Time (Laws of Physics #3)(42)

“Okay,” she said softly, sounding a little shy. “I will. It’ll be like a sexy scavenger hunt.” I sensed she was pleased, excited, but maybe also a little uncertain.

The uncertainty concerned me, and I didn’t want us to hang up until she felt certain. “I hope you know, you can always, always tell me, when we’re together, or at any time, if anything I’m doing isn’t your jam. My hope is that I’ll be able to read you by your reactions. But if I don’t, or can’t, tell me. I will immediately stop, completely if you want, or move on to something else if you prefer. If things aren’t spectacular for you, Mona, then—I guarantee—they’ll be shit for me.”

She laughed. “Spectacular, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“Yes. Spectacular.” I swallowed, closing my eyes against the imagery assault of everything that conjured, and my voice gravel, I added, “Let me discover you. Slowly. Over time.”





11





Failure of Galilean Transformations





Abram





Zero months.

Zero weeks.

Zero days.

Fourteen Hours.

And then, finally.

“Why’re you always in such a bad mood?”

I moved my eyes to Charlie, watching him slip inside the green room. Beyond the open door, I spotted Stan. He lifted his chin in greeting, I lifted mine.

Stan was the security guard who’d been assigned to stand outside my door and was part of the team for the stadium. On our first day here, he and I had bonded over pinochle. We both played it. His landlady had taught him, my mother had taught me.

Last night, he’d brought his landlady to the stadium, I invited my mom, and we made a game of it over pizza from Giordano’s. Best night I’d had in a long time.

Charlie closed the door, cutting off my view of Stan and reducing the noise emanating from both the stage and backstage. Lifting two bottles of champagne deftly in one hand, he grinned.

Drummers.

“Come on. Celebrate. We’re in our hometown.” He set one of the bottles down in front of me, right next to my feet propped on the glass coffee table and began removing the foil of the other bottle. “I brought the good stuff to get you started.”

One and a half months. The last time I saw Mona in person. I’d been sick with the flu. She’d come to LA for twenty-four hours. I’d been delirious when she arrived, but only half-delirious when she left. Her visit had made all the difference, but the missed opportunities—to spend actual quality time together—haunted me.

“Nah, man. I’m good.” I strummed three chords on my Dreadnought, the opening to “Hold a Grudge,” but in D minor.

One week. The last time we’d spoken on the phone. Thirteen minutes, a quick call in the middle of the night, her time. She’d been so tired, I hadn’t wanted to keep her up when she needed her sleep.

“No. Man. You are not good. You’re depressing as shit. Ever since Las Vegas, you’ve been a real wet blanket. When are you going to get over that shit? Everyone thought it was funny but you. Come on, that woman was gorgeous.”

Keeping my face carefully impassive, I shrugged, because by now I’d realized Charlie wasn’t ever going to share my ire about the situation in Las Vegas.

It was our first show after I’d recovered from the flu. After the concert, we were all backstage with the VIP ticket group, and this woman who I’d never met grabbed my dick and offered to give me a blow job. Since most people were drunk at this point, her offer spurred others to make similar offers until they started to sound more like requests, and then demands.

And that was the last VIP session I attended. My label was pissed. I told them to eat shit. Attending VIP sessions wasn’t in my contract. Getting groped and propositioned by drunk fans, no matter how attractive they were, wasn’t either. It didn’t fucking matter if she was gorgeous. But everyone—Charlie and the crew who’d been present—made it clear that I was the strange one. I was the one who couldn’t take a harmless joke. So, I kept my mouth shut.

Charlie popped the cork, sending bubbles cascading over his hand and onto the carpet. Shaking his fingers of the excess, he licked the back of his knuckles. “This one is for you. Here.” Charlie held out the bottle.

I leaned forward. I took it. I set it on the floor under my legs. “Thanks.”

Two days. The last time Mona sent me a candid picture. I kept opening it. A shot of her with one of my CDs at a music store in Geneva sent while I was asleep, giving me a huge smile and a thumbs-up along with the words, I’m so proud of you!!

And then I would scroll through all the pictures she’d sent, taking my time with each. My favorite was still her in the white bikini. But a close second was her in a lab coat, the front of it slightly open, just enough to show me she had nothing on underneath. The night after receiving that photo had been a long, frustrating one.

He grumbled, saying, “You know, I’m supposed to be the dark, broody member of Redburn.”

“Oh yeah? What am I supposed to be?”

“The sexy one.”

I cracked a smile though I felt no humor. “Maybe we’ve switched places.”

Ten hours. The last time she’d sent me a text message.