The Fundamental Theory of Us (6 page)

“Sorry. Again.” His eyes fought and lost the battle to look up. God, she was beautiful.

“Don’t be sorry.” Her touch was gentle on his hands as she wrapped his wounds. “It’s weird. Also a little flattering. People don’t really see me.”

How can they not?
She tried to hide but Sawyer stood out. Those eyes, that mouth. Her body.

“But you see me,” she continued. “I’ve spent so much time and effort trying to make myself look like someone people
wouldn’t
stare at.” She tucked the ends of the gauze strips away and placed a piece of tape on top to keep them in place. “There. Make sure you keep them clean.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Sawyer let out a soft laugh and cleaned up the counter. “So, where are you going?”

“A local restaurant. I need a shower before I go.”

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to say anything…”

Andrew shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “You’d smell too if you were doing what I did this morning.”

She leaned a hip on the counter, watching him with interest. “What were you doing?”

He thought about not telling her, though he decided against it. No harm in admitting the truth. Andrew described the course and why he set it up, keeping his leg out of the explanation. If that tidbit of info came out tonight with Taylor and Logan, then so be it.

“Where’d you get the idea for that?”

“It’s what I did before coming here.” He lifted up his shirtsleeve and revealed his Marine tattoo.

Sawyer traced the words curving under the globe with an anchor and rope, and an eagle sitting on top. Her touch shot straight to his dick. “‘
Semper Fidelis
.’” She met his gaze, her hand resting on his bicep. “What does that mean?”

“‘Always faithful.’ Marine motto.”

Her eyes widened, lips parted. “You were in the Marines?”

He nodded, hoping she didn’t look down and see his tent. “Hence the ‘mature student’ thing now. I didn’t have a back-up plan. Guess it’s a good thing I understand numbers.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Mostly.”

“Was that a dig?”

Her smile melted. Pain filled her eyes. Andrew stood, and in the small bathroom, it brought his chest a few inches away from hers. Sawyer breathed in and her chest rose, erasing some of the space between them. He felt her warmth and probably scorched her with his heat. He wanted to press his palm against her cheek, feel the smooth column of her neck. Lick the scar there. Her pulse leaped in her throat—he could see it moving, almost too fast. Was she scared? Or something else?

Andrew stepped back. He didn’t want her to be scared. Not of him. “I’d better go get washed up and feed Rosie.” He paused. “The offer’s there, if you want to come with me. But don’t feel like you have to if you’re not up to it, okay?”

She didn’t answer and he didn’t stick around, which would only add pressure. Some people had enough shit on their plates. Who needed pressure on top of that?

“Rosie,” he called, and the dog followed him across the hall.

Andrew showered, sitting in his stupid chair so he wouldn’t slip and bust his one leg. Like some elderly man with a bad hip. Some things he dealt with, like his breakup with Miranda, losing his job and his friends. Compartmentalized more like it. This was another reminder—no, slap in the face. Life had a funny way of saying thanks.

After the shower, Andrew wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed his crutches. God, he hated them. At least they made getting around easier. No one wanted to hop around like a one-legged rabbit on hard floors. In the kitchen, he filled Rosie’s bowl and leaned on the counter, watching her devour half the pile before taking a breath. He’d never had a dog until Rosie. Never understood how pet owners—or even parents—could care so much for a pet at first glance. Now, he couldn’t imagine a day without Rosie in his life.

He debated taking her with him tonight. In the end, he figured leaving her for a couple hours would do them both some good. Andrew fitted his prosthetic leg on, pulled a fresh pair of jeans on, and got the zipper up when he heard a knock at the door. If he opened the door and found Miranda standing there again, he’d file a restraining order. The only reason she was back now, he knew, was that she’d gotten it into her head that he was getting a big fat check every month. He tried setting her straight, but God help anyone in the way of a woman with dollar signs in her eyes.

Leaving his shirt off, Andrew walked through his apartment to the door, took a breath, and swung it open.

Chapter Nine

Andrew shirtless made Sawyer’s mouth go dry and her skin explode in a rain of fireworks. A slow smile stretched his mouth and the crookedness hijacked her gaze from his body. It was an easy, devil-may-care kind of smile, and it was just for her.

She stood there knowing she came over to decline his offer of dinner. Standing here face-to-face, she couldn’t get the words out. His entire posture relaxed against the doorframe. A few water drops fell from his still-damp hair. Bright hallway lights highlighted a jagged zig-zag scar on his shoulder, running down his front. Sawyer’s skin suddenly didn’t fit her body. Too tight.

Andrew’s smile split in two, flashing white teeth, the top two a little crooked and so sexy. “Hey.”

Sawyer’s tongue flopped in her mouth. “Hey.” She prayed she didn’t sound like she had a pickle lodged in her throat.

He looked her over, a quick glance, not once assessing or judging—just looking. “You ready to go?”

“I wanted to ask you what I should wear.”
Wait, what?
That wasn’t what she meant to say. “You never said if it’s casual or uh, more fancy.”

His eyebrows shot up and a wicked grin appeared. “Why? You feel up to wearing that sexy leather thing again?”

Flames erupted under her skin. “No! I mean, it’s not … mine. I borrowed it.”

“I was just teasing you, Sawyer. Whatever you want to wear is fine.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. I’ll be in jeans and a t-shirt.”

Her eyes bulged. “Just a t-shirt? Won’t you be cold?”

“Well, I’ll bring a jacket, too.” He flashed another grin. “I’ll be fine. Go get dressed. I’ll knock on your door in fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes? That wasn’t enough time! Sawyer scrambled across the hall and shut her door, making a beeline for the bathroom. She didn’t have much makeup—just concealer and the mascara Rachel brought over. She ditched it all before moving here. Now she’d kill for some eye shadow and a tube of lipstick. With only fifteen minutes to spare, she covered up the bags under her eyes, fixed her hair in a messy bun, then scurried to her room.

Clothes were another story. It wasn’t a date, but she didn’t want Andrew to be embarrassed to be seen with her in public. Her usual drab clothes, a disguise, wouldn’t work tonight. Sawyer dug into her closet, right at the back, and found the only thing she had left from her old life. The last time she wore these clothes, she’d seen Courtney.

Sawyer held the pale pink cardigan up to her cheek and inhaled, hoping for a tiny hint of Courtney’s sweet scent. Nothing but dust and sadness filled her nose. That day, Courtney sat in Sawyer’s lap, her tiny, stubby fingers clinging to “Auntie Saw-wah.” She drooled (Courtney, of course) and babbled in her squeaky three-year-old voice, and gave so many kisses, Sawyer’s face was covered in slobber. She didn’t care, not one bit.

Thoughts of Courtney filled her heart as Sawyer shook out her old clothes and pulled them on. Fitted slacks, a t-shirt and matching cardigan, and gray ballet flats. She almost looked like her old self. The messy hair was sort of a one-finger salute to her mother’s rules.

Andrew knocked on her door a little while later, wearing a shirt this time, and a leather jacket slung over one arm. If he noticed the difference in her outfit, he didn’t make a big deal of it—and to her surprise, Sawyer was glad. This might be a change in a new direction for her. That didn’t mean she wanted to announce it to the world. She was testing her own boundaries. Seeing how much she could take before moving on to the next step.

Andrew said, “Ready?”

Sawyer grabbed her bag, keys, and phone. “Yup.”

They took Andrew’s truck. He opened the door for her and helped her up, then whisked around to the other side. Sawyer clipped her belt as Andrew started the truck. He smiled, then they were off. He fiddled with the radio during the drive and asked a couple questions about her day, but didn’t force the conversation or touch on any deep topics. Being with Andrew felt natural—something she hadn’t experienced with anyone except Rachel. Plus, Rachel wasn’t a guy, so that didn’t really count.

At the restaurant, Andrew got the door for her again. Daytimes in Boone were warmer than late afternoons. A crisp chill settled over the town once the sun went down and Sawyer wished she thought to bring a jacket. Oh well. They were headed indoors anyway, and her coat didn’t exactly match these cloths. And it wasn’t like they’d be walking all the way home, either.

On the trip to their table, she felt the heat of Andrew’s hand hovering at her back, banishing the chill from outside. Andrew slid into the booth next to her and said his friends would show up soon. In the meantime, their waiter brought over some waters and a couple menus. Sawyer studied hers with intense focus, searching for the cheapest thing there. Every meal—even the appetizers—cost more than she had on her. Her next paycheck wasn’t due for another week.

She set her menu down and saw Andrew watching her.

He brushed her hand with his index finger. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sawyer yanked her hands away and shoved them in her lap, calling herself all kinds of stupid for coming out tonight. For liking the way he looked at her, like she was the only woman in the restaurant. Like she was beautiful.

Andrew stared at her for a moment, unreadable emotions playing in his eyes. “If you’re worried about paying, don’t. I invited you, so it’s on me.”

Sawyer opened her mouth to argue when a couple came up to the table and shook hands with Andrew. She couldn’t exactly moan about not wanting him to keep paying for everything for her in front of strangers.

Andrew introduced his friends, Taylor, a pretty blonde with bright eyes and a friendly smile, and Logan, a sinewy guy with red spiked hair who only had eyes for Taylor. They sat close enough that Sawyer couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. In her head, she called them TaylorandLogan: a single entity.

Talk shifted from greetings and what everyone did that day, to training. Sawyer listened intently, absorbing every word.
I should be doing this—learning to stick up for myself
. Maybe she could get Andrew to show her the course one morning. Without TaylorandLogan, of course. Not that she had two left feet or anything. She would just prefer it if no one but Andrew was around to witness her major suckage.

The waiter stopped by and they placed orders. When Sawyer’s turn came, she stared between Andrew and the menu, unsure, until he finally ordered for her. Relief flooded her chest. Conversation returned to training once the waiter left their table.

“We can start the heavy training in a week, if you give me an idea of what you want to work on,” Andrew said.

TaylorandLogan’s enthusiastic response almost drowned out the sound of her phone. Sawyer felt it as much as she heard it. She’d become hardwired to recognize whatever sound her phone made when a text message came through. She knew Rachel wouldn’t be texting her—not after her blissed-out week with Lola.

Everything faded away. People and conversation, the smell of fajita spices and sizzling peppers, heat from Andrew’s body next to her—gone, until she sat alone with her phone. This time she knew. How? She couldn’t say. But she knew.

She opened the message, expecting the worst.

Five words looked up at her.

Five little words sent from over six hundred miles away.

Five words, meant to scare her.

And they did.

You can’t hide from me.

****

The rest of the night after she read his text passed in a blur. Sawyer didn’t even taste the chicken Andrew ordered for her. When he drove back to their building, she got out of his truck without saying a word—she walked into the building and up the stairs, shut her door, locked it, and ran to her bedroom. Hiding. Playing turtle.

Sawyer should have changed her number when she moved, but she couldn’t—what if something happened to Courtney? No one ever called her, though. She embarrassed her entire family, and the day she left, they made it clear she wasn’t welcome back. The only one who contacted her was Chase.

Early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting sunbeams across the room. A glance at her phone made Sawyer sigh. Not even six yet. On a Sunday morning.
Groan
.

She tried forcing herself back to sleep. Threw a pillow over her head.
I wonder how much Andrew hates me now
. He had to. After the way she acted last night? She wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked at her again.
He’ll probably avoid me, and stop sitting beside me in Fundamentals, and—

Sawyer groaned and rolled onto her stomach. Half the bedding slid down to the floor. Cool air brushed her bare legs. She hadn’t bothered putting pajamas on last night and regretted that lazy-bum action now. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best …
I bet even his dog hates me now
.

Nope. Sleep was not happening. Which sucked, considering the lack of quality rest she got last night. Bad dreams, tossing and turning, and that was not even mentioning the hour-long wrestling match with the covers. Sawyer pushed up on her elbows, her stomach growling. Five little words screwed up the delicate balance she’d tried to achieve in her new life. Swing and a miss.

Another rumble in her empty jungle, and Sawyer trudged to the shower. She had the early morning shift at The Spot, the campus bookstore café, and had to bake a couple batches of muffins. Well, if popping a batch of premade, just-add-water mix in a tray and putting it in the oven counted as baking. Discarded clothes from the night before littered the floor. Sawyer ignored them, shoving on a pair of shapeless jeans and an equally unflattering sweater. Worn sneakers completed the look, if thrift store chic was a look.

The hallway was clear when she stepped out. No signs of movement from Andrew’s door. No Rosie barking and running over to lick her hand. Sawyer stared at Andrew’s place. She half expected him to swing the door open after spending the night staring through the peephole. He seemed like that kind of guy.

At the café, Sawyer heated the ovens and started up the fancy coffee machine, then poured the mix and water into a mixer. Watching muffin mix was boring and gave her overactive imagination time to come up with a million scenarios, all ending with the same scene: Chase, here in Boone, doing what he threatened every time they were in the same room.

The mixer finished. She shut down her crazy and spooned the mix into muffin liners, finishing just as her phone chimed. This time, she didn’t jump—the funky tone belonged to Rachel. The tone she had chosen for her number. Her actual number.

u at work? got coffee on?

Sawyer replied, shaking her head with a smile. She wasn’t a rule breaker, though she hadn’t seen any rules against having another employee in when it wasn’t their shift. Besides, she could use the company. Something to keep her thoughts from swerving into the tornado of fear swirling around in her head.

She had downed about a gallon of coffee when Rachel came in through the employee entrance, singing. People who sang this early in the morning made Sawyer cringe. People who were too happy made her cringe.

“I think I’m in love with the smell of muffins,” Rachel said with a sigh, propping herself on the stainless steel counter next to the ovens. “Are those pumpkin spice?”

“Yeah.” Sawyer frowned. “It’s kind of early in the year, but that’s the mix with today’s date on it. There’s also apple cinnamon and I have to make up some mocha crème frosting. Plus the cinnamon crème frosting for the pumpkin spice muffins.”

“Yum!” Rachel grabbed a couple bowls. “I’ll help.”

“Why are you even here? Didn’t you go out with Lola last night?”

“Of course.” Ingredients surrounded the bowls. Rachel reached for a large wooden spoon. “It was a day ending in the letter ‘Y’.”

Sawyer fought, and failed, a massive eye-roll. “You guys are together all the time. It’s like you’re skipping the dating part and going straight to the—” She paused, not really knowing what the next step was.

Rachel smirked and helped herself to a day-old croissant from the employee’s canister. “I think by now Lola and I have moved past the ‘dating’ part. Nightly sex, waking up in her arms, and spending like, every free second together is more than just dating, in my opinion.” She popped a piece of croissant in her mouth and chewed, a wholly ecstatic look in her eyes that had nothing to do with flaky, buttery goodness on her tongue.

Her stomach grumbled again and Sawyer remembered that she hadn’t eaten yet. She snatched the remaining croissant, eating it over one hand. Rachel poured two cups of coffee, added cream, and topped them with whipped cream, like she always did. One impromptu breakfast later, they each mixed up a bowl of frosting while Rachel filled Sawyer in on every detail of her “explosively awesome” sex life. Sawyer pretended not to be interested. Aside from looking up porn, this was her only experience with … that.

Rachel set her frosting in the fridge. “Now we need to get you some action.”

“No.” Sawyer almost dropped her bowl on the way to the fridge. She removed the muffins from the oven and set them on the racks to cool. The kitchen smelled as good as she imagined Heaven might smell like. “I’m not having this conversation.” She headed into the front to make sure things were ready for when they opened in a few minutes.