Space (Laws of Physics #2)(58)

“Go away.”

“Fine. I will. Do you mind if I take your notebook? Check out the new lyrics?”

I hesitated.

“You know what? Never mind.” Kaitlyn held up her hands, palms out. “I’ll look later. But in the meantime, kiss her. Kiss the hell out of her. And then we’ll move on to the next phase of the plan.”

“Which is?” I asked around a yawn, dizzy, sleep irresistible.

“Securing an official clarification of expectations, with roles defined.”

“Expectations? Roles?”

“Exclusive. Not exclusive. Boyfriend. Girlfriend.”

I liked the sound of exclusive. Maybe her plan wasn’t so bad.

“And then,” she said, her words punctuated by the sound of the curtain being drawn, “phase three is—”

“How many phases are there?”

“The phases continue until you reach your goal, whatever that is.” Her hands were back, and I felt her righting my covers, tucking me in with perfunctory movements. “Hopefully, the goal is happiness, for both of you.”

Without thinking, I muttered, “I think I’d die happy if we made it to phase one.”

Kaitlyn chuckled. It sounded farther away. I couldn’t say for certain because I was already half asleep.

“Then you better draw up a will before phase four.”

“What’s that?” My words sounded slurred even to me.

“I’ll give you a hint, it rhymes with trucking.”

My eyes flew open and I groaned, glaring at my friend where she stood holding the doorknob. “Great. Thanks. Now I’ll never sleep.”

“And rucking. And mucking. And sucking. Actually, it involves sucking—”

I threw a pillow at her.





14





Fluid Statics





*Mona*





Upon waking, the first thought that popped into my head—the instant my eyes opened—was, Did I tell Abram last night that I wanted to lick him like an ice cream and eat the fuck out of his cookie cone?

Or did I dream that?

Staring at the ceiling, studying the vaulted beams of exposed wood, I realized that, no. It hadn’t been a dream. And furthermore, the statement hadn’t been the most shocking proposal I’d made.

Am I making you uncomfortable?

I loved you.

I’m still in love with you.

I’m so very, very much in love with you.

I’m suffocating, choking on air, because it doesn’t smell like you.

Can I listen to your heart?

A rush of mortification—so intense it made me groan out loud—crashed over me. It was a nuclear blast of embarrassment, befitting the gamma-ray burst that was Abram (Harris) Fletcher’s death grip on my psyche. Because I could, I ducked under my covers and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for the wolves to actually come.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, replaying the evening over and over. The moment our eyes met across the dining room, how awful I’d been to Kaitlyn, how beautiful and meaningful his song had been, how brave and foolish it made me—stupid bravery!—and how he’d thrown the letter I’d been carrying around for years into the fire.

Into. The. Fire.

I’d been so angry. So angry. The closest I’d ever come to that kind of anger was the last time I’d been with Abram, when he’d forfeited the pool race in Chicago. I didn’t get angry like that. I simmered, but I never struck out.

But Abram makes me SO ANGRY!

The rest of the evening—the drunken game of strip poker, Abram finding me, the disappointment in his eyes, my sloppy confessions, him leaving without a word after I’d asked to listen to his heart, me crying myself to sleep—made me sad.

Therefore, instead, I focused on the lost letter. I was tired of being sad, so sad. Between madness and sadness, I chose the former.

Tossing the mess of covers from my body, I stood and frowned at my surroundings. He’d been here, in this room, just a few hours ago. When my heart fluttered a little, achy, wistful, I told it to cease and desist. It didn’t listen.

Therefore, I left. I rushed through getting dressed, intent on spending some quality cold time in the snow, and marched out of my room. I’d have to see him at some point, hopefully when I was too tired and numb to care that I’d revealed too much of myself, or that he’d repaid my honesty by burning my love letter, and later walking out on me.

I was almost to the mudroom when I heard Leo call my name. “Wait, Mona! Wait.”

I turned toward the sound of his voice, and then twisted completely around when I saw he was jogging toward me.

“Leo. Should you be out of bed?” I felt his forehead as soon as he reached my location. He was still warm. “Why are you up?”

“I need to talk to you.” His words and his expression were grim.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s go back to your room.”

Frowning his stern frown, his gaze traveled over me. “Where are you going?”

“Outside. For a walk.”

“Here, I’ll come down with you.”

“You’re not going outside, you still have a fever.”

He gave me a half-eyeroll. “We can talk in the mudroom.”