Beautiful Disaster

“I don’t need your help. I can write a paper.” I wanted to leave it at that. I should have left it at that, but the new side of him he’d revealed gnawed at my curiosity. “You can’t find something else to do for a living? Less — I don’t know — sadistic?”

Travis shrugged. “It’s an easy way to make a buck. I can’t make that much working at the mall.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy if you’re getting hit in the face.”

“What? You’re worried about me?” he winked. I made a face and he chuckled. “I don’t get hit that often. If they swing, I move. It’s not that hard.”

I laughed once. “You act as if no one else has come to that conclusion.”

“When I throw a punch they take it and try to reciprocate. That’s not gonna win a fight.”

I rolled my eyes. “What are you…the Karate Kid? Where did you learn to fight?”

Shepley and America glanced at each other, and then their eyes wandered to the floor. It didn’t take long to recognize I had said something wrong.

Travis didn’t seem affected. “I had a dad with a drinking problem and a bad temper, and four older brothers that carried the asshole gene.”

“Oh.” My ears smoldered.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Pidge. Dad quit drinking, the brothers grew up.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” I fidgeted with the falling strands of my hair and then decided to pull it down and smooth it into another bun, trying to ignore the awkward silence.

“I like the au naturel thing you have going on. Girls don’t come over here like that.”

“I was coerced into coming here. It didn’t occur to me to impress you,” I said, aggravated that my plan had failed.

He smiled his boyish, amused grin, and I turned up my anger a notch, hoping it would cover my unease. I didn’t know how most girls felt around him, but I’d seen how they behaved. I was experiencing more of a disorientated, nauseous feeling than giggly infatuation, and the harder he worked to make me smile, the more unsettled I felt.

“I’m already impressed. I don’t normally have to beg girls to come to my apartment.”

“I’m sure,” I said, screwing my face into disgust.

He was the worst kind of confident. Not only was he shamelessly aware of his appeal, he was so used to women throwing themselves at him that he regarded my cool demeanor as refreshing instead of an insult. I would have to change my strategy.

America pointed the remote at the television and switched it on. “There’s a good movie on tonight. Anyone want to find out where Baby Jane is?”

Travis stood up. “I was just heading out for dinner. You hungry, Pidge?”

“I already ate,” I shrugged.

“No you haven’t,” America said before realizing her mistake. “Oh…er…that’s right, I forgot you grabbed a… pizza? Before we left.”

I grimaced at her miserable attempt to fix her blunder, and then waited for Travis’ reaction.

He walked across the room and opened the door. “C’mon. You’ve gotta be hungry.”

“Where are you going?”

“Wherever you want. We can hit a pizza place.”

I looked down at my clothes. “I’m not really dressed.”

He appraised me for a moment and then grinned. “You look fine. Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”

I stood up and waved to America, passing Travis to walk down the stairs. I stopped in the parking lot, watching in horror as he straddled a matte black motorcycle.

“Uh….” I trailed off, scrunching my exposed toes.

He shot me an impatient glare. “Oh, get on. I’ll go slow.”

“What is that?” I asked, reading the writing on the gas tank too late.

“It’s a Harley Night Rod. She’s the love of my life, so don’t scratch the paint when you get on.”

“I’m wearing flip flops!”

Travis stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language. “I’m wearing boots. Get on.”

He slipped on his sunglasses, and the engine snarled when he brought it to life. I climbed on and reached for something to grab on to, but my fingers slipped from leather to the plastic cover of the taillight.

Travis grabbed my wrists and wrapped them around his middle. “There’s nothing to hold on to but me, Pidge. Don’t let go,” he said, pushing the bike backward with his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled onto the street, and took off like a rocket. The pieces of my hair that hung loose beat against my face, and I ducked behind Travis, knowing I would end up with bug guts on my glasses if I looked over his shoulder.

He gunned the throttle when we pulled into the driveway of the restaurant, and once he slowed to a stop, I wasted no time scrambling to the safety of the concrete.

“You’re a lunatic!”

Travis chuckled, leaning his bike onto its kickstand before dismounting. “I went the speed limit.”

“Yeah, if we were on the Autobahn!” I said, pulling out my bun to separate the rats with my fingers.

Travis watched me pull hair away from my face and then walked to the door, holding it open. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Pigeon.”

I stormed past him into the restaurant, my head not quite in sync with my feet. Grease and herbs filled the air as I followed him across the red, breadcrumb-speckled carpet. He chose a booth in the corner, away from the patches of students and families, and then ordered two beers. I scanned the room, watching the parents coaxing their boisterous children to eat, and looking away from the inquisitive glances of Eastern students.

“Sure, Travis,” the waitress said, writing down our drink orders. She looked a bit high from his presence as she returned to the kitchen.

I tucked the wind-blown hairs behind my ears, suddenly embarrassed by my appearance. “Come here often?” I asked acerbically.

Travis leaned on the table with his elbows, his brown eyes fixated on mine. “So what’s your story, Pidge? Are you a man-hater in general, or do you just hate me?”

“I think it’s just you,” I grumbled.

He laughed once, amused at my mood. “I can’t figure you out. You’re the first girl that’s ever been disgusted with me before sex. You don’t get all flustered when you talk to me, and you don’t try to get my attention.”

“It’s not a ploy. I just don’t like you.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t like me.”

My frown involuntarily smoothed and I sighed. “I didn’t say you’re a bad person. I just don’t like being a foregone conclusion for the sole reason of having a vagina.” I focused on the grains of salt on the table until I heard a choking noise from Travis’ direction.

His eyes widened and he quivered with howling laughter. “Oh my God! You’re killing me! That’s it. We have to be friends. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I don’t mind being friends, but that doesn’t mean you have to try to get in my panties every five seconds.”

“You’re not sleeping with me. I get it.”

I tried not to smile, but failed.

His eyes brightened. “You have my word. I won’t even think about your panties…unless you want me to.”

I rested my elbows on the table and leaned into them. “And that won’t happen, so we can be friends.”

An impish grin sharpened his features as he leaned in a bit closer. “Never say never.”

“So what’s your story?” I asked. “Have you always been Travis “Mad Dog” Maddox, or is that just since you came here?” I used two fingers on each hand as quotation marks when I said his nickname, and for the first time his confidence waned. He looked a bit embarrassed.

“No. Adam started that after my first fight.”

His short answers were beginning to bug me. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything about yourself?”