She tapped on his shoulder, stretched up on her tiptoes, and practically yelled in his ear. “Excuse me!”
As he turned, someone knocked into Abby from behind. She lurched forward against the guy’s chest, crushing her cup against his abs and splashing the remains of her drink all over them both.
He let out a surprised shout, grabbing her upper arms to steady her when she fell into him, but pushed her away when the cold liquid soaked his shirt.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Abby covered her mouth with her hand, feeling like a complete moron. He stood there with his arms out looking down at the mess on his shirt. Then he noticed the matching stain on her shirt, and his lips twitched like he might be suppressing a smile.
He cleared his throat. “It’s okay.” There was laughter in his voice.
Abby crinkled her brows in confusion. Why is he laughing at me? I just spilled my drink all over him.
Then she realized that his eyes were glued to her chest.
Abby looked down and gasped. Her light pink tank was more or less see-through now that it was wet. She could clearly see the pattern of the lace on her bra, as well as her pointed nipples. Great. Just what I always wanted—to participate in a wet T-shirt contest at a frat party. With a frustrated sigh, she reactively crossed her arms over her chest. Having random dudes talk to her boobs wasn’t a new thing, but it always made her uncomfortable, like her entire worth to some guys was as a walking pair of tits. But covering herself had the opposite effect of making the guy snort, starting to lose the battle to suppress his laughter.
“Can you move, please?” She put an edge on her demand, giving free rein to her irritation. The smug bastard was still snorting with barely suppressed mirth and staring at her boobs, not even trying to hide it. The fact that he was disgustingly attractive somehow made it worse—dark hair, square jaw, a dimple in his left cheek that gave him a hint of boyishness belied by his height and obvious muscles.
He stepped to the side and leaned one hip against the counter, allowing Abby access to the sink and himself a front row seat. His snorting turned into chuckling and quickly progressed to full-blown laughter. Abby shot him a glare while she turned on the sink and looked for a towel or paper towel or something to use to wipe off the soda.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to do much to help your shirt.” A slight drawl stretched and flattened the vowels of his voice low, rumbly voice. When he leaned forward to talk to her, his breath fluttered the tiny hairs on the back of her neck that had escaped from her ponytail.
“Yes, I realize that.” She spit the words through clenched teeth while suppressing a shiver at his nearness. “But I’d like to at least get the stickiness off my skin before figuring out how to get home.” When she turned to look at him, his face was only inches away from her own. His dark brown eyes had flecks of gold in them this close, and his dark brows arched high at her words. If either of them moved an inch or two closer to the other, their lips would meet.
Before she could react to his closeness, he leaned back and snagged a roll of paper towels off the counter. The move caused his shirt to lift, revealing an appealing strip of tanned skin. Her eyes snapped back up to his face as he handed her the paper towels. Amusement still glinted in his dark eyes.
Annoyed and off-kilter, Abby ripped off two or three paper towels, got them wet, and started mopping up the worst of the mess on her arms and legs. She had to use more paper towels when she got to her sandals. After trying and failing to wipe her sandals out, she gave up and just stuck them under the running water, leaving them soaked but clean.
And now she was ready to go home. Though walking home with wet sandals sounded like a recipe for blisters. Was it worth it to try to find Megan?
Charlie Chuckles’s laugh track next to her while she attempted to de-soda-ify herself didn’t help with the decision-making process. He might have a nice ass, and okay, nice arms, and, if she were honest, a nice everything else, but he didn’t have very nice manners. She was getting sick of that smile and that laugh that she’d otherwise enjoy if they weren’t being used to embarrass her.
“Enjoying the show?” Abby reached for more paper towels.
“Very much.” He didn’t even bother to hide his smile, but it somehow seemed more disarming now and less mocking. Abby huffed in annoyance and turned back to her sandals, the corners of her mouth twitching in response. She wanted to hold onto her irritation, but found it difficult when he kept grinning at her like that.
“I’m Lance.” Chuckles stuck out his hand when she was done with her sandals. Glancing at his face and then his hand, she placed her hand in his and gave it a quick, firm shake.
“Hi.” Abby dropped his hand right away, ignoring his firm grip and the slight callouses on his palm. She turned away from him, trying to plot the best route to get to the front door through the drunken bodies clustered around the room.
“Usually when someone introduces himself, it’s polite to give your name in return.”
She didn’t spare him more than a glance, still scanning for an opening to make her escape. “When someone’s covered in soda, it’s polite not to stare at their see-through shirt and laugh at them while they clean their shoes.”
He laughed softly, the sound just reaching her ears over the noise. “Touché.”
Spotting a hole,
