The Fundamental Theory of Us (4 page)

“Sawyer?”

She looked down at him, still there on his bed, this big, scary-looking guy with the too-blue eyes. “Yeah?”

Andrew kept quiet and still for a moment. “I meant what I said last night.”

For a second, Sawyer was dragged into the past, to that day. The summer Sawyer turned fourteen and her breasts suddenly exploded from her chest like “hey world, here we are!” Alannah, her older sister, had brought her boyfriend to the Hamptons for a month-long visit. Alannah walked Chase up the front steps with a possessive arm around his waist, and Chase’s dark, penetrating gaze locked on Sawyer, standing next to her dad. She hadn’t understood the look he gave her, and she didn’t like it.

Andrew looked at her like he
saw
her, the girl she was and who she wanted to be. He saw through the thrift store clothes and her stringy hair. He saw her, and yeah, it terrified her. No one broke down the barriers she put up. Andrew wasn’t trying to break them down. He was knocking on the wall, asking politely for—well, she hadn’t figured that out yet. If the past taught her one lesson, Sawyer learned no one did anything for free. They wanted something in return, and in her experience, the return favor came with pain.

Andrew’s continued insistence of her safety in his presence reminded her of the stark difference between the men she knew back home, and those she met here. One guy was not the same as the next. 

Chapter Six

They ate the pizza on his couch. Andrew poured two tall glasses of milk—she thought he would at least have beer in his fridge, but there was only a couple gallon jugs of milk, some juice, and a half-empty Costco-sized jar of green olives—and played music on his computer. An eclectic mix of country, jazz, and piano that somehow worked well together.

Halfway through her second slice, Sawyer’s phone chirped. She dropped her pizza in the box as a band cinched tighter, ever tighter around her chest.
Not
a text from Rachel. Her tone sounded like a bowling ball hitting pins. Loud and irritating, just like Rachel.

Tension squeezed the air from her lungs. Her pulse skipped a few beats. The terrified part of her wanted to throw the phone away and go without, until she could afford a new one. Of course, she had to look. It was like a deadly car wreck on the freeway. She knew she shouldn’t slow down and stare, but she did, even when seeing it made her feel horrible.

Sawyer reached for her phone, sitting on the edge of the table. As she leaned away, Andrew set his hand on top of hers—in support, she supposed. This time, she was glad of his touch, soaking up the comfort he provided. This time, she wasn’t alone in her dark apartment when she read the message.

Hesitant for a second, she cleared her lungs and grabbed her phone. The screen lit up and she slumped against the back of the couch. For a second she wondered why Rachel’s chosen text tone didn’t sound—until she read the message.

hey its rach can u open ur door?

“Open my door?” Sawyer stood and crossed the room to peer through the peephole. Sure enough, purple spikey hair and leather filled her vision.

Andrew joined her at the door. “What’s up?”

“Not sure.” She pulled his door open and Rachel turned around.

“Oh, you’re busy. I can come back.” Rachel didn’t move from Sawyer’s apartment.

She felt the warmth from Andrew’s hand on the small of her back, a touch so light and quick she couldn’t be sure it happened. “It’s all right,” he said, reaching for Rosie’s leash, hanging on the hook by his door. “You guys have some pizza and talk. I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Come on, Rosie.”

The dog yipped and scrambled out the door, leaving Sawyer and Rachel alone. Rachel moved her eyes from Sawyer’s place to Andrew’s, her dark brows arched.

“Don’t ask,” Sawyer said with a groan. “Where’s your phone?”

A deep blush spread right up to Rachel’s purple hairline. She mumbled something, an excuse, probably.

Sawyer smirked and changed the subject. “You want some pizza?”

“What I want”—Rachel crossed the hall and stepped inside Andrew’s apartment—“is to know what’s up with you and Mr. McStudpants?”

“Mc-
what
?”

Rachel took in the lack of furnishings, then dropped onto the couch. “Ew, mushroom.” She reached for a slice of Sawyer’s pizza. “Ew, pineapple? You guys are gross.” She picked off the pineapple from a slice, then scarfed the pizza down to the crust. “He’s hot. Isn’t he in our art class?”

Sawyer’s face burned. “Yeah. I was helping him with—”

“No need to explain it to me.” Rachel kicked off her boots and rested her feet on Andrew’s couch. “If I were into guys, I’d be all over him. I’d let him wear me, like fur, but, you know, not dead.”

“You’re weird.” Sawyer checked the hall, hoping Andrew and Rosie would come back.

“Maybe I am.” Rachel paused. “Okay, the reason I came here is this. I need your help.”

“With what?”

After wiping her mouth with a napkin, Rachel took a long time folding it, unfolding it, and finally crumpled the paper into a ball. “I need you to help me make someone jealous.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sawyer laughed. Really, truly laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

When Rachel looked up, her expression was but the polar opposite of light-hearted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious about anything. Ever.”

Chapter Seven

“I look ridiculous.” Sawyer examined her reflection in the changing room mirror. Her hair, washed with Rachel’s expensive salon shampoo and conditioner, looked better than it had in years.

After leaving a note for Andrew, putting the food in his fridge, and cleaning up, Sawyer agreed to go to Rachel’s place and help her out with her plan—which wasn’t going to work. Rachel didn’t seem to want to hear that. At her place, Rachel had dried Sawyer’s hair and it fell around her shoulders in soft, shiny waves. Her lashes were long and dark, with the help of very black mascara, and a swipe of dark shadow. The leather cupping her breasts, nipped in at the waist, and hanging in a super short Tinkerbell-style skirt made her look like an extra in “The Rocky Horror Show presents Peter Pan.”

Rachel came up behind her. “You look great.” She adjusted the skirt so more of Sawyer’s thighs showed. “Now you look amazing.”

Sawyer folded her arms over her chest—a fricking boob shelf, more like it, but it hid the scars—and the leather-cropped jacket that came with the dress strained at her shoulders. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s one date,” Rachel argued as she played with her purple spikes. “You don’t even have to do anything. Just sit there and look hot.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Sawyer muttered. “To be someone’s arm candy. By the way, what is it with you and leather? I’m wearing half a dead cow right now.”

“It’s so sexy. Primal. And it looks hella hot.”

Sawyer laughed. “I didn’t know people said ‘hella’ anymore.”

A smile curved Rachel’s lips, painted a deep violet that almost matched her hair. “You’re in the south now. The usual rules don’t apply.”

The saleslady hovered around the corner like a moth, waiting. Rachel told her they’d take the leather contraption—she called it a
dress
—and said Sawyer would wear it out. And the shoes. God, the shoes. They were gorgeous. The kind of shoes Alannah wore every day. Impractical as hell, though they made anyone’s legs look incredible. Deep red and a little metallic, like the paint on a red sports car and just as flashy. The shoes had a fairly high heel and black felt underside. Sawyer had never been the girl who went gaga over shoes, but for these, she’d eat a plate of bugs or a moldy pig snout. Or both.

Rachel paid while Sawyer argued about the price. In the end, Rachel got what she wanted: Sawyer trussed up, looking like someone else, ready for a date. A
date
. The words felt foreign. Technically, she had gone out on dates before, but they were set up by her parents at the club, or dinners out at the Hamptons with sons of her parents’ friends. Society dates didn’t count.

They agreed to take Sawyer’s car to a little club near the university that had live music. Rachel left hers in Sawyer’s building parking lot. During the drive, Rachel sat with her hands twisted in her lap as she stared out the window, or checking her hair and makeup, and readjusting her many necklaces.

Sawyer parked in the back lot, in one of the few spots left, under the cover of trees. “Here we are.”

Rachel dropped her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.”

She shook her head. “Rachel, you’ll be fine. If she doesn’t like you, then it’s her loss.” Sawyer shrugged.

Almost ten minutes later, Sawyer and Rachel stepped through the doors of The Vault, a small restaurant/music venue. Inside, the music drowned out voices. Most of the crowd’s attention was glued to the band on a small stage at the back of the dimly lit space. Stranger’s heat seeped through her dress. Sawyer shrugged out of the cropped jacket and fanned herself. Pretty soon she’d start melting and all Rachel’s hard work would go to waste.

Rachel scanned the crowd, looking for the girl she hoped to make jealous. Sawyer still thought the plan sucked, but Rachel was sweet, even though the Purple Punk Princess
did
grate on her nerves. If pretending to be on a date with Rachel worked, and she was forced out of her comfort zone, then Sawyer considered the inconvenience worth it. Besides, it felt good to throw off her armor for a night. Uncomfortable, but good.

“There she is.” Rachel’s fingers bit into Sawyer’s arm. “With the braids.”

Ignoring the sharp sting in her calf muscles, compliments of the killer shoes, Sawyer searched the crowd at the end of Rachel’s finger and spotted their prey straight away. Long, black braids shot through with shocking blue, light brown skin, big glasses, and a dancer’s body.

“She’s beautiful,” Sawyer said.

“Fucking gorgeous. You should see Lola dance. It’s like … magic.”

Sawyer rolled her shoulders back, her mother’s man-hunting advice sneering in her ear.
Breasts out, chin up, and a smile. Just a little one, like you’ve got a secret, and if they do as you suggest, you might share it with them
. She hated it—hated the lies, deception. Cheating. Anything you imagine, it happened in the hurricane of waspish women, stuck up men, and their bratty children. Nothing was off limits, except embarrassing the family. Once you crossed that line, you were out. Unless you left first.

“Oh God, she’s coming this way.” Rachel’s grip turned bruising. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we hide? We should probably hide. Oh shit, she’s looking at me!”

Sawyer sucked up Rachel’s panic like it was her own. Lola’s long legs ate up the floor and she reached them before they could think of anything to say or do.

“Rachel. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.” Lola’s liquid brown eyes flicked to Sawyer then back to the purple pixie. “Who’s your friend?”

Rachel stood straighter and slid an arm around Sawyer—Sawyer’s chest clinched tight at the contact. The floor tilted. She barely heard Rachel’s introduction, but felt her standing wooden beside her. Lola didn’t notice. Her sharp eyes locked onto Rachel’s hand draped on the curve of Sawyer’s hip. Going by the downward curl of her lips and flared nostrils, Lola was
not
happy. Nervous tension crackled in the air. People around them were oblivious.

“I need to visit the little girl’s room,” Sawyer said. Her nerves fizzed and her heart beat fifty times for every step she took through the crowd.

At the restroom entrance, Sawyer paused and turned around. Lola and Rachel were standing close, their noses almost touching. She watched them pause, breaths mingling. Then Rachel pressed her palm against Lola’s jaw. Even from across the floor, Sawyer could see the sparks flying between them as Lola lowered her head and claimed Rachel’s mouth.

She cheered silently while a thread of jealousy stretched taut in her belly. Sawyer shook it off and went into the ladies’ room. Cold water, that’s what she needed. A splash on her cheeks did little to chase away the heat. The leather made her warmer than usual, even with half her body bared. Hell, the bodice barely covered her nipples, and the leather tassels that made up the skirt might as well not exist at all. If her mother ever saw her wearing this—

Her phone chirped and Sawyer jerked away from the mirror, her eyes wide with fear.
Get a hold of yourself!
Mother’s voice—shrill, commanding. Would she ever get away from them?

Sawyer grabbed a sheet of paper towel, blotted her cheeks and reached for her phone with a shaking hand. It might be from him. It might not. Only one way to find out.

u can go if u want … thanx 4 ur help! i owe u 1!

Relief eased the tension from her muscles. Rachel’s crazy plan worked. Sawyer couldn’t believe it. Then again, some people had a way of getting what they wanted. Persistence paid off. Maybe if she fought harder, Sawyer could work past the cobwebs blocking her view of the future and leave the past in the past. It was difficult when the one person she loved more than life itself had blood ties to the one person who made her life a living hell for the past five years.

The bathroom door opened and two girls close to Sawyer’s age stumbled inside in a bubble of hysterical laughter. The blonde looked up and scowled at Sawyer. She recognized her from Studio Art: Emory Daughton. The girl eyed Andrew the same way Sawyer did, the same way any straight female with a pulse did. Who could blame them? That didn’t explain why Emory’s eyes turned into weapons each time she spotted Sawyer.

The other girl dragged Emory into a stall and slammed the door, cutting off Emory’s laser-beams. Sawyer rolled her eyes. Probably doing drugs.

Free from any further obligations for the night, Sawyer pulled her little jacket back on, covering some of her chest, and headed out to her car. On the short trip home, she thought about Courtney, and the last time she’d seen her three-year-old niece. Strawberry-blonde curls spread over her pillow, her bright green eyes staring up, pleading.
Just one more story
, she’d said. Begged. No child in the world loved stories more than Courtney. She had to be the only kid who asked for books as gifts, when her family had enough money to buy her anything she wanted.

Sawyer had almost missed her bus out of New York, just to spend five more minutes with her niece. Courtney was like one of those rare flowers that sprouted up in a harsh, unforgiving climate. If only she could be there all the time to protect Courtney from the poisonous atmosphere around her. But that wasn’t Sawyer’s job. Not her place.

As she parked, Sawyer changed mental gears, thinking instead about the art project she and Andrew spoke about earlier. She wanted to do something special, something she hadn’t done before. She lied when she told him she wasn’t good with pencils on paper. Once, another lifetime ago, art was her life, her reason for breathing. Taking the class now was her way of dipping her toes back into the pool.

She would stick to math as her major—numbers could be controlled. Art was messy and too emotional. When she compartmentalized the horrors of her past, releasing the hold on her emotional tap wasn’t the brightest idea. She wanted to do something different. Something no one else in the class would do. Not paint or sculpture, and definitely no acid. She had enough scars.

Sawyer reached her floor and wondered if she should head into town and find an internet café to do some searching and get ahead on some of her schoolwork. Her gaze went to Andrew’s door. Stupid. She shouldn’t get involved. Everything Sawyer touched turned to shit—her entire life served as proof.

She had just put her key in the lock when his door opened, and Rosie bounded into the hall, followed by Andrew. He filled the doorway, his face half-hidden in shadows. His eyes shone, two impossibly blue beacons in the night.

While Rosie licked Sawyer’s fingers, Andrew sucked in a breath and she felt his gaze moving down her body. He never lingered too long, but everywhere he looked, her skin tingled. He looked up at her and she heard him swallow.

“Rosie,” he said, his voice rough and deep. It vibrated through her. The dog gave Sawyer’s hand one last lick and bounded back across the hall, her tail whacking the wall. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Sawyer wished he hadn’t seen her in this. “Um, sorry about skipping out like I did. Rachel needed my help.”

Her mouth went dry as Andrew stepped out into the hall, wearing a pair of track pants and nothing else. The man was magnificent. The kind of model sculptors dreamed of carving into marble. Perfectly imperfect with all his scars, tattoos, and muscle. Powerful, but beautiful, too. Oh boy, those abs. If she could move at all, Sawyer would fan herself. Yep, Global Warming was all his fault.

“No worries.” Andrew’s fingers idly moved behind Rosie’s ear. “You left your pizza here, though.”

Sawyer shook her head. “No, it’s yours.”

She thought he’d press the issue, but Andrew only shrugged. “Big night?” He nodded at her outfit.

Sawyer laughed. “Like I said, Rachel asked me to do her a favor.”

One dark brow rose. “And that involved…?” He looked her leather Tinkerbell outfit over once more.

A prickly blush broke out every inch of her bare skin. “Not my idea. I don’t—dress like this. Ever.”

“Well, you look good.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor. The muscles in his chest tightened. “I’m just diving into this Fundamentals stuff. Well, drowning, more like it.” He smiled, reaching one arm behind him to scratch his neck.

Go inside. Lock the door. Hide.
Sawyer squeezed her eyes tight, filled and emptied her lungs. When she opened her eyes, she saw Andrew watching her, a curious yet guarded shadow in his gaze.

“Do you need some help?”

He let his arm fall back to his side. The muscles flexed and relaxed, making his tattoos dance. “Only if you’re not busy.”

They had an agreement—and Sawyer always kept her word, when she could. “Give me a couple minutes?” She motioned to the leather, and regretted it when Andrew’s eyes darkened.

“Sure. I’ll be here.” He jerked his head toward his apartment.

Sawyer nodded, turned on her heels, opened her door, and slipped inside. For a few seconds, she leaned on the back of the door, giving her pulse a chance to calm down. The wood felt cool against her legs. She stripped out of the jacket, pulled the zipper on the dress, and let it pool around her feet, then stood in her bra and panties and heels, absorbing the chill. Five minutes with Andrew and her core temperature went way past critical.