One thing for sure, this was the absolute last time Abby let Megan convince her she’d have fun at one of these parties. Abby wasn’t a frat party kind of girl. She’d much rather stay home and watch a movie or read a book. Small parties with people she knew were fine. But this collection of drunken idiocy and shameless grinding?
No thanks.
She finally managed to break through the throngs and find the kitchen, as stuffed with bodies as everywhere else. A breakfast bar with cups and drinks scattered across it dominated the room. The real attention grabber was the keg and another group of morons, with a central moron doing a keg stand. Abby elbowed her way through the crowd, uncaring who she bumped into anymore, trying to get to the sink to clean up as much as possible. Fingers crossed they stocked paper towels here. The prospect of spending the rest of the night sticky didn’t sound appealing, especially considering she’d probably have to walk home since she’d come in Megan’s car. She’d be a walking bug magnet like this.
A guy stood at the sink. A tall guy with his back to her. A white T-shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders and faded jeans clung to his ass. And what a nice ass it was. She allowed herself a moment to admire it, a smirk flitting across her mouth before she approached him.
“Excuse me.” She tried to pitch her voice loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party without shouting. No response.
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
