Beautiful Disaster 01 (3 page)

America rolled down her window and spit out her gum. “You’re so obvious. Why didn’t you just roll in dog shit to make your outfit complete?”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I said.

“Obviously.”

We pulled into the parking lot of Shepley’s apartment complex, and I followed America to the stairs. Shepley opened the door, laughing as I walked in. “What happened to you?”

“She’s trying to be unimpressive,” America said.

America followed Shepley into his room. The door closed and I stood alone, feeling out of place. I sat in the recliner closest to the door, and kicked off my flip flops.

Their apartment was more aesthetically pleasing than the typical bachelor pad. The predictable posters of half-naked women and stolen street signs were on the walls, but it was clean, the furniture was new, and the smell of stale beer and dirty clothes was notably absent.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Travis said, collapsing onto the couch.

I smiled and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, waiting for him to recoil at my appearance. “America had a paper to finish.”

“Speaking of papers, have you started the one for history, yet?”

He didn’t bat an eye at my messy hair, and I frowned at his reaction. “Have you?”

“I finished it this afternoon.”

“It’s not due until next Wednesday,” I said, surprised.

“I just plugged it out. How hard can a two page essay on Grant be?”

“I’m a procrastinator, I guess,” I shrugged. “I probably won’t start on it until this weekend.”

“Well, if you need help just let me know.”

I waited for him to laugh, or to show some sign that he was joking, but his expression was sincere. I raised an eyebrow. “
You’re
going to help me with
my
paper.”

“I have an A in that class,” he said, a bit miffed at my disbelief.

“He has A’s in all his classes. He’s a freakin’ genius. I hate him,” Shepley said as he led America into the living room by the hand.

I watched Travis with a dubious expression and his eyebrows shot up. “What? You don’t think a guy covered in tats and that trades punches for a living can get the grades? I’m not in school because I have nothing better to do.”

“Why do you have to fight at all, then? Why didn’t you try for scholarships?” I asked.

“I did. I was awarded half my tuition. But there are books, living expenses, and I gotta come up with the other half some time. I’m serious, Pidge. If you need help with anything, just ask.”

“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?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“The normal stuff. Where you’re from, what you want to be when you grow up…things like that.”

“I’m from here, born and raised, and I’m a criminal justice major.”

With a sigh, he unrolled his silverware and straightened them beside his plate. He looked over his shoulder, and I noticed his jaw tensing a bit at those around us. Two tables seating the Eastern soccer team erupted in laughter, and Travis seemed to be annoyed at what they were laughing about.

“You’re joking,” I said in disbelief.