Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(23)

I wrinkled my nose at him. “What?”

“Have you heard of ambergris? It’s found in the digestive tract of sperm whales.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah. They use it to make perfume—real perfume, not the fake stuff—it’s expensive,” he said conversationally, like this was true.

Crossing my arms, I waited for the punchline. Based on interactions with my brother, I was sure the joke’s end had to do with both poop and sperm.

But when he continued to stare at me steadily with a small smile on his lips and those intense brown eyes while leaning a few centimeters closer, butterflies re-awoke in my stomach.

I was flustered again. Stupid, distracting pretty man parts.

Shaking my head, I lifted my chin and hid behind a frown. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

He leaned even closer, splitting his attention between my eyes and my mouth. “It makes scent, perfume, last longer. And some people believe it allows a person’s pheromones to comingle with the perfume, increasing the intensity of both.”

I said nothing. The butterflies swirled. He still smelled so atypically delicious, I fleetingly wondered if what I was actually smelling were Abram-specific pheromones mixed with fancy sperm whale poop instead of cologne.

“Look it up if you don’t believe me.” His statement sounded like a dare. His dimple and voice deepening, Abram’s stare seemed to dance as it traveled lower, from my eyes to my nose, mouth, chin, and neck. And then, he smiled.

I turned abruptly—needing . . . away, from all that—walking aimlessly forward. “Aren’t we here to get a guitar?”

“You really don’t believe me?” He was trailing close behind and I didn’t need to look to know he was shadowing my steps.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie?” Abram’s voice held his smile and was still deep and lovely. For some reason this caused a shiver to race down my spine.

“It was an acoustic, right?” Meanwhile, my voice was tight, held a hint of betraying nerves, and why was my neck hot?

Abram chuckled, like he was enjoying himself, and the sound—close to my ear—gave me new goose bumps. “No. It’s a bass. You want to make a bet?”

NO BETS! Right then and there, I solemnly promised myself I would never make a bet with Abram as long as I lived, with the universe as my witness.

“I want to get your new bass guitar so we can get back to the house,” I said stiffly, pretending to be interested in a used Rogue RA Dreadnought. How had a discussion about whale excrement turn into something that made my body temperature go wonky? And wasn’t I supposed to be giving one-word answers?

Needing to hurriedly analyze the situation, I listed the facts: I’d just discovered my sister had—allegedly—been selling drugs to minors; I’d been roped into unwittingly covering for her; I was upset and flustered and off-balance and Abram had very pretty man parts I shouldn’t be noticing, because they’re irrelevant.

Conclusion: DEFLECT!

“How about if I’m right, then you—”

I spun, glaring at him towering over me. “Fine. Then Tyler is whale vomit. Happy?”

Abram sucked in a breath between his teeth while also—blatantly—still grinning. “Actually, whale vomit is also expensive.”

“Now I know you’re making this up.”

“I’m not.” He pressed a hand to his chest, laughing. “Partly indigestible beaks of squid cause sperm whales to have indigestion, and their vomit also contains ambergris.”

Partly indigestible beaks of what? Scrunching my face, I shook my head, rejecting his nonsense.

He mimicked my headshake and face-scrunch while still smiling. “The indigestible beak causes irritation in the intestines, and this results in a build-up, like a rock, to form inside the whale. Ambergris is expelled.”

“No.”

He was laughing again. “It’s like an extremely rare, smelly rock.”

“Smelly rock. Riiiiiight.”

Now he was laughing harder. “And they wash up on shore.”

“You are full of ambergris.”

Now he was laughing so hard, he was forced to take a step back and was holding his stomach. Goodness, that smile. My heart thumped and stuttered; my chest ached; my mouth curved into an answering grin (against my will). That smile is lethal. Wow.

However, before basking in or allowing myself to comprehend the full effect of his smile, it was tempered by a sudden thought: was he laughing in good humor or laughing at my expense?

I’d never been gifted in the art of solving situations for this unknown variable. There’d been many incidences—especially during my freshman year of college—when I’d thought my classmates and professors were laughing in good humor. As it turned out, it had been the other . . .

“I will prove it to you.” He reached for my arm.

I backed away before his hand could make contact, the butterflies ceasing abruptly, my stomach turning cold.

What did I know about Abram? He’d lucked out in the genetics lottery with his face and body and voice. He slept past noon. He’d dropped out of high school for reasons unknown. He wasn’t a fan of consistently applying logic. Like my parents, he was a musician (ugh). He smelled like the Orion Nebula looked (beautiful). He didn’t like Lisa. He thinks I’m Lisa.