Beautiful Disaster (3 page)

“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 an impatient glare in my direction. “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 behind me 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 windblown 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, his jaw tense. 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.

“No, I'm a local,” he said, distracted.

“I meant about your major. You don't look like the criminal justice type.”

His eyebrows pulled together, suddenly focused on our conversation. “Why?”

I scanned the tattoos covering his arm. “I'll just say that you seem more criminal and less justice.”

“I don't get in any trouble…for the most part. Dad was pretty strict.”

“Where was your mom?”

“She died when I was a kid,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” I said, shaking my head. His answer caught me off guard.

He dismissed my sympathy. “I don't remember her. My brothers do, but I was just three when she died.”

“Four brothers, huh? How did you keep them straight?” I teased.

“I kept them straight by who hit the hardest, which also happened to be oldest to youngest. Thomas; the twins, Taylor and Tyler; and then Trenton. You never, ever got caught alone in a room with Taylor and Ty. I learned half of what I do in the Circle from them. Trenton was the smallest, but he's fast. He's the only one that can land a punch on me now.”

I shook my head, dumbfounded at the thought of five Travises running around in one household. “Do they all have tattoos?”

“Pretty much. Except Thomas. He's an ad exec in California.”

“And your dad? Where's he?”

“Around,” he said. His jaws were working again, increasingly irritated with the soccer team.

“What are they laughing about?” I asked, gesturing to the rowdy table. He shook his head, clearly not wanting to share. I crossed my arms and squirmed in my seat, nervous about what they were saying that caused him so much aggravation. “Tell me.”

“They're laughing about me having to take you to dinner, first. It's not usually…my thing.”

“First?” When the realization settled on my face, Travis winced at my expression. I spoke before I thought. “And I was afraid they were laughing about you being seen with me dressed like this, and they think I'm going to sleep with you,” I grumbled.

“Why wouldn't I be seen with you?”

“What were we talking about?” I asked, warding off the heat rising under my cheeks.

“You. What's your major?” he asked.

“Oh, er…General Ed, for now. I'm still undecided, but I'm leaning toward Accounting.”

“You're not a local, though. You must be a transplant.”

“Wichita. Same as America.”

“How did you end up here from Kansas?”

I picked at the label of my beer bottle. “We just had to get away.”

“From what?”

“My parents.”

“Oh. What about America? She has parent issues, too?”

“No, Mark and Pam are great. They practically raised me. She sort of tagged along; she didn't want me to come alone.”

Travis nodded. “So, why Eastern?”

“What's with the third degree?” I said. The questions were drifting from small talk to personal, and I was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Several chairs knocked together as the soccer team left their seats. They traded one last joke before they meandered toward the door. Their pace quickened when Travis stood up. Those in the back of the group pushed those in front to escape before Travis made his way across the room. He sat down, forcing the frustration and anger away.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You were going to say why you chose Eastern,” he prompted.

“It's hard to explain,” I said, shrugging. “I guess it just felt right.”

He smiled as he opened his menu. “I know what you mean.”

Familiar faces filled the seats of our favorite lunch table. America sat on one side of me, Finch on the other, and the rest of the spaces were picked off by Shepley and his Sigma Tau brothers. It was hard to hear with the low roar inside the cafeteria, and the air conditioner seemed to be on the fritz again. The air was thick with the smells of fried foods and sweaty skin, but somehow everyone seemed to be more energetic than usual.

“Hey Brazil,” Shepley said, greeting the man sitting in front of me. His olive skin and chocolate eyes offset the white Eastern Football hat pulled low on his forehead.

“Missed you after the game Saturday, Shep. I drank a beer or six for ya,” he said with a broad white grin.

“I appreciate it. I took Mare out to dinner,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of America's long blond hair.

“You're sittin' in my chair, Brazil.”

Brazil turned to see Travis standing behind him, and then looked to me, surprised. “Oh, is she one of your girls, Trav?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head.

Brazil looked to Travis, who stared at him expectantly. Brazil shrugged and then took his tray to the end of the table.

Travis smiled at me as he settled into the seat. “What's up, Pidge?”

“What is that?” I asked, unable to look away from his tray. The mystery food on his plate looked like a wax display.

Travis laughed and took a drink from his water glass. “The cafeteria ladies scare me. I'm not about to critique their cooking skills.”

I didn't miss the appraising eyes of those sitting at the table. Travis' behavior piqued their curiosity, and I subdued a smile at being the only girl they had seen him insist on sitting with.

“Ugh…that Bio test is after lunch,” America groaned.

“Did you study?” I asked.

“God, no. I spent the night reassuring my boyfriend that you weren't going to sleep with Travis.”

The football players seated at the end of our table stopped their obnoxious laughter to listen more closely, making the other students take notice. I glared at America, but she was unconcerned with any blame, nudging Shepley with her shoulder.

“Jesus, Shep. You've got it that bad, huh?” Travis asked, throwing a packet of ketchup at his cousin. Shepley didn't answer, but I smiled appreciatively at Travis for the diversion.

America rubbed his back. “He's going to be okay. It's just going to take him a while to believe Abby is resistant to your charms.”

“I haven't tried to charm her,” Travis sniffed, seeming offended. “She's my friend.”

I looked to Shepley. “I told you. You have nothing to worry about.”

Shepley finally met my eyes, and upon seeing my sincere expression, his eyes brightened a bit.

“Did you study?” Travis asked me.

I frowned. “No amount of studying is going to help me with Biology. It's just not something I can wrap my head around.”

Travis stood up. “C'mon.”

“What?”

“Let's go get your notes. I'm going to help you study.”

“Travis…”

“Get your ass up, Pidge. You're gonna to ace that test.”

I tugged on one of America's long yellow braids as I passed. “See you in class, Mare.”

She smiled. “I'll save you a seat. I'll need all the help I can get.”

Travis followed me to my room, and I pulled out my study guide while he popped open my book. He quizzed me relentlessly, and then clarified a few things I didn't understand. In the way that he explained it, the concepts went from being confusing to obvious.

“…and somatic cells use mitosis to reproduce. That's when you have the phases. They sound sort of like a woman's name: Prometa Anatela.”

I laughed. “Prometa Anatela?”

“Prophase, metaphase, anaphase and telophase.”

“Prometa Anatela,” I repeated, nodding.

He smacked the top of my head with the papers. “You got this. You know this study guide backward and forward.”

I sighed. “Well…we'll see.”

“I'm going to walk you to class. I'll quiz you on the way.”

I locked the door behind us. “You're not going to be mad if I flunk this test, are you?”

“You're not going to flunk, Pidge. We need to start earlier for the next one, though,” he said, keeping in step with me to the science building.

“How are you going to tutor me, do your homework, study and train for your fights?”

Travis chuckled. “I don't train for my fights. Adam calls me, tells me where the fight is, and I go.”

I shook my head in disbelief as he held the paper in front of him to ask the first question. We nearly finished a second round of the study guide when we reached my class.

“Kick ass,” he smiled, handing me the notes and leaning against the doorjamb.

“Hey, Trav.”

I turned to see a tall, somewhat lanky man smile at Travis on his way into the classroom.

“Parker,” Travis nodded.