The Force of Gravity(38)

“Sure,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

“Are you . . . single?”

He cranes his neck back and looks down at me from the corner of his eye. “Yes . . . are you?” He smirks.

I bite my lip and ignore his playful quip.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t have a gorgeous supermodel girlfriend that you need to tell me about?

He cocks his head. “. . . Do you model?”

“Slate!” I say, softly punching his chest.

He laughs. It’s a fun, carefree laugh, and I think it’s my new favorite sound.

“I’m serious!” I say.

He grins. “So am I.”

I stare him down, trying not to laugh.

“There’s no one else, Kaley,” he assures me.

“Then why are you smirking?”

He laughs again. “Because I find it hilarious that you are asking me that question.”

“Trust me, I’m single,” I say bitterly.

He eyes me intently, his smirk morphing into that ravenous look of his that makes me forget what day it is.

“Not anymore,” he says, flipping me on my back and hovering over me. His lips cover mine, and I’m lost once again.



WE SPEND THE rest of the afternoon talking, intermittently watching movies, and even falling asleep on the couch. Neither of us needs lunch after that hefty breakfast. We kiss off and on throughout the day, but he’s taking it even slower now, which of course drives me absolutely crazy. I tell him about my dad announcing my parents’ separation right before prom, and it’s comforting having someone to talk to about it. He’s a great listener, and I don’t feel any judgment from him.

The sun is now completely sunken below the skyline, alerting us both that our time together is almost over.

“I’m going to miss you like hell tonight,” he confesses.

“Me, too,” I say.

We indulge in one last deep kiss that has the potential to spark another heated exchange, but he pulls away before things get too far. It takes all of my willpower to get off the couch and follow him out to the garage. He carries my bag to the Tahoe and opens the passenger door for me. My heart feels heavy, and I’m already longing for more uninterrupted time with him—I don’t feel like I’ve learned enough about him yet. The day ended too quickly. I climb in, and he sets my bag by my feet. We already discussed the fast getaway needed when he drops me off—I need to grab my bag and jump out as quickly as possible. He hops into the driver’s seat and just as he’s about to start the engine, I yell “Wait!”

He halts, alarmed. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve just always wanted to kiss you in this thing.” I graze my lips against his, and he shifts toward me, grabbing the back of my neck. I rest my hand against his upper thigh, and he pulls me closer, kissing me with the same intensity he held last night. When he breaks away, I almost whimper. He presses his forehead against mine, our rapid breathing penetrating the silence.

“Promise me you’ll make love to me in the Tahoe one day,” I say with a grin.

He chuckles. “Anywhere you want it, Kay.” He shifts back to his seat. “When the time is right,” he warns.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, sitting back.

He slips the key back into the ignition, then hesitates.

“Here,” he says, grabbing my phone out of my lap. “Just in case we need to communicate.”

My eyes widen as I watch him enter his phone number.

“I thought that was too risky,” I say in a hushed voice. As excited as I am to have his personal phone number, it still makes me uneasy.

“It is,” he says, handing it back to me.

I tilt my head, noticing the name he entered. “Garrett?”

He shrugs. “It’s my middle name. If anyone sees it, just say it’s some hot guy you met at the mall,” he says with a wink. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me.

“Why, Mr. Slate,” I say in my best Southern belle accent, “are you asking me for my phone number?”

He winces, and I laugh, retrieving the phone.

“You are going to be the death of me, Kaley,” he groans.

I enter my number, then give him a playful kiss as I hand it back to him.

He peers down at his phone. “Christine? Nice.”

I make a face.

“What, you don’t like it? Kaley Christine is cute.”

“Kaley Christine Kennedy? A little too cute if you ask me.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, hitting the garage door opener. “At least they didn’t spell your middle name with a K.”

I shove his arm as he starts the engine with a laugh.

He backs out of the garage halfway when his face grows serious, and he stops.

“I only want to use this when we absolutely have to, okay?” He gestures to my phone. “You probably think I’m too paranoid, but even code names are dangerous. But I’d rather take this risk than have you show up at my house randomly when I have some teacher luncheon here or something.”

“No, I totally get it. I won’t do that, I swear.”

“And when we do have plans for you to come over, use this.” He takes a garage door opener out of his pocket and hands it to me. “Keep it in your glove box. That way you can just drive right into my garage, okay?”

“This is all feeling really risky,” I say.

“Everything we do is risky. We’ll only have you drive in at night and hope for the best,” he says.

I like the sound of coming over at night—I miss his bed already.

“And if I do text you,” he says, “promise me you’ll delete it as soon as you read it. I know it’s a fake name, but still.”

“No worries, Garrett.” I smile, and he leans down to kiss me, and I take a final whiff of his glorious scent. I dread going home to my small, empty, callow bed.

He holds my hand the entire way home. His grasp is warm and protective, and I never want to let go. When we pull up to the house, dread washes over me. In our earlier discussion, we decided not to risk a good-bye kiss, either.

“You’re not going to change your mind Monday morning, are you?” I ask, only half-joking.

His expression is sober, reminding me of the night he dropped me off from the movies. “Not a chance. I’ll be thinking about you the entire time we’re apart. Remember that.”

“Me too.”

He squeezes my hand before letting go, and I jump out of the Tahoe. I rush up the driveway, glancing over my shoulder when I reach my door. He gives me a small wave before driving off, and I step into the house. As I close the door behind me, I’m instantly lonely, yet alive at the same time. Ironically, even though my boyfriend banged another girl last night, prom still ended up being the best night of my life.

My dad is sitting in the family room, and I greet him before marching straight to the kitchen in search of food—suddenly, I’m ravenous.

He appears in the entryway as I rummage through the pantry. “How was prom, Kay?”

The edges of my mouth curve into a grin, and I keep my back to him. “It was actually pretty great.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you want some.”

I rush to the fridge and grab a slice from the box, not bothering to reheat it, and bite off a large portion.

“Your mom wants you to call her.”

I stop mid-chew.

“I’m really not up for that tonight, Dad,” I say with my mouth full.

“She feels awful and wants to talk to you, Kay.”

“Emily’s coming over,” I say.

“Didn’t she just drop you off?”

I almost choke, and I’m forced to swallow a big chunk. It hurts going down. “Uh, no. I got a ride from Tommy. He and Derek came over today,” I say, realizing how easy it is to get caught in a lie.

“But you were just with Emily. Why is she coming over?”

Heat prickles my skin, and I feel myself start to perspire. “Um . . . she just texted me. I have her favorite shirt, and she wants to wear it tomorrow.” Holy shit, I’m going to have to get better at this. I pretend to be interested in my pizza to avoid eye contact.

“Well, okay. But that will just take a minute. You should still call your mother.”

“Why?” I snap, glaring at him. “You guys don’t care about my time table, so why should I care about yours?”

“Kay, I’m really sorry about your prom,” he says, sounding less than remorseful. “Your mom is, too. She wants to apologize about everything. Just talk to her.”

“Fine,” I say, cramming the box back into the fridge.

I run upstairs and text Emily that I’m still not feeling well. I can’t handle any more lies tonight—they’re already catching up to me. How am I going to keep track of them all? She is insistent on coming over, but I pacify her by agreeing to let her give me a ride to school tomorrow so we can talk. I’m not looking forward to lying profusely to my best friend, but it’s imperative that I pull this off. At least I’ve bought myself another twelve hours.

One down, one to go.

I text my mom and tell her I’m not up for talking tonight, but that we can talk another time. She’s adamant about it, so I agree to meet with her after school. There. Everyone is satisfied—well, except for me. It’s a lot to handle in one day. After such a euphoric time with Elijah, tomorrow’s going to be a bitch.