Laws of Physics Book 1: MOTION Read online

  The light in the mudroom had dimmed to a soft yellow and then the orangey-pink indicative of sunsets. Staring at the evocative color, I realized it had been a while since I saw a sunset. Several months at least.

  Placing my book on the bench seat, I dragged myself to the elevator and punched the call button several times. Yes, I could have taken the stairs, but apparently a by-product of being discombobulated was a general sense of lethargy. I didn’t want to take the stairs. I wanted to be sad and lazy.

  Leaning a hand against the wall, I waited, twisting my lips to the side as I contemplated how best to view the sunset. My parents had a balcony that was more of a deck leading off my dad’s office. It faced northwest.

  My mind was on the sunset when the doors slid open, which was probably why I didn’t immediately realize Abram was standing in the elevator. But when I did, I gasped. Cartoonishly. And then held perfectly still, staring at him with wide eyes.

  Why I did this, I don’t know. My body had officially become weird around him. I was on the verge of disowning it and all its crazy Abram-related flutterings.

  Meanwhile, he leaned against the back of the elevator, his arms crossed, looking at me with bland indifference. He was wearing all black. Black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. Wait. Why is he wearing shoes?

  “Are you going up?” he asked. Eventually.

  “Uh. . .” I twisted my fingers. Debating. Debating. My attention lowered to his shoes again. Is he going somewhere?

  The doors started to slide shut and he made no move to stop them. So, of course I launched myself into the scant space at the last second. The thing about small, private elevators is that their safety measures aren’t as responsive as the big, corporate building ones. Which meant I was knocked around a little by the closing doors.

  Visibly alarmed, Abram reached out, one hand sliding around my waist, the other gripping my upper arm as he pulled me further into the small lift. This was presumably to either: a) save me from the jaws of death, or b) keep me from clumsily crashing into him.

  With comical belatedness, the doors opened again, like, Oh. Did you want to get on? Sorry about that, old chap.

  But I was already on the elevator, now pressed against the back wall by Abram; his back to the opening as though shielding me from any further door-related injuries; his eyes on mine, a mixture of concerned and confused.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded hurriedly, breathing in through my nose because I missed how he smelled. Soak it up, buttercup. This might be your last opportunity.

  As usual, the fragrance of him had an inebriating, relaxing effect. But for some reason, this time it also made me want to . . . lick . . . something.

  Abram continued to stare down at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” I took another breath through my nose. “How are you?”

  Abram’s grip loosened a little, like he planned to release me.

  So my mutinous mouth lied, “But I think I banged up my shoulder a little. Oh. Oh, ouch.” I lifted my right shoulder, making a wincing face, even though no part of me hurt. Pathetic.

  “Is that where the door hit you?” His attention shifted to my offended shoulder and he inspected it, his eyebrows pulling together.

  Huh. Clearly, he believed me, and I couldn’t believe he’d fallen for that. Perhaps I no longer require lying lessons.

  “This is where it hit, yes.” I leaned forward a smidge, the doors behind him finally slid shut, and the elevator made a whirring sound as it slowly ascended.

  I could only assume he’d pressed the button for the third floor when he’d originally stepped onto the elevator from the basement and that’s why we were moving. I hadn’t pressed the fourth-floor button yet, I’d been too busy liking how his body cocooned mine; liking how close he was and how that meant I could feel the warmth of him; liking how his hand slid up my arm to gently prod and smooth over my shoulder, checking for injury; liking how he hadn’t seemed to notice that my hands were on his biceps, enjoying the solid strength and size. Or if he’d noticed my hand placement, he didn’t seem to care.

  Basically, continuing to gaze at Abram, I liked everything about the moment, and this was odd because he was—essentially—taking care of me. If you didn’t count medical professionals, I’d never experienced taking care with anyone but a nanny, my sister, and Gabby, all incidences which had occurred many, many moons ago.

  He frowned at my shoulder. “I think it’s fine. But if it bothers you, we should ice it.”

  “Okay,” I said softly, feeling inclined to agree with just about anything he suggested.

  But then he stilled, his eyes cutting back to mine. Abram lifted an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing, assessing, examining.

  He let me go. He removed himself to the adjacent wall. He crossed his arms.

  Clearing his features of expression, his gaze dimming once more to disinterested and reserved, Abram stared forward and cleared his throat. A renewed pang of regret bounced around inside my ribcage as I watched this transformation, amazed at how much distance he was able to put between us in such a small space.

  Clearing his throat again, he glanced at the digital floor readout, and then back to me. “Which floor?”

  “The, uh, the fourth floor. The top floor.” The pang of regret sunk to my stomach. Knowing why he’d stepped back and not at all blaming him for putting distance between us, I rubbed my shoulder.

  Though it was my heart that felt injured.

  16

  Further Applications of Newton’s Laws of Motion

  I watched the sunset. By myself. Wondering when Gabby would finally show up. Feeling like the personification of a bookmark.

  Bookmark was the perfect descriptive word for this restless paralyzed state of being. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do. I was a placeholder with no power or free will. My only utility was the fact that I existed. A bookmark.

  No longer feeling lazy, I jogged down the stairs to the second floor and changed into the white bikini I’d worn twice but had never used. In record time, I was ready to move. I needed exercise so I could sleep. I needed sleep to set my brain in order. I’ll feel better, more myself, after a good night’s sleep.

  Again, taking the stairs, I marched past the kitchen, down the hall, and to the mudroom, determined to expend some energy. Alas, just before opening the door, movement in the pool caught my attention.

  Abram. In the pool. Swimming. Déjà vu.

  Staring at his form, I was breathing harder than I should’ve been. But that was because I was truly torn. What should I do? My brain was getting a rare workout.

  We had a gym in the basement. I could change—again—and use the treadmill.

  He couldn’t swim forever. I could wait until he was finished.

  I didn’t have to exercise at all. I could go upstairs and read my new book, or good old Moby Dick. A voice that sounded a little like Gabby’s whispered between my ears, It’s the only dick you’re getting any time soon.

  Growling at the window, I shoved the crass—albeit true—thought to the side. There were several logical paths available to me. But instead of taking any of them, I gathered a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door. No doubt I was being stubborn and stupid.

  But I wanted to go swimming.

  Abram using the pool was not a reason for me to avoid swimming. We could be friendly. We were adults, at least in the eyes of the US government. We would be able to manage a civil conversation. Why would he care if I went swimming? He wouldn’t.

  He won’t. . .

  Strangely, this thought did nothing to make me feel better.

  Still breathing harder than I should’ve been, I opened the door and left the house. Making a short detour to the little pool shed tucked against the façade of the brownstone my parents had torn down, I grabbed a pair of goggles and a towel. And then I approached the pool, my eyes following Abram as he continued his laps, ignorant of my arrival.

  Setting the towel on
one of the nearby lounge chairs, I cleared my mind of all dissent and stepped into the pool, hustling to the side he wasn’t using. But he must’ve seen my legs or sensed a shift in the force, because he stopped swimming mid-lap and stood, wiping his eyes and frowning at me.

  He was also breathing hard, which was to be expected given the fact that he’d been swimming for an eternity.

  Giving him a tight smile and a head nod, but no eye contact, I dipped the googles into the pool and ignored the frantic beating of my heart. Goodness, I’d forgotten how perfectly formed he was up close with no shirt, and this time rivulets of water were dripping from his perfectly formed . . . form.

  “Lisa.” He moved a step closer.

  “Abram.” The end of his name caught in the back of my throat, necessitating a thorough throat clearing.

  He waited until I’d finished clearing my throat before asking, “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, well, you see, if you get the goggles used to the temperature of the water before you wear them, they won’t fog as much.” I rubbed the lenses with my fingers, staring at the action of my hands with an intensity of concentration more befitting rocket science. I would know.

  “Not the goggles.” He moved again, the ripples of water caused by his body now meeting mine. “What are you doing?” he asked, slower this time.

  “I’m going to swim some laps.” Finished acclimating the goggles, I pulled them on, correcting the suction around my eye sockets.

  I felt his eyes on me. I felt them as assuredly as if he’d touched where he looked. That meant I had the urge to lower myself into the water up to my neck before he spied what my nipples thought about being the subject of his attention.

  Spoiler alert: They liked it.

  But I didn’t lower myself, even though they’d tightened into traitorous stiff beads. Given historical data, everything about this situation and my body’s reaction to it should have alarmed me.

  First, I wasn’t usually scantily clad while around another person.

  Second, if I was, it occurred in near or complete darkness, and only after a great deal of discussion surrounding expectations. On the off chance that it wasn’t dark, my nipples didn’t typically have an opinion about being gazed upon one way or the other.

  However, as Abram drifted closer, I discovered my well of wary was running distressingly low. Some reckless part of myself encouraged the rest of me to remain standing, betraying boobs be damned. Abram wanted an eyeful? Fine with me.

  Actually, great.

  Fantastic!

  My irrational thoughts were as follows: I liked him looking. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to like what he saw and think about me later. I couldn’t talk to him; I couldn’t kiss him; I couldn’t touch him. But I could stand here, in this bikini, and give him a memory. Hopefully a nice one.

  And inexplicably, if I were being honest with myself, Abram looking at my body made me feel absolutelyfuckingfabulous.

  See? Clearly, I was sleep-deprived and veering into Gabby’s mentally unhinged lane.

  “You’re going to swim laps in a bikini?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

  “Yep.” I adjusted my hair so the rubber strap of the goggles didn’t tug uncomfortably.

  “In a string bikini?”

  “Yep.” The pool was cool, my cheeks were hot. I dipped my head all the way underwater, getting my hair and face wet while sneaking a glance at Abram’s glorious torso, illuminated to perfection by the pool light, and made a nice memory of my own.

  I am an Objectifying Olivia. I am Hypocritical Helen. I am a Lying Lisa. I am Winnifred the Worst.

  Breaking the surface, I wiped my nose and lips of water, and backed up to the edge of the pool. Freely accepting that I was behaving irrationally, I smoothed my hair away from my face with both hands, the action probably doing great things for my chest headlights.

  Abram made a huffing sound, which morphed into a low growl. “You can’t wait until I’m finished?”

  “You don’t need the whole pool.” I glanced at him from behind my goggles. And then I stared at him from behind my goggles. And then I ogled him from behind my goggles, which felt most appropriate because goggles were probably designed for ogles, hence the name.

  “I’m almost done.” He said this through his teeth, his dark glare continuing to blatantly travel over my body. He needed goggles.

  “No. You’re not.” I set my hand on my waist. “Yesterday you were in here for an hour or more.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  Stiffening, my hand dropped from my waist. I took a deep breath as a stalling tactic, perversely pleased when his eyes dropped to my chest—as though compelled—before he closed them. The muscle at his jaw jumped. His nostrils flared. He looked pissed. Or frustrated. Or both.

  “I wanted to go swimming yesterday,” I finally admitted, seeing nothing wrong with telling the truth. “I waited for you to finish. It took forever. I’m not waiting today.”

  Now he gathered a deep breath and my eyes dropped to his chest and stomach, the sparse smattering of hair and definition of his muscles were hypnotic. Once again, I had that urge to lick . . . something.

  Shaking his head, he opened his eyes. They were focused on a spot behind me and to the right, giving me the impression he was purposefully averting his attention.

  “Fine. I’ll leave.” Abram began wading through the water, aiming for the pool steps.

  “Fine.” I frowned, not liking this development and tearing my ogling eyes from his body. Focusing on the far end of the pool, I muttered childishly, “Good idea. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  That stopped him. “What?”

  “I mean, when I lap you,” I said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to embarrass you by how much faster of a swimmer I am. Than you.”

  Abram’s eyelids lowered, a spark of irritation—but also something else—seemed to change them, turn the typically light brown irises the color of smoldering embers. Even in the pale, cyan illumination of the pool light, and from behind the lenses of my goggles, I saw the transformation.

  “You think so?” His jaw worked and his words sounded like a dare. Both made my skin erupt in goose bumps of anticipation.

  If I thought his glare had been sexy, this look paired with his bare chest and ticking-time-bomb jaw was cosmically erotic. Another nice memory.

  “I know so,” I said, just as darkly, lying. I wasn’t certain I could beat him, but I was certainly up for giving it a try.

  “Fine.” He spat the word, moving his big body through the water and to the edge of the pool. Placing himself three feet from where I stood, he didn’t glance at me as he barked, “Here’s the deal: two laps—there and back two times—winner stays, loser leaves.”

  Oh jeez. Okay. Hmm . . .

  I’d previously promised myself never to enter into a bet with Abram. You promised the universe. You promised—

  “Five laps. There and back five times,” I said, ignoring the recollection of my promise even though doing so gave me a niggle of discomfort.

  I’d suggested five laps partially to be contrary. But also, partially because five laps were more than two. If he won, at least I’d get some exercise. And also, partially because I wanted to see him wet, angry, and breathing hard up close again.

  “Okay.” He drew out the word, still not looking at me. “Five.”

  “Good. Ready?” I lifted my hands to the edge behind me, gripping it and bracing my feet against the wall.

  He did likewise. “On the count of three.”

  “One,” I said.

  I felt him glance at me, but all he said was, “Two.”

  “Thr—”

  He pushed forward, BEFORE I’D FINISHED SAYING THREE!! UGH!!!!

  Furious and, yes, turned on, I launched forward, pumping my arms and legs as though my life depended on winning, which it kind of did.

  Since I’d promised I wouldn’t make a bet with Abram, I decided to change it into a
bet with the universe, in my heart, a secret bet. If I won, I would tell him the truth, about Lisa, about me, about how I felt—even though I didn’t have complete clarity on that subject—but if I lost, I’d keep my mouth shut.

  Lactic acid burned my muscles, my quads ached, my lungs felt like they might explode, but I made it to the far side of the pool and back in record time, narrowing Abram’s cheating lead. After the second lap we were neck and neck, after the third I was slightly ahead.

  But as we pushed off against the deep-side wall, marking the middle of the fourth lap, Abram surged forward. His hips were next to my face, which meant he was a half body length—a half Abram body length—ahead, and I was swimming as fast as I could. There was no way I would catch up. No way.

  Despair and frustration gripped my throat and heart and lungs. I felt like crying. I think I did cry because I couldn’t see out of my goggles anymore. Heading into the fifth lap blind, I gritted my teeth, telling myself this was it. This last lap was it. Even though I didn’t believe in such things, I told myself, if I lost, it would be the universe communicating with me. I’d made a binding and irrevocable bet: I could never tell him the truth and there would always be lies between us.

  I turned at the far wall just a second after he did. Head down, eyes closed, I put every joule of energy, every milligram of mass, every newton of force in my entire being into propelling myself to first.

  Lungs on fire, my hand touched the wall and I immediately popped up, ripping off my goggles and looking to my right, to where Abram should have been. For a second, for a single, solitary moment in the eternity of time, my heart swelled with so much happiness and relief, I thought I might die. He was not there. He hadn’t yet finished. YES!

  But then, after two more seconds and no Abram, I frowned. Glancing around, searching for him, I found him treading water in the middle of the pool.

  I blinked. Shocked. Stunned. Horrified. “What- why?” I didn’t know what I wanted to ask first, and I was still struggling to catch my breath.

  He was also breathing hard, also working to catch his, watching me with veiled eyes, too far away for me to search his face for answers.