Walking Disaster

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.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Virgin
    L ESS THAN A WEEK LATER, I HAD EMPTIED MY SECOND bottle of whiskey. Between trying to cope with Abby spending more and more
time with Parker, and her asking me to release her from the bet so she could leave, my lips were touching the mouth of the bottle more than they were my cigarettes.
    Parker had ruined the surprise of Abby’s surprise birthday party Thursday at lunch, so I had to scramble to move it to Friday night instead of Sunday. I was thankful for the distraction,
but it wasn’t enough.
    Thursday night, Abby and America were chattering in the bathroom. Abby’s demeanor toward America was a stark contrast to the way she regarded me: she’d barely spoken to me that
evening since I refused to let her out of the bet earlier that day.
    Hoping to smooth things over, I popped into the bathroom. “Wanna grab dinner?”
    “Shep wants to check out that new Mexican place downtown if you guys wanna go,” America said, absently combing through her hair.
    “I thought me and Pidge could go alone