Time (Laws of Physics #3)(54)

Stop. Don’t panic. Just take a minute. Think.

Easier said than done.

Pushing myself off and away, I dropped my eyes to the floor of the limo, a balloon of confused dejection swelling in my chest, a rush of heat moving up my neck. I fought against both, telling myself to slow down. Think.

An object near her bra caught my attention and I squinted at it, something that looked like a piece of wrapped candy, or—no. Condoms. Two foil wrappers, glinting under the overhead light. I doubted they’d been left behind by a previous customer, the rest of the limo was too clean for them to be overlooked.

Mona brought condoms. Why would she bring condoms? Had she changed her mind about using a condom? Was that why she was upset now? Did I—shit.

I pushed a shaky hand through my hair. I’d been selfish. I’d been so desperate to have her. I must’ve pushed her or—

No. Wait. That’s not how it was. She was just as desperate. What am I missing?

Mona was moving and I numbly lifted my eyes, watching as she searched the limo, her arm covering her breasts. Finding her dress, she turned away and pulled it over her head. Not looking in my direction, she held my jeans and boxers out to me, her eyes on the floor of the limo.

On autopilot, I took them, pulled on my pants, my preoccupied mind combing through the last twenty or more minutes, looking for a sign, for what I’d done wrong, or what I’d missed. What the hell am I missing?

Mona sat on the bench across from where we’d made love, frowning down at herself. She was moving her underwear between her legs, like she was trying to wipe herself off, like the evidence of what we’d done frustrated her.

Doing my best to ignore the flare of pained anguish in my chest, I spotted my shirt crumpled by her feet. I moved toward it, wanting to help, wanting to fix this, make it right. She turned her head at my approach, flinching as I came closer. The small action made me stop as a renewed wave of dejection filled my lungs.

I couldn’t quite see. My senses weren’t working as they should. My brain in disorder. All tools of perception were focused on the pain caused by every heartbeat and trying to figure out how to get through it. God, this hurts.

I cleared my throat, and I swallowed, and I moved back to where I’d been sitting, opting instead to tell her from a distance, “You can use my shirt, to—to clean up. If you want.”

Mona stared at me, like she was trying to make sense of my words, and then she blinked several times, her back straightening, her mouth opening and closing. I watched her gather a deep breath, and then in the next moment, her chin wobbled.

Totally confused, but also absolutely fascinated, I studied her as she covered her mouth just as a sob escaped, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She shook her head. Her face crumpled, and she curled forward, bowing her head as she cried.

Stunned, I stared at her, completely at a loss. She’d just been so cold, aloof, composed. She’d wanted space. But now she was crying. Crying. Body-wracking sobs. My heart thundered between my ears, bouncing wildly against my ribcage, as though trying to reach her.

Did I hurt her? Fuck.

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to do something. I had to. I couldn’t watch her like this from afar. I’d rather chew glass.

Carefully, slowly, keeping my eyes on her, I lowered to my knees. “Mona.”

She hiccupped, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it.”

What?

Fighting the instinct to just grab her and hold her close, I gathered an unsteady breath, as deeply as the ache in my lungs would allow, shifting closer. “Can I hold you?”

Instantly, she nodded. And then, before I could move, she flung herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck, nearly strangling. Because I sensed she needed it, I held her tightly, leaning back to cradle her on my lap.

I second-guessed myself. I couldn’t read her. I’d been wrong before. I couldn’t trust that I knew what she wanted. Maybe she didn’t want to be held tightly. Maybe she just wanted to hold someone.

“Hold me tighter,” she demanded, as though reading my mind. “Please. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

I immediately complied, relieved for the explicit direction, and stroked her. “Is this okay? Can I do this? Does this—is this bothering you?”

My questions and uncertainty seemed to only make her cry harder, and then she growled, the sound frustrated. “Please, just touch me like you want. Don’t—don’t ask!”

I stared forward, my brain paralyzed by confusion. I was so confused. I wanted to ask her so many things, starting with, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

Instead, I swallowed them. I held her, stroking her back, kissing her shoulder, whispering words of reassurance.

And I silently simmered in the chaos of my mind and heart.





We drove around for at least an hour while she snuggled against my bare chest. Every so often, she’d squirm, like she wanted to get closer, and then she’d sigh, like she was frustrated by the limitations of our physical forms. But then she’d kiss me, my collarbone, my shoulder, my neck, and settle once more.

It did wonders to soothe my earlier dejection.

It did nothing to untangle my confusion.

It did a lot to increase my concern for her.

The hour was time well spent with my thoughts, reviewing every moment between us. Three in particular stood out as significant.