Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(18)

To be fair, I didn’t know how long it took to drop acid, but based on various data sources and movies I’d watched, I could extrapolate.

“You—did you—your—” I couldn’t figure out which question I wanted to ask first.

“Is there still pizza?” he asked, walking past me and making a straight line for the fridge.

Confounded, certain I was missing something critical, I stumbled after him. “I can’t believe you’re just waking up.”

I’d never slept until 1:00 PM. Never. Not after a long international flight, not on the weekend after pulling several all-nighters the week prior, not even when I’d been sick with the flu. Never ever, ever.

Sending me a quick, small, sleepy smile, Ahab opened the fridge. “Why? When did you wake up?”

Crossing my arms, I wished for my bag of prunes or something else to chew. I suspected this was one of those situations where telling the truth would make a negative impact to my Lisa-credibility. It was a safe bet to assume my sister didn’t often wake up at 6:30 AM.

Rather than outright lie, I decided vague was just as good. “A while ago. When did you go to sleep?”

“Around five.”

I started, blinking several times. “Five? AM?”

“Yep.” He pulled the pizza from the fridge and placed it on the island, flipping open the box.

“That’s insane, Ahab. What were you doing until five AM?”

He’d been lifting a slice of cold pizza—COLD PIZZA!—when I spoke, but his hand halted midway to his mouth and he glared at me.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, that’s insane.” Frowning at him and the slice of cold pizza in turn, I had to ask, “Do you want me to heat that up for you?”

He returned the pizza to the box, staring at me like I was a curiosity. “My name is Abram.”

Dammit. Abram!! Why didn’t I just call him Abe?

I blinked some more. “Uh, I don’t mind heating up the pizza.” Maybe if I ignored the slipup, he’d let it drop?

“You just called me Ahab.”

Oh noes! He wasn’t going to let it drop.

“Pardon? I mean, what? I mean, no I didn’t.” I laughed, backing away, stuffing my hands into the back pockets of Lisa’s only pair of semi-tight jeans instead of boa-constrictor-tight jeans.

“Yes, you did.” His eyes narrowed, moving over me.

I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “Would you believe that I was just reading Moby Dick?”

He shook his head, and I didn’t know how to feel, because that was good, right? I mean, it wasn’t good that I’d messed up his name, but it was good that he didn’t believe I’d been reading Moby Dick. I felt a level of certainty that Lisa wouldn’t read Moby Dick, so he must’ve still believed I was Lisa . . . right?

“Ahab?” His voice dripped with irritation.

“Why would I call you Ahab? I don’t think that happened. Your name is Abram. You heard wrong. You’re an unreliable witness.” I glanced behind me, not knowing where I was going. I only had three feet until my back hit the wall, so I pivoted, still walking backward but aiming for the arched doorway.

“Unreliable witness?” His left dimple reappeared followed by the right, and he was doing that smile-frown thing again. It was cute. How irksome.

“Yes. You just woke up. You’re muddled. Go eat your disgusting cold pizza. Whatever!” I was almost to the arched doorway, which would lead me to the back stairs, which meant I could hide for the rest of the afternoon. It would probably take all afternoon for my heart rate to return to normal.

“Fine, I will.” He lifted the pizza to his mouth and added, “And then we’re going out, Liza.”

That had my feet coming to a halt. “Pardon?”

“Your name is Liza, isn’t it?” He said this with a sardonic twist to his lips.

But I didn’t care what he called me as long as it wasn’t Mona. I was more concerned with the first part of this statement. “We’re going out? Where?”

Abram didn’t respond right away, instead he took a bite of pizza and chewed. My attention dropped to his jaw and neck and, for some inexplicable reason, I was entranced by the sight of his jaw working, flexing, and the action of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. I can honestly say, I’d never noticed the way someone chewed before, because why would I? But in his case, I don’t know. . . It was just all extraordinarily man-like.

“I’m looking at a guitar, the guy is holding it for me until three.”

“Why do I need to go?” I forced my eyes back to his and crossed my arms, bewildered by my preoccupation with his chewing. So weird.

“I can’t leave you here by yourself.” He said this like it was obvious.

I regathered the threads of the conversation just in time to find critical fault in his logic. “But you’ll sleep until after noon? What if I’d gone out this morning?”

“Did you go out this morning?” He asked this like he already knew the answer.

“That’s not the point. I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have. You trusted me to stay put this morning, but not this afternoon?”

“This morning is in the past, this afternoon is now. You’re coming.”