Rebound Envy (Rebound #2) Read online

  Is this just what she needs to get over her bad day?

  "He slowly lowered his head, and fitted his mouth to mine. His lips were soft. The kiss was tender and exploratory, making no demands, giving as much as getting.

  He broke the kiss and my eyelids drifted open. Sean's face was still only inches above mine, just far enough away to be able to focus without going cross eyed. His eyes examined mine, and whatever he saw there had him cupping my face in his hands, and kissing me again."

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  Chapter One

  "Hey! Watch it!" The asshole that bumped into Abby didn't even bother turning around when she yelled at him. He'd made her spill her drink, and now Jack and Coke was splashed all over her hand, bare legs, and new sandals.

  "Great. What a jerk." Switching her cup to her left hand and shaking the excess liquid from her right, she started to weave her way through the crowd of drunken Marycliff University students to find the kitchen.

  She'd somehow let Megan convince her that coming to the party would be fun. She'd even made a token effort—a flowy lightweight tank with spaghetti straps, her favorite denim shorts that showed off her legs, and her new strappy sandals. Sandals that were now covered in liquor and soda, and would probably be sticky once they dried.

  Megan had abandoned her over an hour ago, shortly after they'd gotten their drinks. Abby had seen her doing body shots a little later, and the last time she'd seen Megan she had been making out with a guy against the wall in the hallway. Abby could only imagine what had happened since.

  She finally managed to get to the kitchen, which was just as crowded as everywhere else. A breakfast bar with cups and drinks laid out dominated the room. The real attention grabber was the keg and the idiot doing the keg stand. Abby elbowed her way through the crowd, trying to get to the sink so she could try to clean up a little. She didn't feel like spending the rest of the night sticky.

  Someone was standing at the sink. His back was to her, and he wore a t-shirt that stretched taut across his shoulders and biceps, and jeans that hung nicely from his hips. Nice ass. She allowed a smirk to flit across her mouth before approaching 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 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. He had grabbed her upper arms to steady her when she ran into him, but had pushed her away when he felt the liquid soaking 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 looked at 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 noticed that his eyes were glued to her chest, and she looked down.

  Abby 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. She crossed her arms over her chest, which made the guy snort a little, starting to lose the battle to suppress his laughter.

  "Can you move, please?" Her demand was laced with irritation. The smug bastard was still snorting with barely suppressed mirth and staring at her boobs, not even trying to hide it.

  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 had turned into chuckling and was quickly progressing 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 going to be able to do much to help your shirt." His voice was low and rumbly, a slight drawl accenting his words. He had leaned forward to talk to her, and she could feel his breath moving the tiny hairs that had escaped from her ponytail on the back of her neck.

  "Yes, I realize that." She spit the words through clenched teeth. "But the soda spilled all over me. 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.

  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 a strip of tanned skin. Her eyes snapped back up to his face as he handed her the paper towels, noticing that amusement still glinted in his dark eyes.

  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 get 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. They were soaking wet, but at least they were clean.

  It was bad enough that her new top was now a mess, with a brown stain all over it from her drink. She hoped it'd come out in the wash, but she really wasn't sure. She also hoped her shoes weren't ruined. She'd just gotten them that afternoon—cute flats with silver straps that crisscrossed their way over the top of her foot to where they secured around her ankle. They weren't that impressive, but Abby liked them.

  And Charlie Chuckles was still standing next to her watching her attempts to de-soda-ify her shoes. He might have a nice ass, and okay, nice arms, but he didn't have very nice manners. She'd think he had a nice smile too, if he wasn't using it to embarrass her.

  "Enjoying the show?" Abby straightened up to get more paper towels.

  "Very much." He didn't even bother to hide his smile now. Abby huffed in annoyance and turned back to her sandals, the corners of her mouth twitching in response. She was trying to hold onto her irritation, but it was difficult when he kept grinning at her like that.

  "I'm Lance." Chuckles stuck out his hand when she was done with her sandals. Glancing at his face and then to his hand, she placed her hand in his and gave it a quick, firm shake.

  "Hi." Abby dropped his hand right away, ignoring his firm grip and the slight callouses on his palm. She turned away from him, trying to find the best way through the crowd so she could leave.

  "Usually when someone introduces himself, it's polite to give your name in return."

  She didn't spare him more than a glance, still scanning for an opening to make her escape. "When someone's covered in soda, it's polite not to stare at their see through shirt and laugh at them while they clean their shoes."

  "Touché."

  Spotting a hole, Abby started to go, but stopped when he put his hand on her shoulder. "Do you need a ride or something?"

  She turned back to face him. "What?" He was close beside her, his head bent toward hers so he could talk next to her ear.

  "Earlier you said you'd need to find your way home. How did you get here?" His hand was still on her shoulder, heavy and warm, holding her in place.

  "I came with a friend. She drove, but judging by the last time I saw her I don't think she'll be driving home. I have no idea where she is now, but I'm ready to leave." She made a gesture to her shirt.

  "Let me give you a ride."

  "I don't even know you." She shrugged off his hand, disconcerted by his continued touch and proximity. She turned toward the crowd again. The gap that she'd intended to use was gone, taken up by a new cluster of drunk people.

  "Sure you do. I'm Lance. On the other hand, I don't know you, so maybe you're right." He was standing close behind her, and she only had to turn her head to see that he was grinning again.

  "Right, you're very funny." She sighed. "Fine. I'm Abby."

  La
nce threw an arm around her shoulders and started steering her toward the door. He just laughed again when she shrugged off his arm. She could see his shoulders shaking as he walked in front of her, his broad frame clearing a path for them both.

  Once outside, Lance turned to her. "Do you need to find your friend and let her know you're leaving?"

  "No, I'll just text her. There's a good chance I don't want to find her right now anyway." Lance waited while Abby pulled out her phone, texted Megan, and slipped it into her back pocket. Abby was grateful that he gave her a little more space than he had inside.

  It was after ten now, and the late twilight of June had finally given way to darkness. The concrete and asphalt radiated the heat from the day, but the darkness and cool breeze were a relief after being in a house full of the fug of bodies and alcohol.

  She followed Lance to his car, a little over a block away. The slight breeze plastered Abby's still-wet shirt against her skin. She plucked it away, grimacing at the stickiness, painfully aware of her erect nipples.

  She wasn't sure what to make of Lance. He made her feel by turns embarrassed and flattered by his attention. Abby didn't like strangers touching her. Part of the problem with Lance, though, and why she'd shrugged his arm off so quickly, was that it felt oddly comfortable. She'd enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the feel of his hand where it rested on her arm, the hardness of the muscles hidden by his shirt. The guy obviously worked out.

  Lance walked a few steps ahead of her, leading the way to his car. He didn't say anything, but glanced her way now and then to make sure she was still there.

  Lance used his key to unlock the passenger side door of his car. It wasn't at all what she'd expected. She had pegged him as driving a flashy sports car—something red, maybe, and fast. But the door he held open for her was attached to a beat up old muscle car. It was some indeterminate yellowy gray rust combination that was hard to make out in the light from the nearby street lamp. She looked at him for a minute before sliding into the car.

  Abby waited until Lance got in the driver's side. "Why did you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "Open my door for me."

  Lance flashed that grin at her again. He probably thought he was charming. He wasn't wrong. "My mom taught me to always open the door for a lady. She'd whoop me if she found out I did anything else."

  "So you have to open the door for me, but staring at my bra through my wet shirt is fine? How does that work?"

  "She'd probably whoop me for that, too." The grin never left his face. He didn't even pretend to be sorry.

  Abby shook her head, trying not to grin back. "Should I save her the trouble and do the honors myself?"

  Lance laughed. "I wouldn't mind a bit if you decided to try." He turned and winked at her. Abby snorted, crossing her arms. And immediately uncrossed them because that just trapped the sticky, wet fabric against her chest.

  Lance started the car and pulled away from the curb. He'd rolled down his window while they talked and now the wind blew in, playing with the wisps of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

  "Where are we going?" She realized he'd never asked her address.

  "We just need to make a quick pit stop." Abby examined his profile as he drove, but decided not to push it. The guy was giving her a ride home, and while he acted flirtatious and cocky, she didn't get a bad feeling about him. For some reason he made her feel comfortable and safe. It was strange, since she didn't normally trust people she didn't know, but she decided to just go with it for now. It wasn't like she'd see him again after he dropped her off at home. She rolled down her window and rested her arm on the ledge, letting her hand ride the stream of air flowing past.

  After a few minutes Lance pulled into the driveway of a one-story brick house. It appeared well kept up, if a little shabby around the edges, with a crack in the driveway and weeds in the yard. They were in an older neighborhood with big trees, mostly pines, but a few maples here and there.

  Lance cut the engine and looked at Abby. "Do you want to come in? My roommates should be gone, so you won't have to deal with any other random guys."

  "Uh, no. I'll just wait in the car." Lance examined her face, lingering on her lips for a second longer than necessary. Then he shrugged.

  "Okay. Be back in a sec." He got out of the car, and only hit two of the three steps to get to the front door.

  Abby looked around the interior of the car now that she had nothing else to distract her. It was surprisingly comfortable and clean compared to the run down look of the paint job. The tan vinyl was torn in a couple places, but there wasn't any clutter or trash lurking in the corners or on the floor.

  Lance came back out a few minutes later. He had changed into a clean t-shirt, and he carried another shirt in his hand. He slid into the car and put the extra shirt on the bench seat next to him. He turned his body so he was facing Abby.

  "I was wondering if you wanted to go hang out somewhere. I brought an extra shirt for you in case you said yes."

  "Where would we go?" Her tone of voice betrayed her surprise, but she was curious, too.

  "Wherever. We could go get dessert somewhere or something. I'm not ready to be home for the night."

  "You could just drop me off at home and go back to the party." Abby felt compelled to point that out.

  Lance nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. That party was kind of lame, though. I was looking for an excuse to leave when you crashed into me."

  Abby reached out and picked up the shirt. Staring at it in her lap, she fingered the soft blue fabric while she considered her answer. Did she want to go out with this guy she'd just met? Or would she rather go home? Since Megan was still at the party, she'd have the apartment to herself.

  "You could just take me home and let me change into one of my own shirts and then we could go out." She looked at his face, gauging his reaction.

  Lance was still facing her, his eyes locked with hers. He smiled a little. "I could." He drew the words out. "But then you might overthink it and tell me no. This way you can just change and we could go. Plus, there's a 24-hour diner with great pie not far from here, and I'm hungry now. It would take too long to take you home first."

  Abby thought about it for another minute. "Can I at least change inside? I don't make it a habit to flash guys I've just met." Even though you've pretty much seen it all already. She stopped herself before she said the last part out loud.

  Lance opened his mouth like he was about to say something, a mischievous look on his face. Then he seemed to think better of it, his expression clearing. "Sure. Come on."

  Abby followed him up the front steps, his pace less hurried than the first time. The front door opened into the living room. College guys definitely lived here. It was comfortable enough, but mostly utilitarian, with no concern for décor. A large flat screen TV dominated the wall to the right, with wires, gaming consoles, and controllers in a jumble around the small entertainment center. Battered and mismatched furniture completed the room, looking like hand me downs or thrift store finds. There were no pictures on the walls, and the curtains covering the large bay window had probably come with the house, or were hand me downs from someone's mom.

  Lance opened a door to the left of the TV. "This is my room." He reached in and turned on the light. "You can change in here."

  "Okay. Thanks."

  The comfortable and utilitarian theme extended into the bedroom, with a queen sized bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a bookshelf crammed with books the only furniture. Discarded clothes littered the floor between the bed and the door to the bathroom.

  Abby went into the small bathroom. It was surprisingly clean from what she knew of college guys' bathrooms. No globs of toothpaste left in the sink, and only a few items on the small counter—hand soap, deodorant, shaving cream, after shave lotion, and a razor. The soap sat on the edge of the sink, the other items clustered neatly in the corner next to the wall.

  Abby stripped off her tank top, d
ropping it on the floor. She grabbed a washcloth from a pile of mismatched towels under the sink, got a corner of it wet, and wiped up the soda that had seeped through her shirt. She slipped Lance's t-shirt on and looked at herself in the mirror.

  She snorted when she saw the Superman logo in the middle of her chest. Well, somewhat below the middle of her chest, because the shirt swallowed her. The shoulder seams came almost halfway down her upper arms, and the shirt covered her shorts.

  She tried pulling the shirt tight around her torso, twisting the extra fabric behind her, and tucking it in at the small of her back. She'd seen other girls do that and look cute. On her, she thought it just looked silly. She fidgeted with the shirt some more, folding here, tucking there, trying different things to make it so she didn't look like a toddler wearing her dad's clothes. With a huff of annoyance, she gave up and let the shirt hang loose.

  "It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone." Abby reached up and redid her ponytail. "I've already dumped soda over both of us and treated the guy to a personal wet t-shirt contest. Worrying about making a good impression on the hot guy sort of went out the window already."

  With that little pep talk, Abby went back out. Lance looked up from his phone and smiled at her. He stood up from the couch. "Ready?"

  "Sure."

  Lance opened the door and gestured Abby through, locking it behind him. He jogged a little to catch up to her so he could open the door to his car before she got in.

  Abby gave him a confused look. What was with this guy and his insistence on opening doors? She'd agreed to get dessert with him, but it wasn't like this was a date. He was just bored and didn't want to be home yet. That's what he'd said. That didn't make this a date, right?

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four