Center of Gravity

by Neve Wilder

  “I didn’t say he only drinks beer. I said that’s the only thing I’ve ever seen him drink.”

  “I’m capable of a higher quality palate,” he said, following my mom into the kitchen. “Smells good. Pot roast?”

  Mom peeked in the oven, checking on the rolls. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “More than. I thought there was a chance we might be eating Cracker Jack for dinner given your son’s obsession with it. Were you aware of this?” His mouth had curled into a teasing grin, and he cut another almost sly look over at me while I continued to gawk.

  “Since he was about six. I still don’t understand it.” Mom handed Rob the wine opener and let him do the honors while she pulled down and rinsed some wine glasses that probably hadn’t been used in years.

  Rob filled our glasses and Mom lifted hers, eyes sparkling. She liked Rob already, I could tell. “Everything will be ready in fifteen minutes. Let’s drink until then.”

  Rob toasted her glass, mine, and then took a sip before asking, “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Did you hear that, Alexander? I know it must sound like a foreign language to you, but Rob just offered to help. And no thank you, by the way, I’ve got it.”

  “Just a reminder, Ma, those potatoes didn’t peel themselves.”

  I sank back against the counter near them, wine in hand, a smile playing over my mouth.

  “I hope he’s been more chivalrous as an employee.” Mom gave me the eye as she spoke.

  “He’s an absolute savage, but he knows how to paint.” Rob’s gaze touched on me and moved away. The way he said savage was some kind of vocal sorcery that burned through my abdomen. I thought of his hands moving over my body, how he’d had me writhing beneath his touch. I was not going to get hard in my parents’ kitchen. I was not.

  I cleared my throat and took a gulp of wine.

  “He does that,” Mom said. “Has he shown you anything he’s done?”

  “Mom! This isn’t show and tell.”

  “After dinner.” She gave Rob a knowing smile. “Get him to show you.” I detected a measure of pride in her tone that lit a warm glow within me. Different from the heat of Rob’s voice, but just as welcome. It was nice to see her enjoying herself.

  My dad joined us for dinner, looking a little pale. He stuck to the potatoes and didn’t touch his wine, but he and Rob found a common thread talking about the fate of Maserati. I had no idea Rob even knew a thing about cars, but he and Dad went back and forth on the merits and failures of some new model so fluently that it was like watching a different person. This Rob was charming and warm, quick to laugh and witty. He had my parents in stitches three times. Even fucking Lainey was giggling. It was fascinating to watch and more than a little irritating, even if my reasons were selfish.

  After dinner, I helped Mom with the dishes and Rob wandered off with Dad. I found them in Dad’s room, going through the box of civil war miniatures.

  “I think this one is Lee.” Dad pulled the task lamp next to his bed closer. I could tell he was exhausted, and when his fingers fumbled over the lamp, Rob smoothly snuck his hand in to right it.

  “No chance in hell he’d ever be this close to Grant still in one piece, though.” Rob said, poking at another figurine sitting on the book Dad used as an impromptu desk. Dad’s grin waned slowly.

  “I’ve enjoyed the painting more than I thought I would. It’s been a good distraction.”

  “I’m glad.” Rob seemed poised to say more, but glanced up and caught me in the doorway. “I’ve probably got some more if you’re interested. Just tell Alex and I’ll send them along.”

  Dad nodded. “I’m sorry about your parents, by the way. Must have been a hard year for you.”

  “Thank you.” Rob fronted a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We had a chance to say goodbye. That’s more than a lot of people get.”

  From the way my dad’s tentative smile thinned out, I could tell he regretted saying anything at all.

  “So are you going to show me?” Rob asked, once we left Dad’s room behind.

  I handed him a fresh glass of wine, holding my own as I drifted closer toward full-blown intoxication, and tried for a lighter tone since we’d just come from somber. “Right here?” I grinned.

  “Very funny. You know what I meant.”

  I stepped around him, waving him after me through the back door and across the side yard to the detached garage. I flicked on the light as the door swung wide, then scooted off to the side to make room for him as he took in the media smorgasbord of piled canvases and overfilled boxes.

  Rob walked the length of the room, studying some of the old paintings I’d done before deciding to switch from painting to three-dimensional design.

  “Who’s this?” He separated one of the canvases from the rest. Alain’s wide, dark eyes and petulant mouth stared back at us.

  “A guy I dated a couple of years ago. Alain.”

  “Very pretty.”

  Alain was definitely that. “And very shallow, too. But he’s responsible for the nicer portion of my wardrobe.”

  Rob smiled and replaced the canvas, setting his wine glass down to pick up a large sketchbook. He found a folding chair, flipped it down, and asked with a gesture toward the sketchbook, “Can I?”

  “Sure.” I took another healthy swallow of wine as he flipped through the pages. “Live studies.”

  “I don’t know a lot about art, but these look pretty good to me.” His eyes flickered up in my direction, a subtle shift in them. Respect, maybe?

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe a little, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess I always think of artists as moody, broody types.”

  “I am, sometimes. The way you are apparently capable of being incredibly charming, sometimes.”

  He prompted me to continue with a lift of his brows.

  “At dinner, what was that? You banter back and forth, you know a ton about cars. You’re funny. It’s very different from the guy I work next to every day. The uptight one who says he doesn’t have a favorite color.”

  “I don’t.” His eyes returned to the paper as he flipped a page then stopped short, his mouth slackening as his lips parted. I knew which one he’d gotten to. Another abandoned project idea. The paper was filled with my thighs and my cock rendered in charcoal, Alain’s unmistakable lips wrapped around me, his eyes wide and wicked as he sucked me off.

  Rob’s eyes darted all over the page.

  “This is…”

  “Want to volunteer to be my live model sometime?” I teased. Yep, definitely over the threshold of tipsy now.

  Rob slowly turned the page, chasing a charcoal line with his fingertip as I drifted closer until I stood in front of him and he had to look up at me.

  “You know,” he said, closing the cover of the sketchbook and setting it aside. “I think ninety percent of your persistence is a conquer mentality. You just want something because someone has told you you can’t have it.”

  I’d considered this possibility. It might even have been true, but I’d had part of him and I still wanted more of him. And he didn’t. Or wouldn’t let himself. The latter was the sticking point because I thought he wanted it too, so why wouldn’t he just let himself go with me?

  “At least thirty-five percent of it is for the joy of frustrating you.” Gently, carefully, I slid onto his lap.

  “I don’t need to be more frustrated than I am, Alex.” His gaze drifted up from my legs straddling him to meet mine. He didn’t push me away, but his hand closed over my thigh in a way that felt more like a warning than an invitation to shift closer.

  “I think ninety percent of your stubbornness is because you’ve convinced yourself you shouldn’t have something you want. You’re just going to keep on feeding your misery, shoveling it in by the spoonful because you’re punishing yourself for something that didn’t work out.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” There was
agitation in the way he raked his fingers through his hair.

  “It doesn’t have to be. You’re just afraid. But there’s no reason to be. I’m not asking you for anything.”

  He was hard. I could feel him beneath me like steel. His hand dropped from my thigh when I leaned in to run my open mouth across his jaw. He inhaled a shaky breath and I darted my tongue out, tasting him just beneath his ear lobe.

  “I like you, Alex. I want to keep liking you just as you are and just as I am.” He spoke deliberately. Like he didn’t want me to misunderstand. “I don’t want to get off on a cheap thrill with someone I like but who, at the same time, I’d sooner leave behind when I finish this fucking house. Do you understand?”

  I understood the heat that crawled over my cheeks and behind my eyes. And that he was being unnecessarily rude. I swallowed and leaned back, confronting him with a hard gaze. “Funny, I never minded cheap thrills.”

  “That’s the beautiful thing about your twenties.”

  “Oh fuck you.” I stood, latching onto the back of his chair when I swayed. At first, I wasn’t that wound up, but I kept thinking about what he’d said and felt my blood pressure starting to rise because who the fuck did he think he was talking to? “Just because you want to pretend you’re older and wiser and have all your shit together doesn’t mean you have to be a dick. And maybe you’re not so wise because you’re using this stupid argument and you know—you know—what’s going on in my life right now. You just sat down in the fucking middle of it.”

  I left him in the garage to his monastic lifestyle and his fucking high and mighty, and I didn’t care how he made his goodbyes to the rest of my family or if he did. He must have, because from the basement, I heard him come in upstairs, then a murmur of voices, some laughter, and he was gone. Mom opened the door to the basement and peered down.

  “Rob said you weren’t feeling good? God, I hope it wasn’t the roast. It was only one day past expiration. Did he feel okay?”

  “He’s fine, Mom. I think it’s something I ate at lunch.” I closed my eyes, willing her to go away as my head swam. Too much wine. That’d been a bad idea.

  “Whew. I mean, not that you’re feeling bad, but it’d be incredibly embarrassing to food poison our guest.”

  “The roast was great Mom, really.”

  She lingered. “Can I get you anything? There’s Alka Seltzer in the hall bath.”

  I shook my head. “I just need sleep.” And a time machine.

  “All right, sweetie. I’m on the early shift tomorrow, so make sure Lainey’s stirring before you go.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Peace at last. She started to close the door and then opened it again.

  “I liked Rob. He seemed really nice. Cute, too.”

  15

  Rob

  I left with a sour taste in my mouth and Alex’s accusation drumming against my temples. He was right.

  I didn’t think he’d show for work the next day and that was fine. There was only the last of the trim work to touch up and then moving the furniture back into place, but I thought I could manage it myself.

  Winslow greeted me at the door when I got home, dancing around my ankles and nipping at my toes until I let him out. I watched him from the back door as he walked the perimeter of the fence, sniffing along it.

  When he finished, I let him back in, went upstairs, and got ready for bed. Winslow trotted in, muzzle dripping with water from his bowl, and I patted the bed twice. He hopped up, snuffling at my shoulder before stretching out at my side. I gave his belly a few gentle strokes. I think that was the moment I knew, despite not wanting the responsibility of a dog, I’d be keeping him. The ratty little bastard had grown on me.

  At midnight, still unable to sleep, I sent Alex a text apologizing: You were right. I was unfair.

  I got no reply.

  He showed up at noon, setting off a series of excited yips from Winslow as he entered. I looked up from the doorframe I was painting, catching a glimpse of him as he tossed his car keys onto the table and cast a wary glance to the envelope with his earnings and the box of Cracker Jack I’d stuck next to it. He bent down to scratch Winslow, then headed for the paint cans.

  “I thought you might sit this one out,” I said, since it was evident he wasn’t going to speak first.

  “I told you I’d help you finish it, so I am.” His voice was light and clipped, but I supposed that didn’t matter. We’d be strangers again in another day.

  I nodded in the direction of an open paint can. “I figure we’ll do the trim, push the furniture back, and maybe a second coat in the bathroom and call it done.”

  “Works for me.”

  We painted in silence for an hour, Winslow shadowing me as I moved from living room to hallway to kitchen and back. The silence was stilted and cumbersome and I must have considered breaking it twenty times, but everything I thought of saying felt inane. I suppose this was how we should have been from the beginning: employer and employee just doing a job.

  “You going to keep him?” Alex broke the silence, a nudge of his chin indicating Winslow.

  “I’m not sure how easy it would be to rehome him.”

  “I think you should keep him.” He nodded, as if coming to some internal conclusion.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Might be nice to have something to come home to that’s warm and alive.” His gaze skirted me as he bent to stir the trim paint again. “My mom’s hounding me, all worried you’re going to get sick. She thought her roast was to blame.”

  It took me a second to remember the excuse I’d made for Alex’s disappearance. “I wasn’t sure what else to tell her.” My paintbrush licked the window frame as I streaked a neat line of white across it. Instant gloss coating. If only I could put a fresh coat of paint on my own life, cover over the stains and pockmarks. Make everything new again. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. I was out of line.”

  Alex’s back was to me, his spine tensing, then relaxing as he let out a breath. He rolled his shoulders and dipped his paintbrush into the bucket, leaning closer to the frame to pick at something there before he coated it. “I saw. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I was drunk.” Paint striped across the frame in a whoosh of perfect gloss. “We’re good.”

  We finished the trim in the living room, moved to the foyer, split up to tackle the bathrooms, and then reconvened in the living room to push the furniture back into place.

  The couch was a massive piece, constructed of solid wood and stuffed with what felt like a rock quarry. We each took an end and were doing a combination of rocking and sliding to get it back into position when my hand slipped and one of the legs slammed down on the top of my foot.

  I howled a pained curse, wrenching my foot free only to stumble back into the goddamn Eames chair I’d kept at Alex’s insistence.

  I went down hard and fast, knocking my back on the armrest or leg or…something. Something that sent jagged scorches of pain tearing across my back. I landed in a sprawl, managing to catch myself on an elbow, which was definitely past its expiration date for hard landings.

  Alex was over me in an instant, hovering. “Jesus, dude, are you okay?”

  I lay there panting and sweating, waiting for my motor skills to catch up with what had happened so I could get back to my feet. My back was killing me.

  Alex extended his hand to help me up and I flopped my free hand into it. An embarrassing comedy of errors happened next. At the force of his yank, my back screamed and I let go, flailing and catching onto his shirt to soften the blow as I fell back yet again. Alex landed on his knees and caught himself on his palms on either side of me, half of his chest pressed to mine as he knocked the wind out of me in a groan. He was wild-eyed for a second, disoriented as I was, heart hammering against me. And so close. If I just leaned—

  His lips parted. He started to speak, and I did. I leaned.

  16

  Alex

  My knees hurt and I was acutel
y aware of the places where my body was smushed up against Rob’s. I was straddling his left leg and I could practically see the beads of sweat being born along his hairline as we both tried to catch our breath. And no matter what I’d told myself last night, being this close to him again was another reminder that I still fucking wanted him.

  He groaned and then he was rising up, closing the inches between us.

  “Alex…I can’t…” he started, and absurdly my mind filled in resist.

  The next second I was immobilized with the realization that he was going to do it. He was going to kiss me. My lips parted in anticipation because of course I was going to kiss him back.

  Instead, his face twisted in pain and he dropped back with another groan, “…fucking move,” he finished shakily. “I think I broke my fucking back.”

  I eased back onto my heels. I saw the way he’d fallen, and it wasn’t pretty, but I didn’t think he’d broken his back. Granted, I wasn’t exactly qualified to judge orthopedic issues, but he’d been able to lean toward me. After rolling him gingerly off to one side, I shoved furniture away, clearing space around him. “Let’s just rest a second and then we’ll see if you can get up.”

  His chin moved in a fraction of a nod and he closed his eyes as I sprawled beside him. Winslow hovered in the doorway, shifting from side to side until I patted the floor to urge him closer. “He’ll be fine, buddy,” I assured him as he snuffled at Rob’s side. His fingers stretched out to run over Winslow’s fur.

  “I should’ve gotten rid of that goddamn chair in the first place,” he muttered, turning his head sideways to look at me. “It’s your fault.”

  I scoffed. “That chair might have saved you from a concussion. You should be thanking me.”

  “At the cost of my back.”

  “Your back’s not broken, but we should go get you checked out.”