The Force of Gravity(31)

I step closer, meeting him squarely in the eye. “Really? Because it looks like you’re enjoying my dress, Mr. Slate.”

Anger flashes through his eyes as he steps forward, away from the wall. “Kaley, stop,” he warns. He folds his arms and scans the room over my head. “Just walk away.”

I take a step back. “I’ve been trying to walk away.”

His features soften, and he meets my eyes. “I said I was sorry.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “For the love of God, just leave me the hell alone—please.” I turn on my heel and catch Derek’s judgmental stare over Emily’s shoulder as they dance.

Perfect.

I storm off to the ladies room and lock myself in the second-to-last stall. Pressing my hands against the door, I lower my head and fill my lungs with air. Shake it off.

Snickers from the stall next to me grab my attention, and I straighten up. I hear “Shh,” and I flush the toilet to appear normal before unlocking the door. Just as I step out, Avery and a few of her sycophants tumble out of the large stall. My eyes lock onto Avery’s lumpy velvet satchel, and she giggles, noticing my gaze.

“You wanna drink?” she asks.

The alcohol gods must be smiling down on me.

“Hell yes,” I say, grinning. She pulls me into the stall, locking out her cluster of cronies, and pulls out a small bottle of red liquid.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“It’s cinnamon, you’ll love it,” she says, handing me the bottle. “And the best part—no one will smell alcohol on your breath.”

I take a whiff of the potent liquor before taking a swig. It tastes like liquid cinnamon candy, and I hesitate before handing it back to her.

“Can I have one more?” I ask.

She smirks, then nods. I take two more sips and give it back. She tucks it back into her sack and exits the stall without a good-bye.

Well, that was odd.

Hoping I didn’t just get roofied, I step out of the stall and stop at the mirror to freshen up before heading back out to the dance floor.

I ignore Derek’s hard stare as I pass him and make my way through the crowd to where Tommy is standing around the snack table with his buddies, devouring a plate of food. Meanwhile, their dates sip on diet sodas and look as if they haven’t eaten in weeks.

Guys have it so easy.

I tug on Tommy’s elbow, and he slides his arm around me as he finishes up his conversation. After he downs the rest of his drink, he leads me out to the dance floor.

“Everything okay with you?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

He pulls me close. “Just making sure.”

I tighten my grip on him, and the room blurs as we slowly spin around. He leans in for a kiss, and I sink into it, latching onto his neck.

When he breaks away, he says, “You taste like cinnamon.”

“Yeah? You taste like alcohol.”

He grins. “Seth spiked our drinks.”

“Why didn’t you give me any?” I whine.

“Because I can handle my liquor, babe. And I don’t want you passing out on me later.”

I glare at him, and he laughs.

The rest of prom goes smoothly. Tommy has to steady me a few times, and because he thinks I’ve only had a couple shots, he watches me with hawk-like eyes for the rest of the evening. I almost get Seth to hook me up with a Coca-Cola “concoction,” but Tommy is quick to intercept. Emily and I dance to our favorite fast-paced songs throughout the evening, and the night lives up to its promise. I never catch Mr. Slate’s gaze again and soon forget all about him. By a quarter to eleven, we’re ready to leave.



WE STEP OUTSIDE, and a warm gust of wind catches our dresses and threatens a brief moment of indecent exposure. Luckily, my dress is pretty tight, but Emily shrieks as she struggles to hold hers down. The smell of rain fills the moist air, and I’m hoping we make it to the hotel before the skies open up. Tommy holds me close as our limo pulls up and helps me in before climbing in after me—or should I say on top of me. He hovers over me, embracing me in a heated kiss, and runs his hands over the back of my dress.

“Hey, wait until you’re in your room, tiger!” says Emily as she smacks the back of Tommy’s head. Derek climbs in after her as Tommy and I sit up, readjusting ourselves. Derek opens up a compartment and tosses everyone a bottle of water. I consume mine in a few gulps, and Derek tosses me another. The drive to the hotel takes about forty minutes, but Emily keeps us entertained—she has us roaring with laughter as she imitates the creepy guy who took our photos.

Tommy squeezes my leg when we pull up to the hotel, and my stomach flips. I down the rest of my water and take Tommy’s hand as he helps me out of the limo. My hair whips around in the wind, and Derek carries Emily’s bag so she can hold her dress down.

The gigantic cherrywood front desk of the hotel stretches the entire length of the lobby, and several prom-goers hang around an ornate stone fountain that serves as the hotel centerpiece. It feels just as cliché as I imagined. I fight the urge to plunk down in one of the plush chocolate-colored arm chairs while Tommy checks in.

With room keys in hand, we stroll to the elevators, and Emily grins at me. We step inside the elevator, which is decked with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and Emily and I admire our reflections. As far as I can tell, our amateur work is holding up. My stomach rolls as the elevator comes to a stop, and I grip my bags as we make our way down the hall.

Emily stops at her door, which is across from ours. “Do you guys want to hang out in our room for a while?”

I prop my hand on the wall to steady myself. “Sure—”

“No, we’re good,” Tommy interrupts, sliding the key card and opening the door.

Emily laughs and hugs me goodnight. “See you in the morning. . . . Have fun,” she says, giving me a knowing look.

Tommy flicks on the light, and I follow him inside, setting my bags on the enormous king-sized bed. The room is nice, but pretty basic. It reminds me of a room I stayed in with my parents when they took me to Sea World several years ago. I quickly push the thought out of my mind. Now is not the time to be thinking about my parents. I plop down on the bed and the room sways.

“I think I need to eat something,” I say, clutching my stomach.

Tommy hurries to my side. “Do you want me to call room service?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He snatches the menu from the table. “What would you like?”

“Anything.” I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and notice an array of snacks. I hold up a bag of animal crackers. “Do you mind if I take these?”

“No, go ahead.” He’s already on the phone ordering a burger and fries.

After munching on a few zoo animals, I take a few sips of water and step into the bathroom. As I freshen up, the room slowly steadies and my stomach calms. Relief washes over me. When I come back out, Tommy’s pouring himself a drink.

I lift an eyebrow. “Where’d that come from?”

“Derek,” he says with an enticing smile. “How are you feeling?”

I smile back. “Better, actually. Can I have some?”

He hesitates before handing me his glass and pouring himself another. “Are you sure you’re okay? Room service will be another twenty minutes or so.” He kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket.

“I’m good,” I say, climbing onto the bed. I take a sip of my drink and rest my head on the headboard. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he says, untying his bow tie and throwing it on the table. “Do you want to watch TV while we wait?” He grabs the remote and slides next to me.

“No,” I say. My hands tremble as I set my glass on the nightstand.

I turn to him, my heart pounding. I kick off my heels and swing my leg over him, causing my dress to hike up. The room spins for a moment as I gaze down at the blue-eyed boy whom I’ve known since I was thirteen years old. Deep down in my heart, I know he would do anything for me, and he deserves this moment. I want this for him—for us. It’s time to take control and show him how much I love him—show him how sorry I am for all the crap I’ve put him through lately. I can trust him with my life—he isn’t perfect, but neither am I.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice gentle. He sets his drink beside mine.

“You.”

His familiar eyes glitter with anticipation as they peer into mine. He smiles at me, and I know I can make this work with him. Maybe I’ve just been nervous about taking things to the next level, and my subconscious used Mr. Slate as a barrier—as a way to protect myself. Maybe it felt safer to focus on someone unattainable. Sex has always scared me. . . . I know how boys are about this sort of thing—it’s never kept a secret, and it’s degrading. I never open up to him in the way he deserves because I’m scared of being hurt, of ending up like my parents, of feeling trapped. If I give myself to him, if I open my heart finally, he can give me everything I need. And he’ll grow up eventually. . . . He has the potential to become a mature man one day—be a true partner.

If only I would let him.

I start with his shirt, unbuttoning slowly. He stares into my eyes as I slip it over his shoulders, revealing the hard body that makes every girl swoon—he really is a sight to behold when I’m not so focused on fending him off. My legs tremble as he hikes up my dress past my red lacy thong.