“No … you look beautiful. I meant that. I was talking about what I said in my room. I’m not going to lie. I enjoyed pulling you from your date with Parker …”
“It wasn’t a date, Travis. We were just eating. He won’t speak to me now, thanks to you.”
“I heard. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Y … you’re right,” he said, stuttering when he saw my impatient expression. “But I … that wasn’t the only reason I took you to the fight. I wanted you there with me, Pidge. You’re my good-luck charm.”
“I’m not your anything,” I snapped, glaring up at him.
His eyebrows pulled in and he stopped dancing. “You’re my everything.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep the anger at the surface, but it was impossible to stay mad at him when he looked at me that way.
“You don’t really hate me … do you?” he asked.
I turned away from him, putting more distance in between us. “Sometimes I wish that I did. It would make everything a whole hell of a lot easier.”
A cautious smile spread across his lips in a thin, subtle line. “So what pisses you off more? What I did to make you wanna hate me? Or knowing that you can’t?”
The anger returned. I shoved past him, running up the stairs to the kitchen. My eyes were beginning to gloss over but I refused to be a sobbing mess at the date party. Finch stood beside the table and I sighed with relief when he handed me another beer.
For the next hour, I watched Travis fend off girls and suck down shots of whiskey in the living room. Each time he caught my eye, I looked away from him, determined to get through the night without a scene.
“You two look miserable,” Shepley said.
“They couldn’t look more bored if they were doing it on purpose,” America grumbled.
“Don’t forget … we didn’t want to come,” Finch reminded them.
America made her famous face that I was just as famous for giving in to. “You could pretend, Abby. For me.”
Just when I opened my mouth for a sharp retort, Finch touched my arm. “I think we’ve done our duty. You ready to go, Abby?”
I drank the remainder of my beer in a quick swig and then took Finch’s hand. As anxious as I was to leave, my legs froze when the same song that Travis and I danced to at my birthday party floated up the stairs. I grabbed Finch’s bottle and took another swig, trying to block out the memories that came with the music.
Brad leaned against the counter beside me. “Wanna dance?”
I smiled at him, shaking my head. He began to say something else, but he was interrupted.
“Dance with me.” Travis stood a few feet from me, his hand outstretched to mine.
America, Shepley, and Finch were all staring at me, waiting for my answer as anxiously as Travis.
“Leave me alone, Travis,” I said, crossing my arms.
“This is our song, Pidge.”
“We don’t have a song.”
“Pigeon …”
“No.”
I looked to Brad and forced a smile. “I would love to dance, Brad.”
Brad’s freckles stretched across his cheeks as he smiled, gesturing for me to lead the way to the stairs.