Time (Laws of Physics #3)(28)

“Abram! Are you on the phone?”

I glanced up at the sound of Ruthie’s shrieking question. She stood just inside the doorway, holding a tray.

She also wore an impressive scowl. “That better be your priest, because Imma kill you now.”

Suddenly tired, I gave my guitarist a quelling look and turned away, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Listen. I have to go. We have a—a thing. Stuff to sign and this interview later.”

A few seconds of quiet, and then Mona said, “Okay. See you soon.” She sounded distracted. I didn’t like it.

“Hey. See you soon. I lov—” I’d wanted to say I love you, but she’d already ended the call.

Cursing under my breath, I turned to the table and sat down in front of the tray, ignoring Ruthie’s death stare and navigating to my texts.



* * *



Abram: I love you. I don’t need a picture, I just need you.



* * *



I didn’t need a picture, not if it would be a source of anxiety for her, but she was wrong. We were in this together. If something affected her, it affected me. Reading back over the message, I decided to send one more.



* * *



Abram: What you have to deal with is complete fucking bullshit completely unacceptable. I wish I could do something to help and I shouldn’t have ranted at you. I’m not mad at you, but I would like to punch some physicists right now.

Abram: Not you, obviously.

Abram: I miss you. You’re incredible. I’m awed by you.



* * *



Staring at my phone, I waited for Mona to respond. Ruthie cleared her throat. Obnoxiously. I ignored her. Charlie came back in, took a seat, and began signing photos. Still, I stared, my stomach slowly sinking.

After a few minutes, I set the phone face down on the table and glanced at the tray. A mug, a teapot, cut up wedges of lemon, packets of honey, and a plate with some kind of cookie covered the surface. Ruthie must’ve been a butler in another life.

I poured myself tea, unable to shake a nagging sense of doom. Ruin set up residence in my chest, distracting and tight, telling me I’d fucked up.

But I’ll make it right in New York. I’ll—

“Do you like the tea?” Ruthie asked, somehow making the question sound like a threat.

“Yes. Thank you,” I whispered, so as not to further provoke her ire.

“You’re welcome. The cookies are sugar free and paleo,” Charlie said. He reached for one of the cookies, shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “I made the tea. She assembled the rest and carried it.”

“Fucking paleo asshats,” Ruthie mumbled. “I hate those people.”

“What? Why?” Charlie asked around another bite of a cookie. “Their snacks are pretty good. Clever. I like that they use dates in energy bars.”

Blowing steam off the surface of the tea, I checked my phone again. Nothing. Now my throat not only hurt, it was full of glass shards of regret, making it nearly impossible to swallow.

“No, Charlie.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about people from the paleolithic time period. I can’t stand those fuckers. With their stupid pet dinosaurs.”

Charlie and I shared a look, because sometimes Ruthie was odd, and we couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. This was a woman who hated the most random things—like the word chartreuse and all-natural history museums—so there existed a very real possibility she actually hated people from the paleolithic time period.

Rubbing my sternum, I took a sip of the tea, set it down, and picked up a marker. “Pass me a photo.”

“No talking, Abram,” Ruthie chided, giving me a whole stack of photographs. “When you finish these, Charlie and I will take turns giving you more.”

I nodded, grimacing, because the ache in my chest hadn’t eased. Was this our first argument?

No. Our first argument had been in Aspen. This definitely wasn’t that. I wasn’t upset with her. I was upset with a system that rewarded hypocrisy.

My phone buzzed. Immediately, I snatched it up, almost knocking over the tea. A text.



* * *



Mona: I was saving this for New York, but I thought you’d like a sneak peek.



* * *



I frowned, reading the message again, searching for a hidden meaning. Then a picture came through and I almost dropped my phone.

It was Mona.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror.

Wearing a white string bikini.

It didn’t matter that I had no voice, because I was now speechless, with profound lust.

“What’s wrong with you? You watching porn or something?” Ruthie leaned toward me. “Who is that?”

I yanked the phone back, pressing it to my chest, glaring at her.

She immediately reared back, her eyes wide with surprise. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here hating paleos and signing photos, as one does.”

Standing, I paced away from the table and toward the window, peering at the picture of Mona again, hungry for it. God, she was so fucking beautiful. So gorgeous. Her expression, smiling, confident, but with a hint of challenge, like she dared someone, anyone to make this picture of her something shameful. And her expression erased any worry I might’ve had that she’d felt pressured into sending it.