Walking Disaster

my head.
    The only cure was to stop thinking about her long enough to land my next conquest.
    A few days later, a familiar face caught my eye. I’d seen her before with Janet Littleton. Lucy was fairly hot, never missed a chance to show off her cleavage, and very vocal about hating
my guts. Fortunately it took me thirty minutes and a tentative invite to the Red to get her home. I’d barely shut the front door before she was removing my clothes. So much for the deep well
of hatred she had harbored toward me since last year. She left with a smile on her face and disappointment in her eyes.
    I still had Abby on my mind.
    Not even postorgasm fatigue was going to cure it, and I felt something new: guilt.
    The next day, I rushed to history class and slid into the desk next to Abby. She already had out her laptop and book, barely acknowledging my presence when I sat down.
    The classroom was darker than usual; the clouds outside robbed the room of the natural light that usually poured in through the windows. I nudged her elbow, but she wasn’t as receptive as
usual, so I snatched her pencil out of her hand and began doodling in the margins. Tattoos, mostly, but I scrawled her name in cool letters. She peeked over at me with an appreciative smile.
    I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You wanna grab lunch off campus today?”
    I can’t,
she mouthed.
    I scribbled in her book.
    Y?
    Because I have to make use of my meal plan.
    Bullshit.
    Seriously.
    I wanted to argue but was running out of room on the page.
Fine. Another mystery meal. Can’t wait.
    She giggled, and I enjoyed that on-top-of-the-world feeling I experienced whenever I made her smile. A few more doodles and a legit drawing of a dragon later, Chaney dismissed class.
    I tossed Abby’s pencil in her backpack as she packed away the rest of her things, and then we walked to the cafeteria.
    We didn’t get as many stares as we had in the past. The student populace had grown accustomed to seeing us together on a regular basis. When we went through the line, we made small talk
about the new history paper Chaney had assigned. Abby ran her meal card and then made her way to the table. I immediately noticed one thing missing from her tray: the can of OJ she picked up every
day.
    I scanned the line of husky, no-nonsense servers who stood behind the buffet. Once the stern-looking woman behind the register came into view, I knew I’d found my target.
    “Hey, Miss . . . uh . . . Miss . . .”
    The cafeteria lady sized me up once before deciding I was going to cause her trouble, as most women did right before I made their thighs tingle.
    “Armstrong,” she said in a gruff voice.
    I tried to subdue my disgust as the thought of her thighs appeared in the dark corners of my mind.
    I flashed my most charming smile. “That’s lovely. I was wondering, because you seem like the boss here . . . No OJ today?”
    “There’s some in the back. I’ve been too busy to bring any more to the front.”
    I nodded. “You’re always running your ass off. They should give you a raise. No one else works as hard as you do. We all notice.”
    She lifted her chin, minimizing the folds on her neck. “Thank you. It’s about time someone did. Did you need orange juice?”
    “Just a can . . . if you don’t mind, of course.”
    She winked. “Not at all. I’ll be right back.”
    I brought the can to the table and sat it on Abby’s tray.
    “You didn’t have to do that. I was going to grab one.” She peeled off her jacket and laid it across her lap, exposing her shoulders. They were still tan from the summer, and a
little shiny, begging me to touch them.
    A dozen dirty things flashed in my mind.
    “Well, now you don’t have to,” I said. I offered one of my best smiles, but this time it was genuine. It was another one of those Happy Abby moments I sort of wished for these
days.
    Brazil snorted. “Did she turn you into a cabana boy, Travis? What’s next, fanning her with a palm tree leaf, wearing a Speedo?”
    I craned my neck down the table to see Brazil with a smartass grin. He didn’t mean anything by it, but he ruined my moment, and it pissed me off. I probably did look a little bit like a
pussy, bringing her a drink.
    Abby leaned forward. “You couldn’t
fill
a Speedo, Brazil. Shut the hell up.”
    “Easy, Abby! I was kidding!” Brazil said, holding up his hands.
    “Just . . . don’t talk about him like that,” she said, frowning.
    I stared for a moment,