Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(35)

First and foremost, I was nervous because I’d never operated a motor vehicle without my driver’s license before. If sleeping in my day clothes felt disobedient, this felt exponentially disobedient. I couldn’t relax. I felt the illegal nature of my actions like an elusive hair in my mouth, but instead IN MY BRAIN. Which was why I drove ten to twenty miles under the speed limit the entire way, with both hands on the steering wheel. At all times.

Second, there was that dream from last night and that look from this morning. I tried to talk myself into believing that look had been imagined. But then I’d recall the image of his hot eyes in his super handsome face, staring at me daringly, brazenly.

No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t talk myself into believing something false. Abram had been ogling me. Fact.

No. Not me. Lisa.

Except, in that moment, I wasn’t Lisa. But, I also was her. Confusing.

Which brings me to the third item: everything else. The tense moment between Abram and I last night in front of Lisa’s door and whatever that meant; the revelation that Lisa had appeared naked and uninvited in his bed last year; the fact that I’d told Gabby about that stupid story with that stupid TA my freshman year (Why oh why had I done that?); the possibility that Lisa had been dealing drugs to teenagers; the unknowns surrounding her arrest; and the fact that I was a lying liar, pretending to be her, right now. What a mess.

I didn’t like all the unknowns.

My life had been supremely tidy up to now, by design. And Abram was the definition of messy—from the way he dressed to how infrequently he shaved to eating cold pizza, sleeping at random hours, approaching his responsibilities with a laissez-faire nonchalance, waiting until the last minute to get his mother a birthday gift, and did the man even have a job?—and liking him had the potential to be incredibly messy.

And yet, I did.

I liked him.

Talking to him was confoundedly easy. One might even say seductively easy. Seductive because, when we spoke, I was constantly forgetting to lie, or speak in one-word sentences, or try to be Lisa-like. I couldn’t help but default to being myself.

I liked, now that I understood the situation better, that he’d shunned Lisa (I know, I know, I’m strange) and firmly rejected her BS, setting down rules and laying out expectations with both her and Gabby upon our arrival. Lisa had behaved horribly to him in the past. Still, he’d agreed to help my brother and had forgiven her—me—as soon as I’d apologized.

Also, I was now mostly convinced he hadn’t been making fun of me during the sperm-whale-poop conversation at the guitar shop. He’d been teasing me and, upon recalling the conversation, I liked how his teasing had been clever and informed. He’d caught me by surprise with something I hadn’t known. I liked that his sarcasm was funny and quick-witted rather than biting and mean-spirited. Clearly, he was intelligent, though it was a species of applied, pragmatic intelligence mostly foreign to me.

But! He’s a slacker. And you’ve only known him for two days, Mona.

True. Very true.

In my world of faculty and fellows, data and research, practical smarts weren’t a requisite. In fact, I’d been told they were an impediment to expansive thinking. Theoretical intelligence was all that was needed, application of theory was for capitalists and corporations.

And yet, I couldn’t help but enjoy Abram’s pragmatism, like when he’d told me to take a bath instead of engineering a shower helmet (he’d been right!)

And finally, I liked how gentle he’d been last night when I’d freaked out. He’d been comforting and concerned. Of course, there was this morning, and how he’d woken me up with more gentleness. Even though there’d been unexpected touching, I’d liked everything about it.

But, again, you’ve only known him for two days!! And Lisa will be home very, very soon . . .

Also true. Very true.

When Lisa arrived home, ideally, she’d continue the lie. Abram would have to believe we were the same person. Which meant any friendly overtures, or clever teasing, or any looks of appreciation he sent my way would all eventually be shifted to her.

Twisting my lips to the side, I removed one of my hands from the wheel just long enough to rub my sternum. My chest ached, a strange expanding tightness against my lower ribs, and the thought of Abram teasing Lisa made me want to pull over and punch that stupid guy in his stupid hat on that stupid billboard I kept seeing all along I-94.

Once or twice, when the highway was free of other cars, I gave into the temptation to glance over at Abram’s silently sleeping form. Entirely quiet and motionless, his stillness verged on eerie. At one point I debated whether or not to pull over and check his pulse. That would’ve necessitated touching him, which I had mixed feelings about—he couldn’t give consent, but then again, he might be dead—which was ultimately why I didn’t do it. However, if I’d had a mirror on me, I probably would’ve pulled over to hold it under his nose.

Who sleeps like that?

Not me.

But back to Abram. I snuck another look and my stomach flip-flopped. He’d called me sleeping beauty, but the label firmly belonged to him and his dark lashes, his gently parted, gorgeous lips, the angle of his strong jaw, and the perfect curve of his bicep supporting his head. This was all transposed against tousled hair and rumpled clothes.

He was a messy Adonis and, despite myself, I just . . . really liked him.