“Okay, let’s talk about your new man. What’s his name? Travis?” I nodded. “What are you doing with that tattooed psychopath? He looks like a reject from the Manson Family.”
“Be nice, Jesse, or I’m walking out of here.”
“I can’t get over how different you look. I can’t get over that you’re sitting in front of me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get over it.”
“There she is,” Jesse said. “The girl I remember.”
I looked down at my watch. “Travis’s fight is in twenty minutes. I better go.”
“We still have dessert coming.”
“I can’t, Jess. I don’t want him worrying if I’m going to show up. It’s important.”
His shoulders fell. “I know. I miss the days when I was important.”
I rested my hand on his. “We were just kids. That was a lifetime ago.”
“When did we grow up? You being here is a sign, Abby. I thought I’d never see you again and here you sit. Stay with me.”
I shook my head slowly, hesitant to hurt my oldest friend. “I love him, Jess.”
His disappointment shadowed the small grin on his face. “Then you’d better go.”
I kissed his cheek and fled the restaurant, catching a taxi.
“Where you headed?” The cab driver asked.
“Zero’s.”
The cabby turned to look at me, giving me a once over. “You sure?”
“I’m sure! Go!” I said, tossing cash over the seat.
Chapter Sixteen
HOME
Travis finally broke through the crowd with Benny’s hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. Travis nodded and replied. My blood ran cold as I watched him be so friendly to the man that had threatened us less than twenty-four hours before. Travis basked in the applause and congratulations of his triumph as the crowd roared. He walked taller, his smile was wider, and when he reached me, he planted a quick kiss on my mouth.
I could taste the salty sweat mixed with the coppery taste of blood on his lips. He had won the fight, but not without a few battle wounds of his own.
“What was that about?” I asked, watching Benny laugh with his cohorts.
“I’ll tell you later. We have a lot to talk about,” he said with a broad grin.
A man patted Travis on the back.
“Thanks,” Travis said, turning to him and shaking his outstretched hand.
“Looking forward to seeing another match of yours, son,” the man said, handing him a bottle of beer. “That was incredible.”
“C’mon, Pidge.” He took a sip of his beer, swished it around in his mouth and then spit, the amber liquid on the ground tinged with blood. He weaved through the crowd, taking in a deep breath when we made it to the sidewalk outside. He kissed me once and then led me down the Strip, his steps quick and purposeful.
In the elevator of our hotel, he pushed me against the mirrored wall, grabbed my leg and pulled it up in a quick motion against his hip. His mouth crashed into mine, and I felt the hand under my knee slide up my thigh and pull up my skirt.
“Travis, there’s a camera in here,” I said against his lips.