by Cruise, Anna
“No.” I could hear the disgust in her voice. “Especially not that.”
I frowned. “Uh, last time I checked, you liked their food.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I just...I don't know. I think I'm just stressed. “ She sighed again. “I'm sorry.” She hesitated. “You get what you want. Just bring me whatever. I'm sure I'll eat once it's in front of me.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“You want me to bring it to your house? Or you want to meet me at my place?”
“I want to meet at your place,” she said slowly. “But I think we should go to mine.”
I pulled into the parking lot of the fast food place and joined the long line of cars waiting at the drive-through. “Oh? Why's that?”
“Because I know you'll want to do more than just eat,” she said. “And my parents are home.”
I smiled. “Damn, you know me well.”
She laughed. “Duh.”
“Maybe I can work in a quickie. Tell 'em I'm helping you study or something.”
“Mmm. Don't tease me.”
“Anthropology is the study of people, right? So maybe I need to study you for a little bit...”
“Cultures, West. It's a cultural anthro class.”
It was my turn to sigh. “Hmm,” I said. “I'm not convinced.”
“Do you want me to fail? Not turn in the paper?”
“Nope,” I said. “Just feel like turning something on, not something in.”
“Soon.”
The car in front of me pulled up a little and I eased my foot off the brake, inching forward. “I leave tomorrow,” I reminded her.
“I know, I know.”
Her voice sounded flat and I felt a pang of guilt. I hated leaving her. I'd thought playing in San Diego would be better, would allow more time for us. In some ways, it had. It wasn't like I was playing my home games five hours away from her, which is what I would have been doing if I'd gone to Arizona. But the time commitment had caught even me off guard. I wasn't naive—I'd known about practices, about the game schedule, about the dedication it took to play college ball. But it didn't mean that I didn't resent it sometimes, that I didn't frown when the bus pulled up to take us to the airport, that I didn't get angry or frustrated, shacked up in some shitty hotel with one of my teammates bunking down with me.
“I'm sorry,” I told her. “I'm sorry I have to leave.”
She was quiet for a minute. “Don't be. It's what you want to do. And I'd rather you do it here than in another state.”
“You still love me, right?” I asked. “You're not gonna get sick and tired of me being gone, of waiting around for me?”
“I'll never get sick of you,” she said, her voice soft. “I love you, West. Even when you're gone. Especially when you're gone.”
SEVEN
ABBY
The television hummed in the living room but it didn't keep me from hearing the staccato knock that sounded on the front door. I grabbed the glass of ice water I'd just poured and hurried down the hall. I opened the door and West was there, a white paper bag tucked under his arm, his hands gripping two paper drink cups. His hair was damp, pushed off his forehead by a pair of sunglasses.
He grinned at me. “Hey, beautiful.”
I smiled back and stepped out of the doorway. He planted a kiss on top of my head and headed into the kitchen. “We eating in here or the living room?”
“Probably at the table,” I said. “Mom's watching something.”
He poked his head into the living room and offered my mom a quick hello. I couldn't see her but I knew where she'd be. Parked on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, her laptop on her lap, half-watching some design show on HGTV while she cruised sites online. Her illness had given her a lot of free time—a self-imposed sabbatical of sorts from the real estate market—and, although it hadn't been all sunshine and roses, she'd discovered something new about herself, something she enjoyed almost as much as selling houses. Decorating them. At first, it had simply been something to help pass the time, to give her something to focus on as she faced the day to day monotony of chemo. And I'd sat through a lot of it with her: watched the shows and typed in sites on her computer, propping the laptop on the pillow when she'd been too weak to hold it. I'd checked out books from the library and showed her pictures and, when she'd felt well enough, been her sounding board as she talked through ideas and visions.
Now that she was in remission, she still kept her hand in the real estate business. It was what she did, what she'd always done. But she'd voiced her desire to branch out, to do something different, and Dad had been willing to indulge that, to give her the opportunity to live out a little bit of a different dream. She didn't have clients and she didn't express any desire to start a business in interior design. She wasn't looking to find a new business. She was too busy finding herself.
West set the bag down and opened it up. Two wrapped burgers landed on the table along with two paper sleeves filled with thin, crispy fries. “I got you a single. That okay?”
I nodded and slid into one of the chairs at the table. But I wasn't hungry.
He grabbed a chair and positioned it closer to me. He unwrapped his burger and took a huge bite. Sauce dotted his lower lip and I offered him a napkin but he just waved it away, using his tongue instead.
“You're not gonna eat?” He reached into his bag of fries and popped a couple in his mouth.
I picked up a french fry and brought it to my lips. It wasn't that I wasn't hungry. But nothing sounded good. I nibbled at it, the salt settling on my tongue. “What time do you guys leave tomorrow?” I asked.
He took a long drink of his soda. “Bus leaves for the airport at six.”
“A.M.?”
He nodded.
“And you get back when?”
He reached for his burger again. “Monday night.”
It was Thursday. I made a mental note of the number of days, made a quick guess as to how many games he'd be playing. If they left early Friday morning, that meant they'd be playing that afternoon or evening. Another game Saturday and, since he wasn't coming back until Monday, that probably meant a Sunday game, too.
I picked up another french fry. “Okay.”
He polished off his burger and folded up the wax paper, stuffing it back into the burger's paper boat. “It's not gonna be like this forever.”
“I know.”
His leg pressed into mine just as he reached across the table for my hand. “It's April. One more month; maybe more if we make the play-offs. And then we're done.”
“With games.”
“Well, yeah.” He frowned. “I mean, there'll be practice in the summer. But it'll be here. In San Diego. With you.”
“I know.”
He picked up his cup with his free hand, shook it a little so the ice clinked. He brought the straw to his lips and took a long drink. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bull shit.”
I shoved the container of fries away from me. “Nothing. Really. I'm just...” My voice trailed off. I took a sip of my own drink and tried again. “I'm just tired. Trying to juggle everything, you know?”
“Tell me.”
I sighed. “School. Working at the office. Seeing you. Being a good long-distant friend. It's all just...hard. And I know part of it is because I was sick. I lost an entire week, just laying around.”
“You did what you needed to do.”
“I know,” I said. I toyed with the straw in my cup, sliding my thumb over the opening. “I just feel all...I dunno. Discombobulated.”
West raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Wow. That was one big fucking word.”
I smiled. “Right?”
“Yeah. You sure you don't wanna major in English? Be a teacher or something” He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. “You could totally school me. In lots of subjects.”
My smile widened. “Yeah? Like anthropology?�
�
He nodded. “Definitely. Educate me in your sexual habits and culture.”
“I'm pretty sure you're already an expert in that department.”
West shrugged. “I dunno. I'm a very willing student. And I'm pretty sure one could never have too much knowledge in that department.”
“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes, the smile still planted on my lips.
“Anyway,” he said. He motioned to the untouched burger in front of me. “Are you not gonna eat that?”
I shook my head. A hamburger didn't sound good. I pushed it toward him.
“You feeling okay?” he asked. He squeezed my hand before pulling away to unwrap the burger.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just still a little run down.” I picked up the bag of fries and set those down closer to him, too. “From what I hear, it's normal after this flu. A few weeks recovery time.”
He made a sympathetic face.
“Julia's been out since break ended.” Julia was a girl in my economics class. “At least I got sick—and recovered—over break.”
West nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah.”
“And at least you didn't get it,” I pointed out.
“Hmm.” He chewed and swallowed a large bite of burger. “Sorta wish I would have.”
I frowned. “What? Why the hell would you want to be sick?”
“Mostly because I probably wouldn't be getting on a plane tomorrow. Leaving San Diego.”
“Well, yeah. I guess.” My heart tripped a little. “But I don't want you to be sick. Like, not ever.”
He scooted his chair even closer. His bare foot slid up and down my calf and he placed his hand on my thigh, his fingertips resting lightly on the hem of my denim shorts. “I'd take a couple days of being laid up if it meant you'd be laid up with me.”
“Oh my God. You saw how bad I was.” I shook my head. “I couldn't even open my eyes. Remember?”
He nodded. His fingers grazed my thigh. “I know. But I'm a guy, remember? I don't need to be fully conscious for you to take care of me.”
“Oh, really? So I could just pour soup down your throat while you sleep?”
He leaned close, his lips just inches from mine. “That's not how I wanna be taken care of.” He slid his fingers under the hem of my shorts and began to stroke my inner thigh.
I felt my body respond even as I was shaking my head no. “West. My mom...”
He inched his fingers higher and I squirmed in my chair. His touch felt warm on my heated skin and it took every ounce of control I had to not slide into his touch.
“Fuck, Abby,” he said, his lips brushing against mine. “I need you.”
I needed him, too. The physical ache for him, the longing, never went away, never subsided. He was the only guy I'd ever been with but I'd talked to Tana and to other friends. I knew what we had wasn't the norm. We were almost two years in and I hadn't gotten tired of him. We hadn't settled into a predictable routine. There was nothing boring about our relationship or about our sex life. I looked at him as hungrily as I had those first few weeks we'd been together. And I didn't care if it was normal. Because it was us.
And all I wanted was us.
EIGHT
WEST
I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. It was almost dark, the cloudy sky streaked red and purple, the sun tucked behind the Pacific. I breathed in the cool, salty air and felt my body almost immediately relax. I'd spent the last three days in Las Vegas, a three-game series at UNLV. It had been hot and dry and miserable and, even though we'd won two out of three, all I'd wanted to do was get on the plane and come back home.
I shoved the key in the doorknob and pushed the door open to a darkened apartment. I didn't expect Griffin to be there. He'd gotten a job as a bartender down in South Mission and it seemed like days would go by before our paths would cross.
I dropped the duffel bag on the floor and picked up a stack of mail Griffin had left on the table.
“Hi.”
I looked up, surprised. Abby stood in the hallway, her arms folded across her chest. The pile of envelopes fluttered to the floor as I crossed the short distance between us and wrapped her in a hug. I wasn't surprised to see her. I mean, I was, because I didn't know she'd be there. But she had a key. She let herself in all the time.
Her hair was pulled back, her neck exposed and I nuzzled her gently, inhaling the scent of soap and shampoo. It had been four days since I'd seen her and I fucking missed her.
“What are you doing here?” I murmured against her skin.
“Surprising you,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay,” I whispered, moving my lips from her neck to her jaw, trailing a steady stream of kisses.
She turned her head toward me and I captured her lips with mine, my mouth moving hungrily against hers. She sighed softly and wrapped her arms around my neck and fitted herself against me. I felt my body respond instantly and I thrust my tongue into her mouth, my hands running the length of her body.
She pulled her mouth away from mine. “This is quite a welcome.”
“Oh, I've got more,” I told her. I kissed her again, walking her backwards toward my bedroom. “Trust me.”
“West, wait...”
But I couldn't. I was tired as shit and all I'd wanted to do when I got home was collapse into bed. But seeing her and touching her had ignited every nerve inside of me and I was desperate to feel her, to have her.
“No,” I said. I kicked open my bedroom door and lowered her down on my bed. She sank into the comforter and I followed, my hands never leaving her. “I've waited for days. I'm done waiting.”
She didn't argue, not when I pulled the blue camisole she wore up and over her head, and not when I unclasped her lacy white bra. I tugged at the waistband of her denim shorts, my thumb and forefinger working the button open and the zipper down. She lifted her hips and I slid them off, then reached back up to pull her panties off, too. I hovered over her, still fully clothed, staring down at her. It was dark in my room, the blinds cracked open just enough to cast shadows across the walls and against the bed, but my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and I could see Abby with perfect clarity. Her hair spread out around her, her eyes half-lidded, her body trembling just a little, her arms reaching out for me, her hands lifting my shirt so she could run her hands across my skin. She was beautiful and she was mine and I couldn't wait to fuck her.
I reached up, yanked off my shirt and tossed it to the floor. I kicked off my shorts and positioned myself between her legs and she moaned and pulled me toward her. Into her. And suddenly nothing in the world existed but me and her and the way our bodies fit together. Her fingernails dug into my skin like needles on my shoulders and I moved faster, harder until we were both gasping for breath.
I collapsed on top of her, exhausted. She held me to her chest, her own heart thumping as hard as mine. I kissed her jaw and she stroked my hair, her breathing slowly evening out.
“I missed you,” I said, my voice low. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Her fingers closed on a lock of my hair and she tightened her grip just a little. “I missed you, too.”
I tried to raise myself up but I couldn't. I was too tired, emotionally and physically spent.
“You can rest,” she said. She shifted just a little so that she wasn't bearing the full brunt of my weight.
I snuggled into her, the feel of her warm, slick skin the best sort of blanket. I slipped my arm underneath her, pulled her as close to me as I could and closed my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep with her wrapped up next to me and I wanted to wake up in the morning with my arms still around her, a sleepy disheveled mess. I wanted to push up against her in the morning, sleep still clouding my brain, and slip inside of her before we were both fully awake.
“I'm glad you're here,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“Thank you for surprising me.” I rubbed her arm. “For being here.”
“Yeah?” I opened an eye. “You missed me?”
She nodded but I saw something flicker in her expression. “Yes.”
I opened the other eye. “You did, right?”
She nodded again but there was something off about how she was looking at me, something that wasn't right.
I shifted so I was propped up on one elbow. “Are you okay?” I asked.
Another nod.
“What's wrong?”
Silence. She wouldn't look at me.
“Abby.”
“I...” she started then paused. “I don't know.”
“Is it your mom?” My radar went on full alert. “Is everything okay?”
“No, she's fine,” she said quickly. “I mean, as far as I know she's okay.”
“Okay. So...what? Something about school? Work?”
She shook her head.
“I'm running out of guesses here.”
She pressed her lips together. Her eyes were suddenly wet and I felt my stomach clench up in knots.
“What the fuck is wrong, Abby?”
“I...I think I might be pregnant.”
NINE
ABBY
I didn't have to wait long for the onslaught of questions. Because West was suddenly upright, his eyes wide with shock as he stared down at me.
“What??”
I reached for the comforter and tried to tug it over me. But we'd fallen on top of it when he'd pushed me into his room and there was nothing to cover up with. And nowhere to hide.
“What did you just say?” he repeated.
“I...I'm late.”
“What's late? Your period?”
I nodded.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Okay. So, you're late. That's happened before, right?”
It had. I usually had a perfect 28 day cycle, but there had been a couple of times where I'd started a day late. And even though we always used protection—I'd gone on birth control pills almost immediately after we'd started going out and had stayed on them ever since—it still managed to freak me out if it didn't show up like clockwork.