Page 41 of Holidating
“Oh, save it.” I sip from my excellent beer and fight the urge to look at Abbi again. I’m so busted.
“I don’t think you realize how serious this problem could be,” Tate insists. “If Abbi thinks you’re a creeper, we’d have to find a new hangout. The pizza place, probably. All those carbs, man. We’ll get fat and slow.”
Vonne snickers. “I like pizza, Weston. I’ll make the switch for you if it comes to that.”
“What are youtalkingabout?” I grumble. “We’re not getting kicked out of the Biscuit.”
Tate laughs. “I just need to keep your attention for a whole minute. Hudson and I have a bet going.” He checks his watch. “Stay with me for at least another thirty seconds, okay? You’ve got a bad case of ADD. In your case, that stands for Abbi Deficit Disorder.”
Everyone at the table laughs, while I roll my eyes. He’s right, though. I’m sitting in this bar tonight just hoping to get a smile from Abbi. This crush I have on her just won’t be silenced. It’s actually worse now, in spite of the fact that she knows all my family’s ugly secrets.
We could be so good together. And I think there’s still a chance for us. We’re not fake dating anymore, right? So if I put Mr. Smooth to work on Abbi, she won’t feel cornered. She could just turn me down if she’s not feeling it.
But she won’t turn me down. I bet she’ll invite me back to her place for New Year’s Eve with Mr. Smooth. I’ve got big plans for us.
Sure, it’s a little risky, because I want us to stay friends. And she already knows that Mr. Smooth is also Mr. Keep it Casual. But maybe that’s just fine with her. Abbi is a busy girl who’s juggling a lot in her life. She’s going to graduate and move to another city.
But before she does, we could have some fun. Maybe I’m flattering myself, but I think she’d be open to this idea. I’m pretty good at reading people, which is why Mr. Smooth rarely hears the wordno.One of my talents is knowing when a girl wants me to hit her upvote button.
There was a moment there over Christmas when we were on the same page. Several moments. And now it’s eleven thirty on New Year’s Eve. It’s customary to get a kiss at midnight, right?
All I have to do is get a moment with an overworked waitress in a crowded room. No problemo.
Even as I have this thought, I look up to see Abbi streak by. She stops at a nearby table, clears away the empty beer glasses, nodding vigorously as she takes another order. But there’s a new furrow between her eyebrows that’s not usually there.
She looks worried.
Huh.
I watch her trot off to the bar. And then I watch her do a hundred other things in the space of ten minutes. She looks frantic.And I know it’s not because of the packed tables or the drink orders. Abbi doesn’t get overwhelmed at work.
She keeps looking at the door to the bar, though. As if she expects Dracula himself to come through it. And I wish I knew why.
Finally, there’s just a few minutes left until midnight. I’m rehearsing my speech in my head.Listen, Abbi, there’s something I need to ask you. And if you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.
This setup does, I realize, come perilously close to my personal rule of never hitting on people who are just trying to make it through a shift at work. But Abbi and I are friends. And I wouldn’t go there if I didn’t think she was into me.
I slide off my bar stool. “Well guys, wish me luck.”
“Oh shit,” Hudson says, his eyes big. “Don’t crash and burn, man. We’ll have to find another hangout. Hell—even if you knock her on her ass with your sex appeal, we’re still in trouble.”
“How do you figure?” I ask. I’m not really worried, but Hudson is entertaining.
“Dude, you’re a heartbreaker,” he says. “When you’re done with her, she won’t bring us beer.”
“You know, I don’t think that will happen this time.”
“Oh God!” Tate moans. “I hope you all like pizza.”
“And you guys call yourselves my friends? Here goes nothing.”
The music has stopped, and all the bar TVs are tuned in to Times Square. The countdown is just a minute or so away. I dodge between tables, heading for the back, where I last saw Abbi.
Sure enough, she’s standing in the shadows near the kitchen door, whispering with the other waitress, Carly. Their heads are bent together in conversation, and then Abbi gestures toward the door.
I hate to interrupt, but I’m a man on a mission. “Hey, ladies.”
They both straighten quickly, as if caught out. “Do you need something, Weston?” Abbi asks.
