Time (Laws of Physics #3)(17)

Wait. No. That’s not right.

I frowned at the exterior to Lisa’s apartment door, twisting the key in the lock, pushing it open while I considered what being well-rested might be the key to, and came face-to-face with Gabby.

AH! “Ah!”

“There you are!”

I flinched, retreating one step into the hallway, but she was fast. Before I knew what was happening, she’d pulled me through the door, shut it, and tugged me into the living room.

“You startled me. How did you—”

“I could hear you coming up the stairs. You have the gait of an elephant.” Gabby waved one hand in the air while steering me with the other. “Come. Sit. Tell us everything that happened.” Before I’d thought to extract myself from her grabby hands, she’d deposited me onto the couch, picked up a glass of wine, and pushed it at me. “Take it and spill.”

“Don’t spill the wine, spill the story,” Lisa clarified, juggling three bowls as she walked out of the kitchen, a big, anxious-looking smile pasted on her face and aimed at me.

The last time I’d seen Lisa was this morning, when I’d asked Abram to give us a minute to talk. She’d been visibly flustered and rushed to offer the use of her car before leaving the apartment in a hurry to give us some space.

I was a little surprised to see her now.

“I put out the sundae stuff already.” Lisa placed the first of the three bowls next to me on the couch. “Therefore, you have your choice of a banana split or whatever you want.”

“Ta-da!” Gabby stepped to the side, revealing a coffee table covered in ice cream sundae toppings.

I had to swallow because my mouth was abruptly watering. What time is it? Is it lunchtime?

As though reading my thoughts, Lisa said, “It’s ice cream and storytime,” shoving a bowl at Gabby. “Don’t forget to take your Lactaid.”

“Thanks, mom.” Gabby accepted the bowl and turned to kneel next to the table. “Okay, Mona, let’s hear it. What’s going on with the Redburn front man? Yesterday you were crying at a bus stop over his band’s poster, and today—according to Lisa—he’s kicking in the door and giving you movie kisses. Consider me shook. Last time I heard, he was still a manwhore. Fill in the blanks, please.”

Manwhore?

My gaze drifted to my sister where she was perched on the other side of the sofa, her eyes wide and watchful, biting her lip as though trying her best to hold her tongue.

“Abram isn’t a manwhore.”

Gabby shrugged. “Okay, a goodtime guy.”

“He’s not that either.” I cleared my throat, and then took a sip of the wine. It was nice. Not too dry. Good balance. “And I’m not really sure where to start.”

“I’m sorry!” Lisa’s sudden exclamation drew my attention. “I’m so sorry. I was—I was a complete asshole when he showed up here with Tyler. Tyler makes me so angry! But I—he—I mean, Abram was right. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. And I’m sorry. So sorry. So, so sorry.”

I stared at my sister, surprised, perplexed, and yet also warmed by her unexpected apology. For Lisa, it was practically gushing.

Gabby cut in, “Assuage your guilt later, Lisa. Let Mona talk.” She then turned to me. “Start with what happened in Aspen. Lisa already told me about your phone call, where you asked her permission to tell him the truth. Did you? What did he do? What did he say? Tell us everything.”

I took a deep breath, and then I took another sip of wine. Well, it had started out like a sip, but it ended up being a gulp.

Licking my lips, I sorted through all the details of our latest week together, the hurt, the misunderstandings, the burned letters, our first kiss, and I blurted, “Do you like to be dominated during sex?”

Both Gabby and Lisa reared back, their eyes wide as they shared a look and I glanced between them, wondering what on earth and the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way I had been thinking. Why would you ask them that?

Before I could dial back the random, Gabby said, “Is Abram into that kind of stuff? Does he, I mean, is he, like, a dom?”

Her voice was free of judgment. Even so, I was shaking my head before she’d finished her first question.

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you like—or I guess, do you think it’s healthy—to like it when a guy holds you down? Or if he’s over you when you do stuff? Even if he’s heavy and physically stronger than you? Do you like that? Or is it wrong to like it?”

Gabby and Lisa shared another look, with Lisa speaking this time, “I don’t have a ton of experience with lots of guys—as you know, there was and has been no one before, during, or after the T-bag—but . . .” Her eyes moved up and to the right, like she was searching her memory. “Are you talking about missionary? I liked that position okay. I thought other positions were better, though. Is that what you’re asking?”

I gathered another deep inhale, trying to figure out what I was asking, when Gabby beat me to it. “Are you worried that liking something you’ve done with Abram—while intimate—makes you somehow screwed up?”

I nodded, because that was a decent approximation of my question.

“Hmm.” Lisa seemed to be considering. “I don’t think sex works like that. I mean, I don’t know for sure. But sex is like, I mean, aren’t we tapping into a different part of ourselves? It’s like, not something you can apply logic to, you know? You like what you like, and as long as it doesn’t hurt someone, or it’s not illegal, then I’m pretty sure anything goes. Don’t you think?”