“They love homemade baked goods,” she said when I asked her about it. “The stuff they get from their cafeteria is okay, but it’s not made fresh. I just like to make them smile.”
She shrugged as if it was nothing, but her smile told me just how much she loves to do it, and I felt that familiar tug pulling me under. It’s never just been physical attraction for me with Abbi. It’s who she is. The things she does and cares about. The way she makes me and everyone else around her feel. “You’re fucking amazing—you know that?”
She flashed me the sweetest smile over her shoulder. “I was raised by good people. I’d probably be a selfish shit if they hadn’t taught me to think of others first.”
That was when I panicked, memories of her twenty-first flooding back.
“You deserve a good guy.”
“Someday.” She looked up at the starry night sky and her face twisted as she tried to fight her grimace into a smile. “Someday I’m going to fall in love with a guy who knows how to treat a woman. One who has a good family—a father who taught him how to be a man and take responsibility for his actions. Someday.”
I said goodnight and got the fuck out of there. Because it’s one thing to mess around. It’s one thing to help her out while fulfilling some fantasies of my own.
It’s quite another to fall in love.
I’ve avoided her all week—which wasn’t too hard, since our schedules are so at odds. Most days by the time I get home from work, the busiest part of her shift has just begun. She invited me to meet up at her place after work on Wednesday, and I made up an excuse about an early meeting the next day. Other than that, we exchanged polite texts, but I kept it pretty surface as I try to grapple with my feelings.
I thought I was being stealthy about my avoidance until now, when she’s texting me from work and giving me an out. I’ve been avoiding her, and she knows it.
Even if I end this now, I’m already too deep. I’ve been too deep for Abbi since she came home from college and started helping me and Kace stage the houses we were flipping. I loved being around her—her grins, the sass she only shows to people she trusts, her big heart.
I was twenty-five and she was twenty, and I told myself I’d wait until her twenty-first birthday to make my move. So I did, and that night I found out exactly why I needed to keep my real feelings to myself. Abbi doesn’t want a guy like me. Not for the long term. And I can’t even blame her, so I backed off and put myself back in the friend zone, where I belong.
I’m not sure those feelings ever went away completely, but anything that was buried has been brought to the surface with our recent time together. Cutting it off now won’t change that, but it might screw with her confidence even more.
Dean: I don’t want to stop. In fact, I very much want to keep going. You?
Her reply comes so quickly that I know she’s carrying her phone around with her at work.
Abbi: So much. It’s dirty thoughts central over here.
Dean: Yeah?
Abbi: For real. Aside from the moments I worried I scared you off, I’ve been fantasizing about you visiting my office again. I can’t even sit in that chair without feeling turned on. It’s a problem.
I laugh and adjust myself in my sweats. She’s not the only one who can’t think about an office visit without getting turned on, but the topic reminds me of what she said when we were in her bedroom on Sunday.
Dean: Tell me what you meant on Sunday—when you said we didn’t have to rush when we weren’t in private.
Her reply is a long time coming.
Abbi: It doesn’t matter.
Dean: It matters to me. I hope to get you alone and naked soon. I feel like I should know your expectations . . . and any way guys let you down in the past.
Abbi: It wasn’t their fault. And it’s not the ALONE part that’s the problem.
Dean: Naked?
Abbi: Yeah.
Dean: . . . ???
Right. This doesn’t surprise me, given all her self-esteem issues related to her appearance and size, but the pieces still aren’t matching up for me.
Abbi: You’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?
Dean: I promise I’m not being dense on purpose.
Abbi: I don’t look like a supermodel, okay? I mean, obviously, but it’s even more obvious when I’m naked. So . . . it’s fun to mess around when our clothes are on, because there’s no rush.
Dean: Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you rush me when I finally get you naked.