How We Deal with Gravity - Page 71/105

“You’re welcome. But…you should know, we’re going cow-tippin’, so you might not want to thank me until you see all of the things I’ve got planned for the date,” I joke, and she considers me for a few long seconds before deciding I’m full of shit. “Seriously, it’s a surprise. Just some things I kind of want to do…with you.”

She blushes then, and I realize exactly everything we have done, and I squeeze her against me tightly.

“I mean, clothed activities,” I say, rubbing my nose against hers.

I get up to turn off my light, but when I do, I realize Avery is standing behind me, my blanket still clutched to her body. “I feel like such a loser, but…I really do have a paper to write,” she says, slapping her hand to her face in embarrassment. I forgot all about that—my stomach dropping at the thought of her not spending the night next to me…especially after what just happened.

“Okay, well…I’ll wait up,” I say, opening the door and looking around the hall and stairs to make sure the coast is clear.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be a while,” she says, chewing at the tips of her fingernails.

“Positive,” I say, swatting her on the ass once playfully while she steps into the hall.

“Okay, well…I’ll just knock lightly,” she says, her finger still dangling from her mouth. I pull it away and kiss her one more time.

“See you soon,” I say, and I stand there to watch her walk away, her bare shoulders and back almost as sexy as her front. She smiles one last time before she ducks into her room, and I watch the light flip on from underneath her door.

I think I’m waiting for the panic to set in. This is all new to me…wanting a girl to actually come back? I slip downstairs to pick up our clothes, and I go ahead and indulge in a few gulps from the milk myself. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do that and not think of Avery—and tonight.

When I get back to my room, I pull out the guitar and play for about an hour, hoping she’ll be joining me soon. By midnight, I turn the light off and actually pace the small space of my room, opening the door to check on her light every five minutes. It’s always on, and I know her studies are important to her, so I take a deep breath each time, and come back to sit on my bed. I wish like hell I read. I actually read a few news blogs on my phone, but I’m just roaming over the words. I’m not paying attention to anything.

By two in the morning, I give up and let my eyes fall shut. I’m so f**king tired, and as badly as I want to wait for her, I just can’t.

I don’t know when she came in, but when my eyes blink open, the faint sound of Avery’s phone alarm is chirping next to me, and her hair is draped across my chest. She blinks her eyes open slowly and the cutest yawn on earth leaves her lips, followed by what has now become my favorite smile.

“You made it,” I say, smoothing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear.

“I came in an hour ago. It was a tough paper, but I promised. And I missed you,” she says, literally stealing every last piece of me with her words. She promised—the heaviness of that single word burning in my chest, and locking up my soul. And even though I haven’t said it yet, I know I love her. And I know I can’t lose her or let anything happen to her or even see her cry without it absolutely wrecking me.

Chapter 16: Popular

Avery

I’m pretty sure I’ve formed a habit. I almost didn’t go back to Mason’s room because it was so late by the time I had my paper done. But…I promised. And I wanted to be there. I wonder if I could ever get to the point where Max would understand me sleeping in Mason’s room instead of ours? I wonder if I could ever get to the place where I’m not living with my dad? I wonder if I would ever live with Mason?

When I make my way downstairs, breakfast is at the table, and everything seems just like normal. Max is breaking off pieces of his pastry, taking small bites and chewing them longer than necessary. Mason is picking at a piece of bacon, and my father is loading up his own plate.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to force the redness from my face.

“Breakfast is ready,” my dad says, sliding a full plate my way. Breakfast is important to my dad—it’s his thing. He’s always made it for me, ever since I was a little girl, and having him do that still, even knowing that I’m with Mason, fills me with a sense of relief that some things never change.

I sit down next to Mason, but I leave enough space between us to keep it friendly, not make my dad uncomfortable. I guess I’m also hiding things from Max on some level, too.