Rocket Science

by K. M. Neuhold

  I glance over at the other side of the bed to find it empty, the sheets disheveled, and the pillow clearly used, but no sign of the person who was there when I passed out. My stomach flutters and clenches at the same time, unable to decide if I’m horribly embarrassed by what happened or thrilled by it. Maybe if I wasn’t waking up alone it would be easier to determine the answer.

  My phone buzzes again, and I reach for it to see Pax’s name across the screen. A twinge of hope takes up residence in my chest. Maybe he had somewhere to be early, a meeting with a client perhaps. He’s calling to apologize for leaving while I was asleep.

  “Hello?” I answer, my voice a little rough with sleep.

  “Einstein,” Pax says cheerfully. “Hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “I had a hankering for pancakes this morning, I thought you might want to meet me for breakfast.”

  Pancakes? That’s the reason he slipped out of bed while I was still asleep? Clearly, I don’t know much about the etiquette of…what we did, but this feels like somewhat of a bad sign.

  “About last night—” I start, but he cuts me off again.

  “Pancakes. Starving. Hurry.” He hangs up before I can respond, and moments later, my phone vibrates again, this time with a text that contains the address of the restaurant where he wants me to meet him.

  There’s an unsettled feeling in my stomach as I climb out of bed and make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. I don’t care if he said to hurry; I’m not going to show up covered in sweat and…other things.

  I step under the hot spray of the shower and reach for my bar of soap, memories of last night running through my mind as I scrub away the evidence. Pax was acting like nothing even happened. I suppose I should take a cue from him and behave that way as well.

  Then, a horrible thought hits me. What if nothing did happen? Is it possible I had some sort of psychotic break and imagined the whole thing?

  I close my eyes and try to recall the feeling of Pax’s flesh under my fingertips, the taste of his tongue in my mouth, the feeling of his body pinning me down and thrusting against me. Surely that can’t all have been a figment of my imagination. Even a very realistic wet dream can’t be that good.

  On the other hand…would he really go so far as to pretend nothing happened?

  I finish my shower and dry myself off and then stand naked beside my bed, phone in hand, trying to decide if I should text him to beg off of breakfast or not. Another text comes through, a photo of a table with a cup of coffee on it and the caption hurry up.

  With a groan, I toss my phone on the bed and get dressed, pulling on a pair of dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and my favorite striped blazer. With a quick glance at my hopelessly curly hair, already drying, sticking up in every possible direction, I pocket my phone again and head out.

  My knee bounces as buildings whiz by outside the window of the Uber. Luckily, I didn’t get a particularly chatty driver this morning. Five stars. Although, maybe a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.

  I keep playing the scenario over and over in my head, trying to figure out why Pax would leave while I was asleep and then call me to meet him for breakfast. It’s a puzzle I can’t seem to solve. It’s the kind of thing Theo would probably have some excellent insight into, but I can’t exactly tell him what happened…can I? No, probably not.

  I sigh and lean back against the seat, tilting my head back a little so I can see the sky, slightly overcast this morning, overhead. I imagine the rocket or satellites I’ll design one day, too far above the Earth to be easily seen. I could design something one day that could take people to places we’ve hardly dreamed of reaching. Surely, that’s more important than whether or not Paxton likes me or not. It’s a childish thought, at best, and yet it won’t stop plaguing me.

  When we pull up outside the restaurant, I almost tell the driver to take me home instead. I’m not sure I can face him after what happened. I don’t have the first clue how to act or what to say. Then, I remember Alex giving me the advice of saying something stupid right away to take the pressure off, and I nearly laugh out loud. I think I reached the embarrassment equivalent of maximum density last night so how much worse can it really be this morning?

  With a deep breath, I get out of the car and head into the restaurant.

  Pax

  I’m in uncharted territory, and I’ve never been one to enjoy navigating the unknown. I’m used to having a handle on any situation, especially those involving sex. It’s simple, find a hot guy who’s interested in a little fun, have said fun, part ways, and move on with life. Einstein fucked everything up. Or maybe I’m the one who fucked everything up. I’m not entirely sure at this point.

  I meant to go home after I slipped out of his bed last night, but I found myself driving around aimlessly until the sun came up, chasing my thoughts around hopelessly. And I have no more clarity or peace this morning than I did last night.

  We had fun, and normally that should be enough. That’s how it works, it’s the only way I know how to make it work. And that’s exactly the problem. He’s a friend. I didn’t expect it to happen, but he is. I enjoy spending time with him, and sex will only complicate things. Especially sex that good. The symphony of his moans plays on a loop in my mind, images of his body writhing under mine, the beautiful flush in his cheeks as his pleasure mounted.

  I slam my coffee cup down, hot liquid sloshing over the sides and onto the table.

  “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” a shy voice asks, and I turn my head to see Einstein standing awkwardly a few feet away, shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks pink just like in my memories.

  Woke up in the wrong bed, I want to say…or maybe the problem is it felt like the right bed, and it shouldn’t have. Instead, I give him a charming smile and gesture to the seat across from me.

  “Took you long enough; I’ve been wasting away waiting for you.”

  “I had to shower,” he explains, and another unbidden image of last night forces its way into my mind—Elijah’s stomach smeared with our combined release, remnants of his orgasm clinging to the tip of his cock, sweat beaded on his forehead and matting down his wild hair.

  He slides into the chair and reaches for the upside-down coffee mug in front of him, turning it over and filling it from the carafe, letting the strained silence sit heavy between us while he doctors it and stirs.

  When he finally looks up, the uncertainty in his eyes cuts me deep and makes me feel like the world’s biggest prick. He deserves an explanation for my behavior, but I can’t seem to find the words. Instead, an even older memory surfaces in my mind.

  “Do you remember when you were like twelve and you nearly blew up my parent’s garage?”

  “Theo bet me I couldn’t build a rocket from scratch that would go higher than the store-bought ones,” he explains, a small smile dancing on his lips.

  “That’s always been the image of you in my mind ever since, running inside with Theo on your tail, your face covered in soot, your hair slightly singed. Do you remember what you said?”

  His head ticks to one side, and I can see the wheels turning in his eyes as he drags a finger absently along the rim of his coffee mug. “I said that I’d made a miscalculation.” As the words leave his lips, understanding dawns in his expression. “Miscalculations can happen, and sometimes they blow up in your face,” he concludes, and I nod.

  He takes a deep breath and then lifts his coffee to his lips.

  “Elijah,” I say, and his name feels strange on my lips. It must sound strange too because he looks up at me sharply. “I called you as a favor to my brother, and I know you accepted the invitation to hang out for the same reason. But I feel like we’ve actually become friends. We are friends, right?”

  He gives me a half smile, his tense shoulders sagging, and he nods, making his curls bounce against his forehead.

  “We’re friends,” he agrees.

  “Good.” Some of the tightne
ss that’s lived in my chest since last night eases.

  Our breakfast comes, and the subject moves on to less dangerous topics—his classes, where I’m scheduled to travel next week…but unlike every other time we’ve hung out, we don’t make plans for next weekend. Maybe it’ll do me some good to have a small amount of space to get my head on straight and forget last night. I haven’t seen my other friends in weeks; they’re probably starting to wonder if I’ve fallen off the face of the Earth.

  I pay for breakfast, and the uncertainty of the moment hangs between us. I nearly ask what he’s doing the rest of the day, suggest somewhere fun we can go to enjoy the beautiful late summer day, but I don’t. Without a word I watch him get into an Uber and drive away, the knots in my stomach pulling tighter as he goes.

  Chapter 9

  Elijah

  This week has been miserable. I had a feeling Pax was trying to let me down easy with all that we’re friends stuff, but I didn’t expect that he’d stop texting altogether. I didn’t realize how much I’d come to enjoy his daily texts over the past few weeks until they completely stopped.

  I pick up my phone and open to the last text he sent me, the address to the pancake place. A ghost of his words from that night echo in my mind, his raspy voice telling me I’m sexy and worthy of his attention, if only for a few minutes. I try to cling to them, even as they turn to dust in my hands.

  I’ve considered texting him a million times this week. I missed his random musings, his complaints about clients, the pictures of random things in random cities. But I didn’t know what I would say, so I never texted.

  I sigh, pushing my phone away with a heavy feeling in my chest. It’s almost a crushing weight, keeping me from drawing in a full breath. I wonder if this is what Theo is always talking about when he says how terrible loneliness is. I’ve never minded being on my own so much—I’ve preferred it even, but whatever this is, I don’t like it all that much. I rub my hand over the center of my chest and slump back in my chair, papers full of equations spread out on the table in front of me, doing nothing to distract me.

  My phone lights up, and my heart leaps into my throat. Could it be Pax finally calling to tell me how busy he’s been all week, too busy to text, but I’d better hurry up and get dressed because he’s coming over to drag me out somewhere fun. My hands shake as I reach for the phone, my breath whooshing out of my lungs when I see it’s actually a call from Theo.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, sugar plum, how’s it going?” Theo greets cheerfully. The familiar sound of his voice manages to soothe me and somehow increase the weight on my chest.

  “It’s going,” I answer without enthusiasm.

  “It’s a Friday night, please tell me you have plans.”

  I frown even though he can’t see me. “Why is it your Friday night plans are allowed to consist of sitting at home worrying about me, but I’m expected to go out and live out the plot of some wacky teen movie where I get into all kinds of shenanigans and end up kissing my crush at the end of the night?”

  Theo cackles out a laugh, and I reluctantly smile at the warmth of the sound. “For your information, I have a date. But calling my bestie to check in always takes precedence.”

  The mention of a date causes my mood to sink even lower, making me thoroughly annoyed with myself. I’ve never cared about dating before. I’m perfectly content on my own. So why did one night with Paxton ruin me?

  “What’s wrong?” my best friend asks, suddenly serious.

  “I didn’t even say anything, what makes you think something is wrong?”

  “I know you, E.”

  I sigh, shifting the phone to my other ear and getting more comfortable, leaning forward and putting my elbows on the table.

  “There was this guy…” I confess, and Theo gasps dramatically.

  “Are you serious? Tell me everything.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” At least nothing I want to tell Theo. It seems weird to tell him what happened with his brother, and it’s not like it amounted to anything more than a miscalculation, so it’s not much of a lie.

  “Elijah Morgan Cummings if you don’t tell me about this guy right now, I’m getting on the next plane to California,” he threatens, and I snort a laugh.

  “I’m starting to think you’re nothing but talk,” I joke.

  “I’m serious, I want to hear about this guy. How’d you meet him? What’s he like? Is he nice, I hope?”

  “Honestly, it’s nothing. We fooled around, and then the next day he told me we’re better as friends more or less.”

  “Ugh,” he groans. “I hate that line. Just man up and tell me you aren’t interested.”

  A reluctant smile tilts my lips. I don’t know how he does it, but Theo always makes everything better.

  “I’m sure it was my fault. It was my first…well, anything, so I probably kiss like a fish and god knows what else. He probably couldn’t wait to leave when it was over and then did his best to let me down gently so I wouldn’t feel bad,” I lament, my face heating with embarrassment at the admission.

  “Stop it,” he commands. “I hate this guy.”

  “You don’t even know him.” Now I’m even more glad I didn’t mention that it’s his brother. The last thing I want would be to create tension between them.

  “I know he made you feel bad about yourself. And I know you must really like him, which makes the fact that he treated you that way even worse.”

  “What makes you think I really like him?” I ask.

  “Because you never show interest in anyone. Trust me, I’ve watched over the years as poor souls tried their damndest to get your attention, and you never gave any of them a second glance. You’ve been in California a few weeks, and you’ve fallen into bed with someone; that means he must be something special. Did Pax introduce you to him? Is it one of his friends? Because if he let one of his friends treat you that way, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  My throat tightens. “It’s not Pax’s fault.”

  Theo scoffs, and then I hear the sound of a buzzer on his end of the phone.

  “Shit, my date’s here. Are you okay? Because if you still need to talk or you just want to sit on the phone, not saying anything to each other while we both watch Netflix, I can cancel this date, and I’m all yours.”

  “I’m okay. Go on your date, have a good time.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks again.

  “I’m sure. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Pax

  The loud chatter and even louder music in the bar swirl together to create a kind of white noise. I watch a bead of condensation trickle down the side of the glass to pool on the grainy wood of the table.

  A sharp elbow catches me in the ribs, and I look up to find three sets of curious, concerned eyes on me.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, not having the slightest clue what I missed while I was spacing out.

  “We were asking what’s been keeping you so busy the past few weeks,” Seph says, rolling the little black straw in her drink back and forth between her teeth, her bright blue eyes fixed on me inquisitively.

  “I guessed it was probably work since we all know there’s no way it’s a guy keeping your attention this thoroughly,” Hudson jokes, elbowing me again playfully.

  “And I said maybe you’re just sick of us,” Bishop adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

  I met the three of them the first week I moved to California. I was scoping out the action at Twisted Cherry, and Bishop caught my eye, and I’d sauntered over to lay on the charm. It didn’t take more than thirty seconds for Hudson to shut me down and Seph to laugh hysterically at my pick-up attempt. Somehow that turned into some of the best friendships I’ve ever had, even if they do like to bust my balls.

  “I’m not sick of you guys,” I assure them. “I was doing a favor for my brother. His best friend moved to town a few weeks ago to go to CalTech, and he asked me to help him get the lay of the land, show him where the good bars
are, that kind of thing.”

  “CalTech, wow,” Seph says. “He must be a super nerd. Is he cute?” Her eyes light up with interest. She’s a self-proclaimed sapiosexual, or as she puts it, she doesn’t care what’s between someone’s legs, only what’s between their ears.

  “Keep it in your pants Persephone James,” I scold, and she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout.

  “Fine, keep the hot genius all to yourself,” she huffs.

  “You afraid we were going to scare him or what?” Hudson asks, eyebrows raised.

  “Or afraid you’d hit on the poor kid,” Bishop mutters, his tone saltier than the rim of his margarita glass. Six years of friendship with them and I’ve never been able to figure out exactly what the deal is between Hudson and Bishop, but I’d put money on them having slept together at some point.

  Hudson ignores the jab, and Bishop takes a big gulp of his drink, Seph watching the entire scene with humor dancing in her eyes.

  “I don’t blame you from trying to shield the kid from Hudson’s advances, but you should totally invite him out with us. Bishop and I can fend Hudson off if he becomes feral.”

  I snort and take a sip of my own drink. “I wasn’t worried about Horndog Hudson,” I assure them. “He’s really shy so I didn’t want to overwhelm him.”

  “Oh, well, if you decide to bring him around, I promise we’ll all be on our best behavior. Hey, we could do like a low-key dinner party like proper adults,” Seph suggests, perking up with excitement at her own idea. “Oh, please, let me throw a dinner party. It’ll be so classy.”

  “I’m not sure any of us would be very good at classy,” I lament.

  “No, shut up, I’m doing it,” she declares, pulling out her phone, presumably to check her calendar app. “Next Saturday, everyone put it on your schedule. I’ll get fancy wine, and I’ll cook tiny little game hens or something equally as posh. It’ll be great.”

  “Tiny food, sounds fantastic,” Hudson says sarcastically.

  “I think it sounds really nice,” Bishop offers.