Walking Disaster

brought me a weird sense of calm. Even in the middle of a rage.
    I smiled and opened my menu. “I know what you mean.”

CHAPTER THREE

White Knight
    S HEPLEY STOOD AT THE DOOR LIKE A LOVESICK IDIOT , waving to America as she pulled out of the parking lot. He shut the door,
and then collapsed in the recliner with the most ridiculous smile on his face.
    “You’re dumb,” I said.
    “Me? You should have seen you. Abby couldn’t get out of here quick enough.”
    I frowned. Abby didn’t seem in a hurry to me, but now that Shepley had said something, I remembered that she
was
pretty quiet when we got back. “You think so?”
    Shepley laughed, stretching back in the chair and pulling the footrest up. “She hates you. Give it up.”
    “She doesn’t hate me. I nailed that date—dinner.”
    Shepley’s eyebrows shot up. “Date? Trav. What are you doing? Because if this is just a game to you and you fuck this up for me, I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
    I fell against the couch and grabbed the remote. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not doing that.”
    Shepley looked confused. I wouldn’t let him see that I was just as baffled as he was.
    “I wasn’t kidding,” he said, keeping his eyes on the TV screen. “I’ll smother you.”
    “I heard you,” I snapped. The whole feeling-out-of-my-element thing was pissing me off, and then I had Pepé Le Pew over there threatening my death. Shepley with a crush was
annoying. Shepley in love was almost intolerable.
    “Remember Anya?”
    “It’s not like that,” Shepley said, exasperated. “It’s different with Mare. She’s the one.”
    “You know that after a couple of months?” I asked, dubious.
    “I knew it when I saw her.”
    I shook my head. I hated it when he was like this. Unicorns and butterflies flying out of his ass and hearts floating in the air. He always ended up getting his heart broken, and then I had to
make sure he didn’t drink himself to death for six months solid. America seemed to like it, though.
    Whatever. No woman could make me blubber and get slobbering drunk over losing her. If they didn’t stick around, they weren’t worth it anyway.
    Shepley stood and stretched, and then ambled toward his room.
    “You’re full of shit, Shep.”
    “How would you know?” he asked.
    He was right. I’d never been in love, but I couldn’t imagine it changing me that much.
    I decided to turn in, too. I stripped down and lay back on the mattress in a huff. The second my head hit the pillow, I thought of Abby. Our conversation replayed verbatim in my mind. A few
times she had showed a glint of interest. She didn’t totally hate me, and that helped me relax. I wasn’t exactly apologetic about my reputation, but she didn’t expect me to
pretend. Women didn’t make me nervous. Abby made me feel distracted and focused at the same time. Agitated and relaxed. Pissed off and damn near giddy. I’d never felt so at odds with
myself. Something about that feeling made me want to be around her more.
    After two hours of staring at the ceiling, wondering if I would see her the next day, I decided to get up and find the bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the kitchen.
    The shot glasses were clean in the dishwasher, so I pulled out one and filled it to the brim. After hammering it back, I poured another. I tossed it back, set the glass in the sink, and turned
around. Shepley stood in his doorway with a smirk on his face.
    “And so it begins.”
    “The day you appeared on our family tree, I wanted to cut it down.”
    Shepley laughed once and shut his door.
    I trudged to my bedroom, pissed that I couldn’t argue.
    MORNING CLASSES TOOK FOREVER, AND I WAS A LITTLE disgusted with myself that I had all but run to the cafeteria. I didn’t even know if Abby would
be there.
    But, she was.
    Brazil was sitting directly across from her, chatting it up with Shepley. A smirk touched my face, and then I sighed, both relieved and resigned to the fact that I was lame.
    The lunch lady filled my tray with god-knows-what, and then I walked over to the table, standing directly across from Abby.
    “You’re sittin’ in my chair, Brazil.”
    “Oh, is she one of your girls, Trav?”
    Abby shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
    I waited, and then Brazil complied, taking his tray to an empty seat at the end of the long table.
    “What’s up, Pidge?” I asked, waiting for her to spit venom in my direction. To my extreme surprise, she showed no signs of