Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(27)

I grunted, grinding my teeth, and not understanding why I wasn’t more irritated. I should have been. My pool plans had been disrupted. Cooling down while blowing off steam would be impossible with Abram around.

The combination of Gabby’s ill-timed text and his superfluously handsome man parts were responsible for making me hot!

Yeah, but now you’ll see Abram shirtless. Worth it.

ARG!

Dammit, internal monologue. STFU.

“Well, well, well, Lisa.”

I moved my eyes to Gabby. Something about her tone made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. She sounded . . . pleased. That can’t be good.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Yes. She was pleased. Her gaze moved over me appraisingly and she nodded, as though agreeing with unspoken thoughts.

“What are you talking about?”

Gabby leaned close, her green eyes sparkling. “Abram.”

“What about him?”

“What did you do?” She wagged her eyebrows.

“What are we talking about?”

“Look at you! He’s vibing on you.” Grabbing my wrist, she forced me to give her a high five before I could react. “Get it, girl!”

We were clearly having two different conversations. “I’m so lost. I know you’re speaking, because your mouth is moving and sounds are coming out, but I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is so good. I can’t wait to tell your sister you got him in his swimsuit.” Her eyes moved down and then up my body. “Or his birthday suit.”

I flinched. “Gabby!”

“What? Did you see how he was looking at you?”

“Gabby.”

“Maybe you will be sitting on his face after all.”

“Gabby!” I covered my ears with my hands and shut my eyes. It was no good. Again, the sexy images, the spark, the flame, the fire. “Keep your power of suggestion to yourself.”

She pulled my wrists away from my head. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen Abram work it before when he’s surrounded by his harem, but a boy don’t flirt like that unless he’s thirsty for a girl’s milkshake.”

Harem? Flirt? Milkshake? What?

My eyes flew open and it took several seconds for me to decide which of her statements to contradict first. “He wasn’t flirting with me.”

She gave me a snort of disbelief and an eye roll. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would he flirt with me? It would be completely inappropriate.”

“Oh my god, Mary Sue, try to keep up. He wants your baa-day!”

“He shouldn’t.” I glanced at the back door to the house, dreading his return.

“Why the hell not? Have you seen him? Have you seen yourself in this bikini? I mean, yeah. You need a wax, but you two would be hot.” She shrugged with her entire body. “I would kind of want to watch, to be honest.”

“Oh my God!” A shock of two conflicting emotional states—one completely expected and logical, and one dark and secret and troubling—had me turning away from her and reaching for my bathrobe: repugnance and fascination, revulsion and curiosity, disgust and temptation.

She grabbed the terry cloth before I could and tossed it in the pool. “There. It’s gone. Stop trying to cover up. Now give me one good reason why you two shouldn’t take advantage of this fortress of solitude for the next few days.”

My temper was lost along with the bathrobe and undammed feelings surged forth, coating my voice in viscous emotion. “Because he’s in a position of authority over me. He could tell my parents lies about me—about Lisa not behaving, or seeing Tyler—if he wanted, and it would be my word against his. He could try to blackmail me into physical intimacy, if I don’t do what he wants. So, no. He absolutely shouldn’t be flirting with me!”

By the end of my tirade, Gabby was staring at me with wide-eyed confusion, but it quickly morphed into narrowed-eyed suspicion.

“Mona,” she whispered.

“You mean Lisa.”

“Mona,” she whispered more insistently, her eyes moving between mine. “Did something happen to you? Did someone . . . did they do something?”

“No,” I said, unable to hold her gaze. “I mean, no. Not really.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not really’?”

“I mean, nothing happened.”

She bent and moved her face in front of mine, forcing me to look at her. “But someone tried to make something happen? While you were in college?”

I shrugged, waving my hands around. “No. It wasn’t like that. I overreacted.”

“About what?”

“Does it matter? If nothing actually happened?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me what didn’t happen?” She squinted until her eyes were nearly closed.

“It’s not a big deal.” Again, I glanced at the back door. Shouldn’t he be back by now?

“Then it shouldn’t be a big deal telling me what happened, or what didn’t happen.”

“I—” Now I felt silly. It wasn’t a big deal. Every girl or woman I knew had gone through something similar, where she misinterpreted an innocuous situation, let her imagination get the better of her. If it happened to all women, then it wasn’t a big deal, right? “It’s stupid.”