Time (Laws of Physics #3)(23)

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes. I filled in.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes. It worked out though. No one realized it was me. I stood in the back, where the light was bad, and wore a beanie.”

That made her giggle and I heard her typing on a keyboard. “I think it’ll take more than a beanie and bad lighting to hide yourself.”

I loved talking to her. Was this what it would be like all the time between us? So easy. Effortless.

“You’d be surprised. When I checked into my flight today, I walked right by two posters of me in my boxers. No one batted an eye.”

“Oh, hey.” A new edge entered her voice. “I’m glad you brought up those posters.” Mona was quiet for a moment, giving me the impression she was gathering her thoughts.

“Are you?” I prompted, a little worried.

“Can I have one?”

I choked, my eyes flying open. “What?”

“Can I have one of the posters?”

I sat up on the bench and immediately regretted it, my vision swimming, and had to lay back down again. “Uh, I guess?”

“Thank you! That’s excellent. Oh, and can it be one of the big ones? The life-sized ones?”

I laughed and I had no idea why I was laughing, maybe because this conversation felt hugely absurd. Maybe because I was insanely tired. Or maybe because she was so fricken cute.

“Mona, if you want a picture of me, I’ll send you one. You don’t need one from an advertising campaign.”

“You’ll send me a photo?”

“Yes.”

Another contemplative pause before she asked, “Will you be in your underwear?”

I barked a startled laugh, and then I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe. She was also laughing, but it had an edge of self-consciousness, shyness.

“Fine, fine. You can wear clothes,” she conceded, sounding embarrassed.

“Now, wait a minute.” I wiped at the tears of hilarity, sobering slightly as an interesting proposition took shape. “Wait a minute. Of course, if you want sexy photos of me, I’ll send them.”

“Thank you, I do.” Now she sounded prim, official, like we’d just agreed I’d send her a contract, or I’d confirmed a conference call.

Even exhausted and fighting another yawn, I was grinning. Yes. Absolutely I would send her photos. I couldn’t wait to see her again in person. But if our prolonged separation meant that she’d be willing to send me pictures of herself? Well. That would definitely make the waiting more bearable.

“Here’s the deal. I’ll send you sexy photos, and then you’ll send me some photos too.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

I waited, pressing the phone more firmly to my ear. “Mona? Are you still there?”

“Yep.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No.” Her answer was higher pitched than normal and sounded like a lie.

“You don’t want to send me photos?”

“I’ll send you photos.”

Hmm. That was easy. Too easy.

I felt like I was missing something, so I said, “Okay. Then it’s settled?”

“Yep. All settled. Where are you staying? What hotel?”

“Um.” I thought about that, my brain full of static, and then shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I’m so tired, I didn’t ask.”

She made a soft sound of sympathy. “I wish I were there.”

“Why?”

She said nothing.

I rephrased the question. “Tell me why. Tell me what you would do if you were here.” My words were a little slurred.

“I would have you rest your head on my lap as we drove,” she answered immediately, and I learned something I didn’t know about Mona. She didn’t do well with vague questions. The more precise, the better. “And I would stroke your hair, give your head a massage, and watch over you until you fell asleep.”

My scalp tingled at the idea. “Then what would you do?”

“Then, when we got to the hotel.” I heard the springs of a mattress compress. “I would take a bath with you.”

I stifled a groan.

Pain. Ache. Longing. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at the ceiling of the limo, streetlights strobing through the windows, but otherwise I was enclosed in darkness. If I concentrated, it was almost like she was here, next to me, whispering in my ear.

“And I would sit behind you, with you between my legs,” she continued, making me glad I hadn’t interrupted. She sounded distracted by her own imagination and the last thing I wanted her to do was stop. “I would wash your hair, and your body, and give you a massage.”

“What kind of massage?” My voice had gone from sleepy and slurred to strained, and I was suddenly very much awake, hanging on her every word.

She was silent for a beat, and I worried she might not answer, but then she asked in a less dreamy, very Mona voice, “Are we going to have phone sex?”

Hopefully. “We don’t have to.”

“I’ve never had phone sex.”

I thought for a minute, realizing and saying at the same time, “Neither have I.”

“Oh! That’s exciting.”