The Fundamental Theory of Us (7 page)

“Why not? What’s wrong with sex?”

Sawyer ignored her, grabbing a cloth to wipe the counters down. They were already clean; the evening shift saw to that. It gave her something to do, something to focus on, other than Rachel and her sex talk. Their conversations had switched gears, from begging Sawyer to go to parties, to all about getting physical. Inventive. She could list the surfaces in Boone where Rachel and Lola had “done the nasty” as Rachel liked to say.

Rachel switched on the lights and set chairs on the floor. “It’s just sex. You’re not a commitment-phobe, are you? ‘Cause you don’t have to commit if you don’t want to, but, come on. Sex is the best kind of tension relief out there. And sweetie, no offense, but you’re so tense I’m scared you’ll crack into like, nine big pieces.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Sawyer left the counters to turn the sign and unlock the door. “Not everyone needs to discuss … that … all the time.”

Rachel gave her the “I’m reading your brainwaves” side-eye. This lasted several tense minutes, punctuated by the ticking clock and hum of lights in the display cases. “Something happened to you, didn’t it?”

“What? No. Don’t be stupid.” Sawyer didn’t believe herself, so why should Rachel?

“Look, I know we’re not like, super close. Yet.” She smirked. “But you can trust me. I mean, who else gives up awesome parties for you?”

“That’s not even—” Sawyer broke off when the door clinked and Andrew walked in, dressed in work out gear that did nothing to hide his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful thighs.

“Not even what?” Rachel pressed. She laughed when she saw Andrew. “Never mind. I can tell you’re preoccupied.”

“What?” Sawyer gave the counter her attention. She must have wiped this section a hundred times in the last forty seconds.

“You want him so bad, it’s like standing in a room with an honest to God gravitational pull.”

Sawyer’s arm jerked into a rack of packaged biscotti and a few of them fell. She let out a curse and bent to pick them up, focusing on rearranging the display rather than Andrew’s body and his eyes and his smile.

Rachel leaned in to murmur in Sawyer’s ear. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, God no.” Warmth filled her belly at the memories of the past few weeks. “Nothing like that, okay? Whatever you’re thinking, it’s
so
off base.”

“If you’re sure,” Rachel said, her narrowed eyes glued to Andrew.

“I swear. If you’re thinking the”—Sawyer ducked her head to whisper—“the ‘R’ word, you’re wrong. I promise.”

Purple Punk Princess studied the way Andrew was looking at Sawyer, and the blush creeping up Sawyer’s face. Then Rachel shrugged. “All right, I’ll take your word for it.”

Leaving Rachel at the end of the counter, Sawyer moved slowly down to the register where Andrew stopped, waiting for her with his cocky, crooked grin. The heat in her belly traveled lower, and expanded, until she thought she’d go supernova right there in the coffee shop.

“Hey,” Andrew said. The corners of his eyes creased deeper as his smile widened.

“Hey.” She paused. “How’s Rosie?” There, a safe topic.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Rosie sat tied up on a bike rack, slurping water from a small metal bowl. “She’s good. Took her on a long walk this morning.” He shoved a hand through his hair and the dark strands flopped on his brow. “You kind of shut down last night after you checked your phone.”

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “But I think you could use this.”

Sawyer looked at the card and her heart hardened. “A shrink?” She stared at him and swore her eyes turned into weapons. “You think I’m crazy. Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

Sawyer wasn’t interested in his excuses or reasons or whatever he wanted to call them. Accusations in pretty paper still stung. “Are you buying anything? If not, you’re welcome to leave and let the door hit you on the way out.”

Andrew rose to the challenge. “I’ll take a cappuccino and a tall stack of oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes with two orders of bacon, and fresh fruit on the side.”

Jerk
. He picked the stuff that took the longest to cook. On purpose.

Sawyer rang him up while an entire hive of killer bees swarmed in her stomach. When his hand brushed hers as he paid, her heart pounded so hard she tasted her pulse. Then he smiled, like she hadn’t bitten his head off, like he enjoyed it when people were rude to him on purpose. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind because it was her.

She couldn’t brush off the “you’re crazy and need to get your head examined” moment. She might have issues, but who didn’t? And in light of the shit she’d put up with at home, Sawyer thought she had come out relatively sane on the other side.

Andrew Warren was a complication. A sexy, complicated, and super-annoying complication, one she didn’t want or need.

Lie
.

Chapter Ten

A few days later, at lunch, Sawyer scoured the cafeteria for signs of Andrew. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but Rachel and Lola interrupted her search, so he could have been there and she just didn’t see him. The couple dropped down across from Sawyer, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Their lips kept touching, like
not
kissing was impossible.

Sawyer frowned at her sandwich. The lettuce and tomato were together with a glob of mayo, which made the tomato slide out and land on her plate with a gross splat. The old her would have seen the pattern around the red circle, would have seen the beauty in it. Now all Sawyer saw was a filling that fell out of her sandwich, one she had to put back, and her fingers would get all sticky and gross because she didn’t grab a napkin on her way over to the table.

“You look like you’re going to murder your sandwich,” Lola said, a spark in her eyes.

Sawyer shook her head. “I forgot to get a napkin.”

Rachel pulled a stack from her tray and set them in the middle of the table, followed by one of every piece of plastic cutlery the cafeteria had. “I figured you would. Your brain has like, totally died lately.”

“Has not.” Sawyer fixed her sandwich and snagged a napkin.

“Has too.” Rachel dipped a fry in mayo and waved it around as she spoke. “Look, I’m not saying he was right, but ignoring the guy isn’t the best way to get into his pants.”

Lola jabbed Rachel in the ribs. They were both laughing.

Ignoring people was how she coped. So what? Big deal. She grabbed a fork and stabbed the tomato. A person should be allowed to deal with her problems on her own. Without interference from so-called “friends.” And sexy neighbors.

Sawyer heard a laugh—one she knew well—and looked up. Across the room, three tables away, she spotted Andrew sitting with Emory Daughton from art, and the pair looked pretty cozy. Hot jealousy twisted in her stomach. He was free to do what he wanted. It didn’t make the pain of seeing him happy with another girl any less excruciating. What if he was dating other girls? Hooking up with the entire female population on campus? Sawyer squeezed her eyes shut. He could do what he wanted. She didn’t care.

Total lie, but whatever.

Emory giggled and flicked her glossy brown hair over her shoulder. She felt up Andrew’s bicep with the other. Andrew didn’t move away. Nope. She was
not
going to sit here and watch their foreplay. Sawyer had lost her appetite.

“I’m going to the library.” She picked up her tray.

Lola settled her dark gaze on Sawyer. “Why? We were just teasing.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agreed. “We’ll stop.”

“It’s not you. I just … need to get out of here.”

Sawyer turned and her foot caught on the chair. Her tray flew across the room and she ended up on the floor. A moment later, a pair of black boots filled her vision and a hand came down. She hesitated a second before accepting the silent offer of help, thinking, what the hell? When she was on her feet again, Sawyer looked into Andrew’s bright eyes. She snatched her hand away. Emory stood at his side, her hand on his shoulder shooting daggers at Sawyer. The look read “back off, bitch.” Sawyer stepped away, avoiding Andrew’s gaze.

She didn’t give him a chance to ask if she was okay, because she knew he would. Grabbing her bag, Sawyer swung the strap over her shoulder, her movements jerky and her hands shaking, and left the cafeteria with her chin touching her chest. The room remained silent even after she pushed the doors open and stepped into the crisp fall air. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the library and plonked herself down in a chair and hooked up her laptop to the library’s Wi-Fi. Her hands were still shaking.

The next day was Saturday. Sawyer watched from her bedroom window as Andrew and Rosie took off in his truck early that morning, and as soon as he was gone, she showered, dressed, and drove twenty minutes to Blowing Rock, where the nearest museum was located. There were a few closer to Boone, though they were all about oddities and kids’ stuff. She wanted to see some art. Surround herself with the familiar. So she went to BRAHM—Blowing Rock Art & History Museum.

She spent hours among the paintings, sculptures, and photographs, devouring each in awe. The thing about art, Sawyer realized at a young age, was, yeah, it was subjective, but unless she opened herself up to new possibilities and different views, she’d never see the beauty in each piece. She adored the sculptures because she couldn’t create something like those. The photographs, because she never could get the lighting and angles right. The paintings because these artists were brave enough to look beyond the bad things in their lives and turn it into stunning visual beauty.

When she left the museum, Sawyer grabbed a cheap sandwich from a deli down the road and spent a few hours walking down the main streets of Blowing Rock. Before coming to North Carolina, she had never been anywhere else outside of New York State. Oh sure, she had taken trips to Paris and London, “family” vacations to St. Bart’s, and even spent six months in Moscow before she started kindergarten. So far, she liked the south best.

The sky darkened and Sawyer got in her car, heading for home. She tried to spend as much time away from her apartment building on the weekends as she could. Especially now that Andrew was dating Emory. She didn’t want to hear them coming to his place, didn’t want to look out the peephole and see him kissing her. Touching her. The thought alone made her stomach twist. When she got home, she went into her apartment and shut the door. His truck wasn’t in the parking lot. Hopefully Sawyer would be asleep before he brought Emory over.

She turned on the TV and found a Clark Gable movie, one of her favorites.
It Happened One Night
had just started, and she settled down on the couch to watch.

She woke up hours later to a blaring infomercial for some kitchen crap, her stomach cramping and tearing, like it wanted out of her body
now
. Her temples throbbed a vicious beat as she pushed herself up. The room tilted. A hot sweat broke out all over.

“Ugh.” Sawyer got up and staggered to the bathroom just in time.

She threw up her sandwich, followed by her intestines and lungs and liver. She threw up for years. When it was over, she curled up in a ball with her towels and slept next to the toilet. The way she felt, like a pile of shit with a staggering fever, she knew she’d be needing it again soon.

****

After forever of near-death experiences and praying at the porcelain altar, Sawyer woke tangled in a few towels on the hallway floor to someone banging on her door. Pushing to her feet took Herculean strength she didn’t have. The pounding on the door matched the throb in her skull. By the time she stumbled over to answer, she had used up the last reserves of her energy.

“Holy shitballs, Sawyer!” Rachel blew inside the apartment with Lola on her heels. “It smells like the plague in here and you look like hell. What happened?”

Lola moved around the apartment, opening windows.

Sawyer dropped onto the couch. “I think the universe tried to kill me.”

Rachel examined the deli wrapper on the coffee table. “Or you got some serious food poisoning from Blowing Rock Deli. I could have told you not to eat there, if you bothered answering your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve been texting and calling you like a stalker since Saturday. You promised you’d come to Lola’s show on Saturday night. Remember?”

Sawyer rubbed her eyes. They felt thirty-seven times too big for the sockets. “What day is it?”

Lola dropped a full hamper on the floor near the door. “Tuesday afternoon.”

“Oh shit!” Sawyer tried getting up, but sank down on the couch again. The room wouldn’t stop spinning.

“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “I took care of your classes.”

Sawyer cracked an eyelid open. “You did?”

“Yup.” Rachel dropped a pile of papers on the coffee table. “All the notes you missed. You have a test tomorrow in Fundamentals, and an assignment due on Friday in one of your other classes.” She shrugged. “It’s math. I don’t really care.”

Sawyer groaned. “I’m sorry, Lola. How was it?”

Lola waved her off. “You were obviously on the verge of death. You’re forgiven.” A smile lit up her expression. “It was amazing. I mean, I’ve danced alone in front of other people before, but never a fucking packed auditorium! I felt sick as hell until I saw Rachel sitting front row center wearing her beautiful smile. Then I just danced for her, and … oh my God, it was amazing.”

Rachel nodded solemnly. “She really was fucking amazing.”

Sawyer sighed. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“No worries.” Rachel flashed a grin. “I got the whole thing on video. You go shower off that funk, we’ll clean up in here, and then we can all watch.”

Sawyer stood on shaky legs. “Sounds like a plan.”