I didn’t move. I lowered my eyes to scan his clothes while also maybe inhaling deeply. I told myself I was comparing his clothes to mine to determine if I were dressed appropriately while also breathing normally. I was not sniffing.
Upon completing my perusal and inhaling the glorious scent of him—but not sniffing—a few more times, I could see no deficit in my outfit. In fact, after his shower he’d changed and now we were similarly attired: jeans, black shirt, he was in dark sneakers, I was in dark sandals. One might even say we matched.
Lifting my chin to peer up at him, I found him gazing down at me. Right there. Super close. Still smelling super good. My breath caught and any comments I had about the similarity between our attire scattered. I could feel the heat from his body.
Time seemed to slow as my mind sluggishly wondered how I’d arrived at this moment. I could mostly make out his eyes behind the dark lenses. They were lowered, focused somewhere on my face. I didn’t think it was my eyes.
Did he move? Or were we always standing this close? And why wasn’t I cringing away? Goodness, his face would be nice to sit on.
AAHHHH!
“Um.” I flinched, startled by the direction of my thoughts, and stepped back, scratching my cheek. Frowning, flustered by how flustered and hot I suddenly felt—flustered squared—I sputtered, “I, uh, yeah. I go. Out. The door.” Unnecessarily, I pointed to the open door, and then dashed through it, my heart swooping between my throat and cervix.
Shading my face from the afternoon sun, I took two large breaths and endeavored to regain my dismantled composure. It was hot, even for August. I replaced the lingering exquisite smell of him with the city air, a heady aroma of pavement and steadily rising temperature. Pushing open the gate, I darted through it and began speed walking up the street.
“Where are you going? That’s the wrong way,” Abram’s voice called after me.
I turned, rubbing my forehead. I had no idea where we were going.
“There’s no escape from destiny,” I mumbled one of my anytime-occasion phrases to myself, jogging back, and keeping my attention pointed at the sidewalk behind him. “I’ll follow you.”
He didn’t move, and I felt his scrutinizing gaze travel over me. I thought about tossing out whatever while also actively biting back the urge to say another of my anytime-phrases, such as, As the prophesy foretold or So . . . it has come to this.
The less I spoke at this point, the better. Clearly, Gabby’s text had lit a spark, and that spark had flared, and now oxidation of a nearby fuel source had occurred. I needed to keep my head down, be quiet, and stop thinking about sitting on his face. The flames must not be fanned!
Damn Gabby and the power of suggestion!
Perhaps this was something odd about me, but when my physical urges were like this, sometimes they made concentrating difficult. I’d discovered that a tangible, present partner wasn’t necessary for satisfying these urges, yet space, quiet, relaxation, and time to think of fantasy situations were essential. But for right now, and likely for the next week, I could do nothing about it. Satiating measures would have to wait until I returned to California.
Ignore him. That’s the only logical course of action. Good, solid plan.
5
Time, Velocity, and Speed
Ignoring Abram proved difficult.
On the way to the shop, I walked slightly behind him. This made sense since he knew the way. I distracted myself by counting the number of houses we passed instead of staring at his ass, and I deserved a medal for this because he had a super great ass. Super. Great.
I also distracted myself by cursing out Gabby in my head. I rarely noticed man parts, and usually only as a Well, look at that nice thing. Huh. Moving on. Presently, however, I was on the precipice of full-on man-part appreciation. Frustrating.
Once the houses gave way to shops, I counted the bus stops, but continued to curse out Gabby.
Overall, my coping strategies kept me from fixating on his very attractive form, backside, confident stride, and how he stopped at every intersection to walk adjacent to me, as though he were a gentleman from a bygone age of lusty ankles and jaunty carriage rides. Afterward, he would motion that I should precede him. I refused with a tight shake of my head, a flat smile, and no eye contact. With a sigh, he would lead the way once more until the next intersection.
It was just after the fifth intersection that he attempted conversation. Not allowing me to resume my position behind him, he slowed his steps such that we were shoulder to shoulder.
“Do you play?” he asked.
I knew what he meant and I had no reason to lie. Both Lisa and I had taken piano, oboe, singing, and violin lessons. I nodded.
“What do you play?”
“Several instruments.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tilt his head to one side, as though leaning closer so he could hear better. “Like what?”
“Violin.”
“Do you still?”
“No.”
He was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating this information, before asking, “You don’t like to play?”
“No time.”
Abram made a small grunt that sounded both derisive and amused. “Too busy managing Pirate Orgy’s social calendar?”
Pirate Orgy was Tyler’s band and Tyler was the grossest human ever. Unthinkingly, I glanced at Abram’s sunglasses and caught my reflection. I might as well have had a marquee on my forehead that read INTENSE DISGUST.
Get control of your facial expressions, Mona!
His eyebrows shot high on his forehead. “You split from Tyler?”
Nodding, I wiped at the beading sweat on my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Yes.”
“Huh.”
I felt his eyes on me, so I glanced at him again. “What?”
“I’m surprised. When Leo asked me to watch you for the week, until that Steward lady gets here, he said one of the reasons your parents were so pissed was because you kept seeing Tyler behind their backs.”
I nodded even as my wheels turned, realizing that this conversation had presented me with a unique opportunity. “What else did Leo say?”
“About Tyler?”
As I studied Abram, the curiosity floodgate I’d sealed shut hours ago sprung a leak. Due to the urgency of Lisa’s predicament, I’d agreed to lie for her. And though I’d been playing along and doing my best, justifying my role as sisterly duty and worry for her and Whatcha gonna do? Decision has already been made, nothing about this hatched plan sat well with me.
The whispers of doubt I’d suppressed this morning were now asking different questions: What had Lisa done that made my parents so angry? Knowing my parents, it had to be something that had the potential to make them look bad or damage their carefully constructed images of having it all: a happy, well-adjusted family; beautiful houses and clothes and art and things; cultural relevance; respect of the industry; living their best life of ethical hedonism.
She’d done a ton to make them vaguely annoyed, but what could have possibly galvanized them into acting? It couldn’t be just Tyler. And why was she in jail?
Up to now, I’d endeavored to ignore my curiosity about the subject, reasoning that curiosity with no source of reliable information was pointless. Gabby had been either unsurprisingly vague or outright hostile when I’d asked her. I couldn’t question Lisa or Leo or my parents, and I had no idea when I’d be able to get in touch with Lisa’s lawyer.
But Abram? . . . Possibly.
Choosing my words carefully, I asked, “What else did Leo say about my parents and why they were—or are—upset?”
“Trying to find out how much they know?” He seemed to be scrutinizing me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I said nothing, hoping he’d fill in the answer for himself.
Abram watched me for a bit longer, and then released a short laugh. He shook his head. He sighed. “Um—” he sighed again “—according to Leo, it was the drugs that really freaked them out.”