The Force of Gravity(9)

I pick up a novel I’m currently in the middle of, but after ten minutes of reading the same paragraph over and over, I give up. I pace around the house, searching for random things to clean, even dusting and wiping down my mom’s cat figurines. I should just pack a bag and drive over to Emily’s. Why would I allow a study session to cause a rift in my relationships? Especially with my boyfriend. . . . Maybe I should drive over to Tommy’s. That’s a gesture that would grant me forgiveness, right?

When I glance at the clock, my stomach twists. I’m out of time and need to make a decision: Tommy’s house or Mr. Slate’s classroom? Forgiveness or adventure? A flutter stirs in my chest, and I bolt upstairs to my room to grab my stuff.



I PULL MY car onto campus and park in my usual spot. The engine falls silent as I remove the key from the ignition and stare at my math book sitting next to me. Emily’s right—I’m not acting like myself. She and Tommy have every right to be mad at me for ditching them on a Friday night. And it’s not like I have a good excuse to go—it’s a hard class, sure—but I’m not exactly failing. No one realizes how much effort it takes for me to do this well, though—one distraction can cause my grade to plummet. Even still, I have an A in the class, and no one will let me forget it. I have no reason to be here tonight . . . except for the real reason, of course.

I want to be near him.

I check the time on my phone and realize I’m almost ten minutes late. I snatch my things and rush into the school. It’s almost eerie being here in the evening. The hallways are quiet and void of the usual student chaos. An overhead fluorescent light buzzes as I walk through the empty corridor. When I reach Mr. Slate’s room, the door is already open. I step inside and find him sitting at his desk.

Alone.

I tap on the door frame, and he glances up from his computer.

“Oh, hey.” He looks surprised to see me.

“Where is everybody?” I ask.

He leans back in his chair and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a challenge to get people to show up for a math session on a Friday night.” He smiles, flashing his perfect teeth. “Last week I had three students, so I was hopeful for tonight, but as you can see . . .” He gestures to the empty room.

They’re probably all at Derek’s.

“Why do you schedule them on Fridays then?” I ask, stepping back and leaning on the door frame.

“I know. It’s a bad idea. I’m just so busy during the week. I have classes, and it’s just tough on my schedule.”

“Classes?”

“At ASU. I’m finishing up my master’s. Half of my classes are online, but with deadlines and such, it takes up a lot of my time.”

“I thought you already had your master’s,” I blurt out, instantly regretting my words.

Real slick. How am I supposed to know that?

He falters before answering. “Uh, no. Not quite yet.”

“Oh.” I silently curse out Emily in my head. “I heard you were teaching a class at the community college this summer, so I just assumed.”

He tilts his head and regards me thoughtfully. “Yeah I am, actually. I already have the job, so long as I complete the degree.” He shuts down his computer as I stand immobilized like a statue.

His eyes are back on mine. “I’d offer for you to stay and study, but the school board says I need at least two students present to hold a study session.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I say, swallowing my disappointment.

“I’m sure you have better plans for a Friday night, anyway.” His eyes twinkle as he smiles at me, and my inner soul faints.

I slide my hand through my hair. “Not really, actually.” I think about my friends partying at Derek’s house. Tommy’s probably taking his frustration out on a beer bong by now.

“Oh,” he says, seeming bemused.

Silence stretches between us and I fidget with the tear on the corner of my textbook. “Well, have a good night, Mr. Slate.” I turn toward the door, my legs feeling like lead as I try to focus on one foot in front of the other.

He rises from his chair. “I’ll walk you out, Kaley.”

My heart sputters. “Okay,” I squeak. I clear my throat, and he scoops up his leather bag.

He follows me out of the classroom, and we stroll down the hall side-by-side, the tension nearly strangling me—I know it’s solely on my end, and I hope he can’t sense it. When we reach the front of the building, he stops and presses the door open for me. I hesitate for a beat, then slip through the narrow space and brush past him—Good God, he smells amazing—and step out into the warm twilight evening. The parking lot is almost deserted, our quiet footsteps the only sound interrupting the silence.

“Any plans this weekend?” I ask, too uncomfortable to keep quiet.

He glances my way. “Nah, just studying . . . golfing on Sunday.”

That’s such a manly thing to do—study for a master’s degree and then go golfing. I wonder if he drinks brandies and smokes cigars afterward.

“Pretty boring, huh?” He gives me a half-grin, and I almost trip over my own feet.

“No, not at all,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I have no doubt he’s leaving out the part about him having hot, passionate sex with The Blonde all night.

When we arrive at the edge of the two parking lots—one side is for faculty, the other for students—I feel a twinge of sadness.

“It’s Friday night, Kaley, go have some fun.” He chuckles. “There’s no reason we should both have a boring night.”

My gaze falls to the pavement, and I tighten my grip around my book. I don’t want to go to the party . . . I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to do anything tonight except stand in this parking lot and talk to him.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle.

I peer up at him. “Huh? Oh, no I’m fine. Just stupid life . . . stuff, or whatever.”

He turns away from the employee parking lot and faces me. “Do you want to talk about it?” He’s being so nice, but I’m sure he just wants to get home to The Blonde instead of babysitting me.

“I don’t know,” I begin.

He’s silent as he waits for me to speak, and I look away. I should just tell him goodnight and get in my car before I make a fool of myself.

“I’m worried my parents are going to get a divorce,” I blurt out. I’m surprised this is what comes out of my mouth. “I mean, maybe it would be a relief if they did, since all they do is fight, but still. It’s my parents, you know?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kaley. That’s rough.”

I love hearing my name through his voice.

“Actually, that was the first time I’ve said that out loud,” I admit, glancing around the parking lot. I can’t keep eye contact with him for more than three seconds without blushing.

His brows lift. “Ever?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t told anyone. Emily knows my parents have been fighting, but she doesn’t know how bad it is. She has no idea they’re on the verge of a divorce.”

“What about your boyfriend . . . Bradford, right?” His voice is careful, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes when he says his name.

I nod. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. I haven’t told him either.”

He seems taken aback. “I’m the only one you’ve told?”

I let out a short, nervous laugh and run my hand through my hair. Stop fidgeting around him! “Yeah, I guess. Sorry. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No,” he says. “Just surprising, that’s all.” He scans the empty lot. “Hey, it’s getting dark. Let me walk you to your car.”

My body goes numb, and I lead the way, hoping my legs won’t give out on me. I now know where the phrase “weak in the knees” comes from and pray to God I don’t trip and fall flat on my face.

When we reach my car, I’m surprised when he leans against it. He slips his hands in his pockets and watches me as the sun sets across his face, making him even sexier than usual—if that’s even humanly possible.

He interrupts my internal swooning. “Hey, I’m really sorry about your parents. Have you thought about talking to the school counselor?”

“No way,” I say, lifting a hand in protest. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Well, okay. I can understand that, but you have to talk about it.” He pauses. “You can talk to me if you need to. Don’t keep it all bottled up. Take my word for it.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush.

His gaze intensifies as it locks onto mine, and he tilts his head to the side. “How old are you, Kaley?” His voice is low.

I stop breathing completely as I try to remember how old I turned on my last birthday. Suddenly, this is the most difficult math question he’s ever asked me.

“Uh . . . eighteen,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. A brief moment passes before I return the question. “How old are you?”

He gives me a heart-pounding half-grin. “Twenty-five.” He chuckles. “That’s probably so old to you isn’t it?”