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“I don’t have your muscles,” Abby says as an explanation. It’s a pity when she lets go.
“So I win.”
Her hazel eyes narrow on me, unhappy with the idea of losing. “Fine. Lift me up.”
“You didn’t lift me up.”
“I don’t bench-press two hundred pounds with my pinkie.”
I sweep my hand for Abby to head to the wall, but a ball of blond slips in between us. “Nope. Not happening. This is my first night dancing and you two will not get us thrown out. Do you hear me?”
Rachel’s a short thing, but full of spunk and she’s wearing a don’t-mess-with-me expression. She’s been waiting months for a night like this, and neither Abby nor I would want to be the reason it was ruined.
I toss my hands up in a show of submission. “Games for the night are done.”
“Good.” Rachel extends her hand to her boyfriend. Isaiah links his fingers with hers then leads her to the dance floor, leaving me and Abby alone.
Abby sucks in her lower lip like she’s trying not to laugh and I understand the feeling. That was the equivalent of being reprimanded by Mom and Dad for having our hands caught in the cookie jar. Abby and I met because of Isaiah and Rachel. We were two separate parts of Isaiah’s life and then we wound up fighting side by side with Isaiah when things got rough for him and Rachel on the streets a few months back.
“To be continued,” I say. “Unless you’re chicken.”
Abby skims her eyes over me as if she likes what she sees. “I’m not scared of you or your crazy dares.”
“Good to hear.”
Abby steals my bottled water and keeps direct eye contact as she drinks more than half of it in several continuous gulps. When she finishes, she maintains that steady stare. “Remember when we were best friends in kindergarten and we got crazy and messy when we were locked in the art room because we hid under the desks because we didn’t want to do nap time?”
Abby has this devilish glint in her eye that has attracted me to her from the moment we met and that glint has a habit of brightening whenever she looks at me.
I’m attracted to her, she’s attracted to me, but we have a habit of ignoring what’s brewing between us. But that’s all right. Life for us is a game, and we both love to play.
Our group claimed a corner in the back of the club a few hours ago. It’s teen night and the place is crawling with people our age—seventeen, eighteen, a few sixteen-year-olds who should be put in protective custody due to their lack of common sense. Most haven’t been outside their safe bubble and this is their first taste of protected freedom.
Table was easy to claim as three of us in our group are over six foot and scares the hell out of everyone. Isaiah has enough tattoos that most people assume he’s been in prison even though he’s only eighteen. Then there’s West. He’s the golden-haired rich boy who sports a nice shiner from an amateur MMA fight last weekend. It’s the type of bruise that makes you wonder how bad off the other guy is. And me? Doesn’t take long for people to figure out I’m bat shit crazy.
I rest my elbows on the high table and ease into Abby’s space. “I remember. You couldn’t just chill with the clay and decided to go Picasso with the paint and redecorate the walls. Principal was pissed.”
The floor beneath us vibrates from the drums and the bass guitar and the place has a sweet smell. Like too much cleaner combined with spilled soft drinks. But the scent that absorbs me is an aroma that’s distinctly Abby—wild honey.
Her forehead crinkles and a bead of sweat drops from her hairline. Before she bounded over with her dare for me to climb, Abby had been dancing with Rachel and I enjoyed watching.
Abby’s like a mythical creature—rare, unique. One of those people you think only exists in your dreams, and she draws the attention of everyone. Long dark brown hair, hazel eyes and she’s blessed in all the right places.
What she wears is simple. Always simple. Tonight, it’s jeans, a pair of black knockoff Chuck high-tops, and a dark blue lace tank that sparkles. There’s something mysterious in how she chooses simple yet soft. Abby’s possibly the strongest, most hard-core girl I know, yet she’s exotic and feminine. She’s definitely one of a kind.
“Yeah, the principal was mad,” Abby says. “But we didn’t get caught because, if you recall, I had the brilliant plan of climbing out the windows and then sneaking back into our class before our teacher missed us.”
“It was my strength that pushed you through the window back into our classroom.”
“My knight in shining armor.” She flutters her eyelashes at me before finishing the water.
None of this happened as we haven’t even known each other a year yet, but Abby spins stories of a past we never shared and I go with it. Sometimes, she’s so convincing I begin to question my own memories. Maybe she’s not so convincing and it’s more that I would prefer her version of our make-believe past over my real life.
My cell buzzes and it’s Ryan, my best friend from Bullitt County. Abby bumps my hip so that I’m out of her way and she confiscates my cell. I grin because the girl is incorrigible and I love it.
“Let’s see.” Abby angles the phone so I can’t read Ryan’s text. “Ryan says he’s been eaten by alligators and that he’s left you a million dollars.”
“That so?”
