Soon we were both completely naked, and the small voice inside of me wanting to savor the moment and take things slow was easily overpowered by Abby’s desperate kisses and the soft hums she made whenever I touched her pretty much anywhere.
I lowered her to the mattress, and her hand shot out toward the nightstand. Instantly, I remembered my unceremonious breaking of the fishbowl of condoms to pledge my intended celibacy.
“Shit,” I said, panting. “I got rid of them.”
“What? All of them?”
“I thought you didn’t . . . if I wasn’t with you, I wasn’t going to need them.”
“You’re kidding me!” she said, letting her head fall against the headboard in frustration.
I leaned down, breathing hard, resting my forehead against her chest. “Consider yourself the opposite of a foregone conclusion.”
The next moments were a blur. Abby did some weird counting, concluding that she couldn’t get pregnant that particular week, and before I knew it, I was inside of her, feeling every part of her against every part of me. I had never been with a girl without that thin sheath of latex, but apparently a fraction of a millimeter made a lot of difference. Every movement created equally overpowering conflicting feelings: delaying the inevitable, or giving in because it felt so fucking good.
When Abby’s hips rose against mine, and her uncontrolled groans and whimpers escalated to a loud, satisfied cry, I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Abby,” I whispered, desperate. “I need a . . . I need to . . .”
“Don’t stop,” she begged. Her fingernails dug into my back.
I rocked into her again one last time. I must have been loud, because Abby’s hand flew up to my mouth. I closed my eyes, letting everything go, feeling my eyebrows press together while my body convulsed and stiffened. Breathing hard, I looked into Abby’s eyes. Wearing only a tired, satisfied smile, she peered up at me, waiting for something. I kissed her over and over, and then cupped each side of her face with my hands, kissing her again, this time more tenderly.
Abby’s breathing slowed, and she sighed. I leaned my body to the side, relaxing next to her, and then pulled her against me. She rested her cheek against my chest, her hair cascading down my arm. I kissed her forehead once more, locking my fingers together at the small of her back.
“Don’t leave this time, okay? I wanna wake up just like this in the morning.”
Abby kissed my chest, but didn’t look up. “I’m not going anywhere.”
THAT MORNING, LYING WITH THE WOMAN I LOVED, A SILENT promise was formed in my head. I was going to be a better man for her, someone she deserved. No more flying off the handle. No more temper tantrums, or violent outbursts.
Every time I pressed my lips against her skin, waiting for her to wake up, I repeated that promise in my mind.
Dealing with life outside the apartment while trying to stay true to that promise proved to be a struggle. For the first time, I not only gave a shit about someone, but I was also desperate to keep them. Feelings of overprotection and jealousy chipped away at the oath I’d made just a few hours before.
By lunchtime, Chris Jenks had pissed me off and I regressed. Abby was thankfully patient and forgiving, even when I threatened Parker not twenty minutes later.
Abby had proved more than once that she could accept me for who I was, but I didn’t want to be the violent asshole everyone was used to. Mixing my rages with these new feelings of jealousy was more difficult to control than I could have imagined.
I resorted to avoiding situations that could throw me into a rage, and remaining oblivious to the knowledge that not only was Abby insanely hot, every dick on campus was curious how she had tamed the one man they thought would never settle down. It seemed they were all waiting for me to fuck up so they could try her out, which only made me more agitated and cantankerous.
To keep my mind occupied, I focused on making it clear to the coeds that I was off the market, which had pissed off half the school’s female population.
Walking into the Red with Abby on Halloween, I noticed that the sharp, late fall air didn’t hinder the number of women wearing an array of slutty costumes. I hugged my girlfriend to my side, grateful that she wasn’t one to dress up as Prostitute Barbie, or a football-player-slash-transvestite-whore, which meant that the number of threats I would have to make for staring at her tits or worrying about her bending over would be kept to a minimum.
Shepley and I played pool while the girls looked on. We were winning again, after having already pocketed $360 from the last two games.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Finch approach America and Abby. They giggled for a while, and then Finch pulled them onto the dance floor. Abby’s beauty stood out, even amid the bare skin, glitter, and glaring cleavage of the naughty Snow Whites and sleazy referees around her.
Before the song was over, America and Abby left Finch on the dance floor and headed toward the bar. I stretched up onto my toes to find the tops of their heads in the sea of people.
“You’re up,” Shepley said.
“The girls are gone.”
“They probably went to pick up drinks. Get to stickin’, lover boy.”
With hesitation, I bent down, focused on the ball, but then missed.
“Travis! That was an easy shot! You’re killin’ me!” Shepley complained.
I still couldn’t see the girls. Knowing about the two sexual assault incidents the year before, it made me nervous to let Abby and America walk around alone. Drugging an unsuspecting girl’s drink was not unheard of, even in our small college town.
I set my pool stick on the table and made my way across the wooden dance floor.
Shepley’s hand fell on my shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“To find the girls. You remember what happened last year to that Heather chick.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
When I finally found Abby and America, I saw two guys buying them drinks. Both short, one was thicker around the middle, with a week’s worth of scruff on his sweaty face. Jealousy should have been the last thing I would feel when looking at him, but the fact that he was clearly hitting on my girlfriend made this less about his looks and more about my ego—even if he didn’t know she was with me, he should have assumed by looking at her that she wouldn’t be alone. My jealousy mixed with annoyance. I’d told Abby a dozen times not to do something so potentially dangerous as accept a drink from a stranger; anger quickly took over.
The one guy yelling to Abby over the music leaned in. “You wanna dance?”
Abby shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m here with my—”
“Boyfriend,” I said, cutting her off. I glared down at the men. It was almost laughable trying to intimidate two men wearing togas, but I still unleashed my full-on I Will Kill You expression. I nodded across the room. “Run along, now.”
The men cowered, and then looked to America and Abby before retreating behind the curtain of the crowd.
Shepley kissed America. “I can’t take you anywhere!” She giggled, and Abby smiled at me.
I was too angry to smile back.
“What?” she asked, taken aback.
“Why did you let him buy your drink?”
America let go of Shepley. “We didn’t, Travis. I told them not to.”
I took the bottle from Abby’s hand. “Then what’s this?”
“Are you serious?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m fucking serious,” I said, tossing the beer in the trash can by the bar. “I’ve told you a hundred times . . . you can’t take drinks from random guys. What if he put something in it?”
America held up her glass. “The drinks were never out of our sight, Trav. You’re overreacting.”