Time (Laws of Physics #3)(40)

Mona picked up on the first ring. “Abram! How are you? How was the concert? How many encores? You didn’t push yourself, did you? Please be careful not to push yourself. Did you get the package I sent?”

A slow grin spread over my features and I fell back on the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm. “God, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

One beat of silence, then, “Uh, I think you called the wrong number. This is Mona, not God. Related, do you have His number? If so, please ask Him to reconcile quantum gravity with the theory of relativity. I’ll wait.”

I laughed. “You are a nut.”

“As long as it’s a do-nut, I’m fine with that. Hey, did you know, donut-shaped planets are theoretically possible? Great. Now I want a donut.” Her voice and her cute facts relaxed my muscles and nerves and bones. My smile deepened.

This was perfection, almost. Almost exactly what I needed. Her being here or me being there was actual perfection, but this was pretty darn close. And yet, even as I relaxed, the shadowy thought, I miss her, made drawing a full breath impossible.

“What time is it there?” she asked.

I thought about looking at the clock on the side table, or at the screen of my phone, but laziness had me shaking my head. “I don’t know. Almost two?”

“Yeesh. You sound so tired.” In a quieter voice she added, “Please take care of yourself. Don’t get sick again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. Germs have a mind of their own. And if it’s a virus, well, let’s just say it has a hive mind of their own.” She chuckled at her joke and so did I.

“How about, I’ll do my best. I can’t wait to see you.” I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to say it until later in the conversation.

“I can’t wait either! London in March. Have you ever been to London?”

“No. Have you?”

“Oh yes. My parents have a house there. We would go around Christmastime, if we went. The cook made yule logs, which were my favorite.”

I frowned, removing my forearm from my eyes to rub at my sternum. Our cook. I’d wanted to ask Mona about her family, her upbringing, since Marie had raised the topic two weeks ago, but I didn’t know how to start. Our phone conversations hadn’t been exactly satisfying recently. One of us was either extremely tired or in a rush.

Before I could make up my mind whether or not to ask her about her family, she said, “So, speaking of London, I actually have a question about something related to the trip.”

“Uh, okay. Shoot.” After she asked her question, I decided I would ask how her conversation with Leo had gone at the hospital in LA. We hadn’t discussed it yet, and it would be a good segue into asking about her parents.

“Great. So. About sex.”

My eyes flew open.

“Tell me what you like.”

I stared at the white ceiling of the hotel bedroom, thoughts and concerns and planned questions fleeing my mind as all blood rushed south. “You mean, phone sex?”

Were we doing this? Now? We still hadn’t done it yet. I was tired, but I’d get untired real fast if phone sex was on the table.

“No, no, no. I mean sex-sex. Tell me what you like so that, when we see each other, I’ll be able to do precisely what you like. Here, you can’t see me, but I have a notebook for taking notes, to make sure I get it all down.”

Most of my blood had abandoned my brain for my pants, so I think I can be forgiven for the slowness of my response. “You want to interview me and take notes? About what I like during sex?”

“Exactly. And then I’ll tell you my preferences the next time we talk, because you sound really tired now and probably don’t have pen and paper ready.”

What the hell?

I made a face, speaking without thinking, “That’s cheating.”

“Cheating?”

“Yes, cheating.” I sat up, mildly irritated. “No. I’m not telling you what I like. I want you to figure it out.”

She made a noise, it sounded indignant. “But if you don’t tell me what you like, then I might do something you don’t like as much, and the sex will be mediocre.”

“Yeah, I doubt it. I’m pretty sure I’ll love it all.” I bit my bottom lip, thinking about her face when we were in Chicago as she came, the feel of her silky heat on my fingers.

Now I was awake.

“Abram. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Another sound of indignation. “I need some direction. I want this to be good for you.”

“Oh, I have no doubts it will be. But I’m not giving you instructions to follow. I’m not a recipe.”

She laughed, it sounded surprised. “Okay. That was funny. But, look, like I said, I’ll tell you what I like, and—”

“No. No way. Don’t you dare. Come on, Mona. Give us a chance to be good at this. I don’t want you to tell me.”

“But—”

“That’s the same as telling me what you got me for my birthday before I get a chance to open my presents.”

“No, it’s not. It’s being communicative,” she said through renewed laughter.

“Nope. You are not allowed to tell me a thing. I don’t want shortcuts. I want to discover you. Giving me a grocery list takes all the fun out of it.”