See Me .(21)

“I’ll go get Abigail another mai tai,” Ron said as he leaned the stick against the wall.

“Is that what she’s drinking?” He looked over at the table where her pretty, gloss-covered lips hovered over a straw. The fruity drink was down to the pieces of fruit in the bottom of the glass. “I’ll get it.”

Ron gave him a knowing glance.

“Shut up.”

Ron stuffed the money in his pocket. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I know, so shut up.”

Sean went back to the bar and ordered Abigail her fruity drink, all the while telling his dick to calm down. She’s sucking on a straw, and that’s it. Down, boy.

* * * *

“Are you guys heading out already?” Sean asked, a little nervous at the thought of being left alone with the sexy creature sitting across from him.

“Come on, Ron,” Eric said. “I still owe you that reward.”

That perked up Ron’s ears. “All right, baby. Let’s go. Abs? Abs? Listen to me, you drunk ass.”

Sean wanted to tell Ron to just let her be but thought better of it when she hiccupped. He tried to hide his smile as Abigail sucked on the fourth piece of pineapple. Four pineapple slices meant four mai tais, which meant one sloshed Abigail.

“Huh? Shush, Ronnie. I like this song. Did you play this song for me? Did you take my quarters?” She opened the gym bag she called a purse and fumbled for her wallet. “If you stole all my quarters, I’m going to smack your ass.” Her glossy eyes looked up. “I mean it, Ronald McDonald! I will smack that little ass of yours like your mama used to do. Did your mom smack your ass? My mom would line us up and tell my dad to ground us. I don’t ever remember her smacking my ass, but I do remember that time at the lake house when I fell in the water. Oh boy, she was so—”

“Abigail, focus!” Ron was ready to go home and take care of his guy. His frustration for the chatty little kitten was running out.

“Hey, why don’t you guys go on? I can take her home.” Sean wanted to swallow his own tongue for making the suggestion. He’d sat in the booth, silent, while the three of them carried on about work and the other things that friends went on about. It felt like forever since he and Stan had sat on the tailgate of his truck, talking about Stan’s kids or laughing about how slow Fat Boy Sanders was moving on the job site.

“You sure?” Ron asked. “She’s pretty fucked-up.”

Sean admired how protective Ron was over Abigail, but for some ungodly reason, he wanted to be the one with that job. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. I’ll drop her off.”

“You can’t do that. You have to make sure she gets upstairs and locked in her apartment. She has this thing about the dark and locking her doors. She’s too messed up to do it. She’ll freak out if you don’t turn on the lights and lock the door.”

“I can do that. She freaks out?” How bad could she really freak out? She could barely hold her head up.

“Hellooo…I’m right here,” Abigail said. “I can hear everything you guys are saying. I don’t freak out. Well, I might freak out, but this one time when I was nine…I think I was nine, anyways, I went into my parent’s wine cellar and—”

“Oh my God, Sean,” Ron interrupted. “Get her home in one piece.”

“No problem.”

Sean shook Ron’s hand first, then Eric’s. They treated him as if he was their equal. They shook his hand without examining his tattoo-covered forearm or squinting to see the scar on his chin. They were easygoing and easy to be around. He appreciated it more than they could ever know.

Ron leaned over and gave Abigail a quick peck on her head. “Be good. I’m glad you came out tonight.”

“Um, okay. Are you sure you have to go?” Sean noticed her gaze shift from Ron to him. “I mean, I want to hear another song. Then we could go. I promise. One more song?”

Sean fought the urge to crack the table in half. She didn’t trust him.

“You’re going to be fine. Sean’s going to take you home. He won’t let anything happen to you. He’s a tough guy.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, my tough guy.”

My tough guy? Why did that sound like music to his ears? They both watched Eric and Ron walk hand in hand out of the bar.

Abigail played with the straw in her almost empty glass. “I…I guess you have to take me home. I’m sorry. I don’t normally do this.”

“Do what?” Sean rolled the bottom of his empty bottle on the table. He’d had four root beers already.

“This, go out, drink. I mean I have wine in my fridge. Penelope and I sit and have pizza and a glass, but that’s about it. That’s on Friday nights.”