up. “We did.”
“How’s your young lady? America?”
Shepley nodded, a wide grin creeping across his face. “She’s good, Jim. She’s still asleep.”
Dad laughed once and nodded. “And your young lady?”
I shrugged. “She’s got a date with Parker Hayes tonight. She’s not exactly mine, Dad.”
Dad winked. “Yet.”
Shepley’s expression fell. He was fighting a frown.
“What’s this, Shep? You don’t approve of Travis’s pigeon?”
Dad’s flippant use of Abby’s nickname caught Shepley off guard, and his mouth twitched, threatening a smile. “No, I like Abby just fine. She’s just the closest thing America has to a sister. Makes me nervous.”
Dad nodded emphatically. “Understandable. I think this one’s different, though, don’t you?”
Shepley shrugged. “That’s kind of the point. Don’t really want Trav’s first broken heart to be
America’s best friend. No offense, Travis.”
I frowned. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”
“It’s not that. Well, it’s kind of that.”
Dad touched Shepley’s shoulder. “You’re afraid, since this is Travis’s first attempt at a relationship, he’s going to screw it up, and that screws things up for you.”
Shepley grabbed a dirty rag and wiped his hands. “I feel bad for admitting it, but yeah. Even though I’m rooting for you, bro, I really am.”
Trenton let the screen door slam when he jogged out of the house. He punched me in the arm before I even saw him raise a fist.
“Later, losers!” Trenton stopped, and turned on his heels. “I didn’t mean you, Dad.”
Dad offered a half smile and shook his head. “Didn’t think you did, son.”
Trent smiled, and then hopped into his car—a dark red, dilapidated Dodge Intrepid. That car wasn’t even cool when we were in high school, but he loved it. Mostly because it was paid off.
A small black puppy barked, turning my attention to the house.
Dad smiled, patting his thigh. “Well, c’mon, scaredy-cat.”
The puppy took a couple of steps forward, and then backed into the house, barking.
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
“He’s pissed in the bathroom twice.”
I made a face. “Sorry.”
Shepley laughed. “At least he’s got the right idea.”
Dad nodded and waved with concession.
“Just until tomorrow,” I said.
“It’s fine, son. He’s been entertaining us. Trent enjoys him.”
“Good.” I smiled.
“Where were we?” Dad asked.
I rubbed my arm where it throbbed from Trent’s fist. “Shepley was just reminding me of what a failure he thinks I am when it comes to girls.”
Shepley laughed once. “You’re a lot of things, Trav. A failure is not one of them. I just think you have a long way to go, and between your and Abby’s tempers, the odds are against you.”
My body tensed, and I stood straight. “Abby doesn’t have a bad temper.”
Dad waved me away. “Calm down, squirt. He’s not bad-mouthing Abby.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Okay,” Dad said with a small smile. He always knew how to handle us boys when things got tense, and he usually tried to mollify us before we were too far gone.
Shepley threw the dirty rag on top of the toolbox. “Let’s go get that part.”
“Let me know how much I owe you.”
I shook my head. “I got it, Dad. We’re even for the dog.”
Dad smiled and started to pick up the mess Trenton left of the toolbox. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Shepley and I left in the Charger, heading to the parts store. A cold front had come through. I clenched the ends of my sleeves in my fists to help keep my hands warm.
“It’s a cold bitch today,” Shepley said.
“Getting there.”
“I think she’s going to like the puppy.”
“Hope so.”
After a few more blocks of silence, Shepley nodded his head. “I didn’t mean to insult Abby. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“I know how you feel about her, and I really do hope it works out. I’m just nervous.”
“Yep.”
Shepley pulled into the parking lot of O’Reilly’s and parked, but he didn’t turn off the ignition. “She’s going on a date with Parker Hayes tonight, Travis. How do you think it’s going to go when he picks her up? Have you thought about it?”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Well, maybe you should. If you really want this to work, you need to stop reacting the way you want, and react the way that will work for you.”
“Like how?”
“Do you think it’s going to win you any points if you’re pouting while she’s getting ready, and then act like a dick to Parker? Or do you think she’ll appreciate it if you tell her how amazing she looks and tell her goodbye, like a friend would?”
“I don’t want to be just her friend.”
“I know that, and you know that, and Abby probably knows it, too . . . and you can be damn sure Parker knows it.”
“Do you have to keep saying that fuck stick’s name?”
Shepley turned off the ignition. “C’mon, Trav. You and I both know as long as you keep showing Parker he’s doing something to drive you nuts, he’s going to keep playing the game. Don’t give him the satisfaction, and play the game better than he does. He’ll show his ass, and Abby will get rid of him on her own.”
I thought about what he was saying, and then glanced over at him. “You . . . really think so?”
“Yes, now let’s get that part to Jim and get home before America wakes up and blows up my phone because she doesn’t remember what I told her when I left.”
I laughed and followed Shepley into the store. “He is a fuck stick, though.”
It didn’t take Shepley long to find the part he was looking for, and not much longer for him to replace it.
In just over an hour, Shepley had installed the ignition module, started the truck, and had a sufficiently long visit with Dad. By the time we were waving goodbye as the Charger backed out of the driveway, it was just a few minutes after noon.
As Shepley predicted, America was already awake by the time we made it back to the apartment. She tried to act irritated before Shepley explained our absence, but it was obvious she was just glad to have him home.
“I’ve been so bored. Abby is still asleep.”
“Still?” I asked, kicking off my boots.
America nodded and made a face. “The girl likes her sleep. Unless she gets insanely drunk the night before, she sleeps forever. I’ve stopped trying to turn her into a morning person.”
The door creaked as I slowly pushed it open. Abby was on her stomach, in almost the same position she was in when I left, just on the other side of the bed. Part of her hair was matted against her face, the other in soft, caramel waves across my pillow.
Abby’s T-shirt was bunched around her waist, exposing her light blue panties. They were just cotton, not particularly sexy, and she looked comatose, but even so, seeing her crashed haphazardly on my white sheets with the afternoon sun pouring in through the windows, her beauty was indescribable.
“Pidge? You gonna get up today?”
She mumbled and then turned her head. I took a few more steps, deeper into the room.
“Pigeon.”
“Hep . . . merf . . . furfon . . . shaw.”
America was right. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon. I closed the door softly behind me, and then joined Shepley and America in the living room. They were picking at a plate of nachos America had made, watching something girly on TV.
“She up?” America asked.
I shook my head, sitting in the recliner. “Nope. She was talking about something, though.”
America smiled, her lips sealed to keep food from falling out. “She does that,” she said, her mouth full.
“I heard you leave your bedroom last night. What was that about?”
“I was being an ass.”
America’s brows shot up. “How so?”
“I was frustrated. I pretty much told her how I felt and it was like it went in one ear and out the other.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Tired at the moment.”
A chip flew at my face but fell short, landing on my shirt. I picked it up and popped it in my mouth, crunching the beans, cheese, and sour cream. It wasn’t half bad.
“I’m serious. What did you say?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Something about being who she deserved.”
“Aw,” America said, sighing. She leaned away from me, in Shepley’s direction, with a wry smile.
“That was pretty good. Even you have to admit.”
Shepley’s mouth pulled to one side; that was the only reaction she would get from him for that comment.
“You are such a grouch,” America said with a frown.
Shepley stood. “No, baby. I’m just not feeling all that great.” He grabbed a copy of Car and Driver from the end table, and headed for the toilet.
With a sympathetic expression America watched Shepley leave, and then turned to me, her face metamorphosing into disgust. “Guess I’ll be using your bathroom for the next few hours.”
“Unless you want to lose your sense of smell for the rest of your life.”
“I might want to after that,” she said, shivering.
America took her movie off pause, and we watched the rest of it. I didn’t really know what was going on. A woman was talking something about old cows and how her roommate was a man-whore. By the end of the movie, Shepley had rejoined us, and the main character had figured out she had feelings for her roommate, she wasn’t an old cow after all, and the man-whore, now reformed, was angry about some stupid misunderstanding. She just had to chase him down the street, kiss him, and it was all good. Not the worst movie I’d ever seen, but it was still a chick flick . . . and still lame.
In the middle of the day, the apartment was well lit, and the TV was on, albeit on mute. Everything seemed normal, but also empty. The stolen signs were still on the walls, hung next to our favorite beer posters with half-naked hot chicks sprawled in various positions. America had cleaned up the apartment, and Shepley was lying on the couch, flipping through channels. It was a normal Saturday. But something was off. Something was missing. Abby.
Even with her in the next room, passed out, the apartment felt different without her voice, her playful jabs, or even the sound of her picking at her nails. I’d grown accustomed to it all in our short time together.
Just as the credits of the second movie began to roll, I heard the bedroom door open, and Abby’s feet dragging along the floor. The bathroom door opened and closed. She was going to start getting ready for her date with Parker.
Instantly, my temper began to boil.
“Trav,” Shepley warned.
Shepley’s words from earlier in the day replayed in my head. Parker was playing the game, and I had to play it better. My adrenaline died down, and I relaxed against the couch cushion. It was time to put my game face on.
The whining sound of the bathroom pipes signaled Abby’s intent to take a shower. America stood, and then nearly danced into my bathroom. I could hear their voices banter back and forth but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.
I walked softly into the hall, and held my ear close to the door.
“I’m not thrilled about you listening to my girl urinate,” Shepley said in a loud whisper.
I held my middle finger up to my lips, and then turned my attention back to their voices.
“I explained it to him,” Abby said.
The toilet flushed, and the faucet turned on, and then suddenly Abby cried out. Without thinking, I grabbed the doorknob and shoved it open.
“Pidge?”
America laughed. “I just flushed the toilet, Trav, calm down.”
“Oh. You all right, Pigeon?”
“I’m great. Get out.” I shut the door again and sighed. That was stupid. After a few tense seconds, I realized neither of the girls knew I was just on the other side of the door, so I touched my ear to the wood again.
“Is it too much to ask for locks on the doors?” Abby asked. “Mare?”
“It’s really too bad you two couldn’t get on the same page. You’re the only girl that could have . . .”
She sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter, now.”
The water turned of. “You’re as bad as he is,” Abby said, her voice thick with frustration. “It’s a sickness . . . no one here makes sense. You’re pissed at him, remember?”
“I know,” America replied.
That was my cue to get back to the living room, but my heart was beating a million miles an hour. For whatever reason, if America thought it was okay, I felt like I had the green light, that I wasn’t a total dick for trying to be in Abby’s life.
As soon as I sat on the couch, America came out of the bathroom.
“What?” she asked, sensing something was amiss.
“Nothing, baby. Come sit,” Shepley said, patting the empty space next to him.
America happily complied, sprawling out next to him, her torso leaning against his chest.
The hairdryer turned on in the bathroom, and I looked at the clock. The only thing worse than having to be okay with Abby leaving on a date with Parker, was Parker having to wait on Abby in my apartment.
Keeping my cool for a few minutes while she got her purse and left was one thing. Looking at his ugly mug while he sat on my couch, knowing he was planning how to get into her pants at the end of the night, was another.
A small bit of my anxiety was relieved when Abby walked out of the bathroom. She wore a red dress, and her lips matched perfectly. Her hair in curls, she reminded me of one of those 1950s pinup girls. But, better. Way . . . way better.
I smiled, and it wasn’t even forced. “You . . . are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearly taken off guard.
The doorbell rang, and instantly adrenaline surged through my veins. I took a deep breath, determined to keep my cool.
Abby opened the door, and it took Parker several seconds to speak.
“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he cooed.
Yep, I was definitely going to vomit before I ended up throwing a punch. What a loser.
America’s grin spread from one ear to the other. Shepley seemed really happy, too. Refusing to turn around, I kept my eyes on the TV. If I saw the smug look on Parker’s face, I would climb over the couch and knock him to the first floor without him hitting a step.
The door closed, and I came forward, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.
“You did good, Trav,” Shepley said.
“I need a drink.”