Seriously. What was so embarrassing about a book? He ran a hand through his close-cut hair and fought the urge to chase after her. He had a feeling it would make her run faster and farther, but he could feel her slipping through his fingers. Like a dream he tried to hold on to as he woke up.
“Tink.”
He turned as the club president, David “Pothole” McComb, came down the hall.
“Hey, Prez.”
“Katherine said she saw you heading this way. Are you taking off already?”
“I was, but I changed my mind.”
“Cool. Do you have time to take a look at my bike? It’s been running rough the last few days.”
Tink hesitated. He wanted to keep an eye on Abby so he could bide his time and approach her again later, but this was his club president—he couldn’t exactly blow him off for a woman. Even for the first woman who had interested him in longer than he could remember.
“Yeah. Let’s go take a look at it.”
When they finally made it back inside, hands covered in grease, he couldn’t find her or her friend. Katherine told him Angie and Dani had left right before he and Pothole came back in, so he couldn’t even ask his sister about her new friend. He’d ask Dani Sunday when they met to spar. He needed to find a way to see her again.
Hungover
Abby rolled over and groaned. She pulled the covers over her head to block the sunlight piercing through the gap in the curtains like a strobe light, even through her closed eyes.
Get the house with the east-facing bedroom, her mom had said. It’ll be so refreshing in the morning. Her mom had obviously never woken up with a hangover in an east-facing bedroom.
She turned away from the window and folded the blanket off her head. Her body wouldn’t let her go back to sleep now. Stupid circadian rhythm. Didn’t it know she was hungover and it was the weekend? She had no reason to get up. Except to find Tylenol.
Throwing the covers off with another groan, she climbed out of bed and slid her feet into her fuzzy slippers. She shuffled down the hall to the kitchen and turned on her quick-boil electric kettle. If only her tea would steep as fast. She took her steeper and mug into the living room and curled up in her oversized chair. Fuzzbutt, her pure black cat, trotted into the room and jumped up on her lap to butt his head against her chin.
She heard the guest toilet flush. A few minutes later, Lindsey stumbled in and made a beeline for the couch, where she collapsed and pulled the folded blanket from the back of the couch over herself.
“Your asshole cat smacked me in the face.”
“That’s his way of saying he loves you.” Abby set her steeper on top of her mug and watched the brew drain down. The fragrant scent of mango and ginger reached her.
“What does he do if he hates you?”
“Pisses in your shoes.”
“Guess I’ll take the love.” Lindsay tossed the blanket off. “Do you have coffee or are you still contemplating your life as a serial killer?”
“There’s a four-cup coffee pot and coffee on the counter just for you,” Abby assured her.
“Oh my god. I’d totally marry you if I was gay.” She stood with a groan and held her hands out like she was trying to steady herself.
“No, thanks. Been there. Done that. The T-shirt sucks.”
“I’m not an asshole. I’d totally be worth getting married again,” Lindsey said over her shoulder.
She returned about ten minutes later with a fragrant cup of coffee. “All hail java, the giver of life and consciousness.”
Abby didn’t have anything against coffee, but she’d gone an entire long weekend without having any and had spent two days with a severe headache dealing with caffeine withdrawals. She’d figured she’d already gone through the process, so she may as well reap the benefits and had switched to loose-leaf tea blends.
Lindsey took a sip and sighed with pleasure. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Like there’s a revival of Lord of the Dance in my head. You?”
“‘Bout the same.” She glanced over the top of her mug. “Do you remember much from last night?”
