“Smell what?” Trish asked, as she pulled her hair under her nose and sniffed it.
“Smells like smoke,” I said. “I think something is burning. Oh, my God. I think your car is on fire!”
Abel pulled off the road and hurried out of the car. I pushed out from the backseat and stood next to him as he opened the hood and leaned over the engine to examine it.
He shrugged. “Everything looks fine.”
“Are you sure? I still smell it.” I shrugged, and he bent over further under the hood.
I leaned in next to him and whispered into his ear, “Maybe your pants are on fire, liar!” I grinned as he stood up quickly and banged his head on the underside of the hood. I couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled out of me as he rubbed the sore spot on the back of his skull.
“That’s some commitment to a joke, Kettle. I’m impressed.”
“The bump to the head was a bonus.” I laughed. “That was karma.”
“What do I have to do to make you believe me?”
“You could throw away the drugs, drug dealer.”
“Fine.”
“Really? You’d just throw them away? Why not give them to Trish then or use them yourself?”
“Because Trish would give one to you and—no offense, Lie—you’re just dumb enough to take it again.”
“Drug dealer with a heart. I’m touched,” I replied dryly.
“I don’t do drugs,” he said. “Never have.”
“So the pot and the painkillers?”
“Pot isn’t a drug. Not when you get it for medical purposes, and those painkillers are for an injury I got during the boating accident.”
“Oh…wait. Medical marijuana is legal in Florida?”
“No.” He sighed. “But I did have a prescription in California. It’s not my fault they haven’t legalized here yet.”
“I thought you’ve been here since you were thirteen.”
“I went home for a funeral. It was a while ago, and I don’t plan to ever go back. Are we done or do you need a blood sample from me as well?” he snapped, and I took a step back, wishing I knew when to shut my mouth.
“I’ll settle for some caffeine and another bump on your head.”
Abel tried to hold his scowl, but his smile won over.
“Should I get out or something? Is this thing on fire?” Trish called from her window, and I shook my head at her delayed concern for her own safety.
“We should go.” Abel put the hood down and opened his door for me to slide into the backseat. I did and was thankful I’d chosen jeans today or my ass would have been right in his face.
After we pulled back out onto the road, Trish slid her body against Abel’s and praised him for once again saving her day. He rubbed the back of his head, and I smiled to myself.
We pulled up to the coffee shop, and all I could smell was heaven. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until we arrived.
The Java Junkie was practically empty, with most college students still being in bed, so we were able to the score the coveted corner booth. Abel slid in, and Trish pushed in next to him, so I was left alone on the opposite side. A barista came to our table and took our orders, and we sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
“So…” I said, and blew out a heavy breath.
“Last night was crazy, right? Where the hell did you end up? I always knew you had it in you.” Trish winked. “That’ll show Brock for never calling you.”
I closed my eyes to block out her voice. It was too early, and I was dangerously undercaffeinated for this conversation.
“I didn’t screw anyone.” My eyes flicked to Abel and back to Trish, who was pulling sugar packets out of the dish on the table.
“Sure you didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” I replied angrily.
Abel cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He didn’t mention where I’d been, so neither did I. I felt like he was challenging me to tell Trish the truth.
“I mean, I would have, but he couldn’t get it up,” I whispered. Trish giggled, and Abel’s eyes narrowed.
“Can you really blame the guy if you don’t turn him on?” His head tilted to the side.
“I guess not. I mean…he did seem kind of gay.”
“Here you go.” The barista dropped off our drinks, and I picked mine up and blew into the little drinking hole to cool it down a bit. She smiled at Trish, and I couldn’t help laugh as she acted as if she were the only one around. Her beauty wasn’t something that went unnoticed, unlike me.
“Turning men gay—is that like a superpower, or did it take years of practice?” Abel smirked as he picked up his cup and took a sip. The barista’s eyes grew wide, but she quickly recovered, smiling brightly as she left the table.
“So…who did you go home with last night, Abel?” Trish asked casually.
“No one special.” He stared across the table at me.
“Loser,” I groaned, as I rolled my eyes.
“I may be a loser, but I fuck like a champ. You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky.”
I wondered how Trish actually got home if he wasn’t the one to take her, like he’d promised.
“Maybe we can go out again tonight…just you and me?” she asked him with a flirtatious grin.
I screeched as I tilted my cup just a little too far and burned my bottom lip.
“Sure. Sounds fun.” I glanced up to find Abel’s eyes on me and that shit‐eating grin—the one he wore so often—firmly in place.
“Great. I know the perfect place.” Trish rambled excitedly about her plans for tonight, and I was thankful when she had drunk enough coffee to stop talking and go to the bathroom.
“How did she get home last night?”
“Cab.” He took a drink of his coffee.
“She could have ended up anywhere. You promised. You’re a promise‐breaking liar.”
“Compound name‐calling. Multitalented.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Abel leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “I couldn’t leave you. You needed someone to look out for you, and Trish couldn’t. I made sure she was safe. It’s not like she hasn’t done this a million times.”
“So have I.”
“No.” He took another sip as he relaxed back in his seat.
“Yes, I have. All the time.”
He shook his head. “When you showed up at the party the other night, you looked terrified, like you’d stepped into some hostel in a foreign country that drugs unsuspecting tourists so they can sell their organs on the black market.”
“You got all that from one look?”
“It was one hell of a look, Kettle.”
I relaxed back in my seat and drank a sip from my cup as Trish made her way back to the table.
“I just had the best idea.” She clapped her hands together as she slid into her seat. “What if we hook you up with Adam? He’s cute.”
“I think I’d rather stay home and read.”
“No one would rather read than have fun.”
“Reading is fun,” I said defensively, but Trish just giggled. “Didn’t you already sleep with Adam?”
Trish’s eyes went wide with embarrassment. Abel cleared his throat as his gaze danced between the two of us.
“I have some work to do, but I can pick you up around eight,” Abel said, and Trish agreed with her pouty, overly pink lip pulled between her teeth.
“Where do you work?” I asked.
“Not a job, just work to do.”
“Mysterious,” Trish said with a smirk.
“More like suspicious,” I mumbled into my cup.
Chapter Eight
Many Talents
The day dragged on painfully slow after Abel dropped us off at home. I took a long bubble bath and began a new book, but the hours crawled by. I don’t know why I wished time away. It wasn’t like tomorrow ever held something exciting and new. I wasn’t working toward anything. I had college, but I had no clear direction and had decided to be undeclared for my freshman year.
I ate leftover spaghetti for lunch and saved some because I knew I’d be having it for dinner as well, since I’d be alone tonight. My phone buzzed beside me as I was sprawled across my bed, four chapters deep into my romance novel. I lifted it to find a text message from an unknown number.
How’s the book?
I glanced around the room and back to my phone, thinking before typing a reply.
Who is this?
My phone vibrated again a few seconds later.
Am I that forgettable, Kettle?
I huffed and dropped my Kindle beside me on the bed.
Stalker.
The phone was quiet for a minute before another text rang through.
Those pajamas are hideous.
I flipped over and yelled as I saw Abel in the doorway of my room. I grabbed my pillow and threw it at him, but he just stood there, letting it bounce off his chest.
“Really? A pillow is your defense against a stalker?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a hot date tonight. If I’m lucky she might put out.”
I rolled my eyes as I flipped back onto my stomach and grabbed my Kindle. “You don’t need luck for that, but you may need a dose of penicillin.”
Abel laughed and grabbed my pillow, walking it across the room and tossing it to the head of my bed.
“Where’s Trish?” I asked, not bothering to look up from my Kindle.
“Changing her clothes.”
“And how did you get my number?”
“Magic. It’s one of my many talents—much like your ability to turn men gay.”
“Is your first talent being a criminal?”
“That hurts. That really hurts, Kettle. You know, if you really want to be like Trish, you need to ditch the books and stop judging people.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never joke about putting down a book,” he said.
I was wrong. Abel’s first talent was being sarcastic, and it was infuriating.
“So the perfect people have feelings too? I never would have guessed.” I tossed my Kindle and pushed up from the bed. Abel towered over me in a charcoal button‐down shirt and dark‐wash jeans. His hair was messy as usual, and his appearance stopped me in my tracks. He looked hot as hell.
“Oh, no. Not feelings. Just a low tolerance for hypocrites, Kettle.”
“I’m not a hypocrite, and stop calling me ‘Kettle,’ you asshat.” I glared up at him, but his face was relaxed, and I swear I saw a smile tugging on his lips. He enjoyed getting under my skin.
He pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “This has been fun, but I have a date. Don’t give yourself a paper cut, Kettle.” He turned to leave, and I groaned with frustration.
“It’s a Kindle, you idiot. There is no paper.”
He pulled the door closed behind him, and I wanted to scream, but I just walked to my bed and sunk down on the edge. My door popped open again, and I looked up at Trish with Abel behind her.
“We’re heading out. Don’t party too hard.” She laughed, and I glanced up at Abel, who winked before she pulled the door closed, and I was finally alone.
Once I heard the door to the apartment open and close, I walked to the kitchen and got a glass of wine. OK, it wasn’t a glass; it was a coffee mug, and the wine came from a box. It didn’t matter, because it did the trick either way.
I gulped it down and let the warmth spread throughout my body before I poured another and made my way to the living room. I plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. I hardly ever watched TV anymore, but the house was too quiet when Trish wasn’t here.