I shake my head back and forth, up and down. “Not a thing.”
“Perfect,” she says and pushes me back against the seat. I can feel the warmth of her palms on my shoulders through the sleeves of my shirt, the heat of her breath against my face as she leans over me. Her long, soft locks brush against my cheek, and I can feel myself blush. I’m aware of every movement she makes and of the airy, fresh scent of her perfume. It’s like I’m in sensory overload, compensating for my lack of sight. Even though I can’t see her, I can still tell she is unambiguously spellbinding.
We drive for a while. My anxiety grows with every passing moment. I’ve got to do something to take the edge off. “Sarah called me earlier,” I blurt out. “She said something cryptic about missing me, and told me to tell you that you don’t play fair.”
She snickers. “Playing fair is overrated. Feel free to tell her that is my official response. I’ll have a press release drawn up for you.”
“If you’d take this blindfold off, I could text her.”
“Nice try.” She knocks her knee into mine. “Relax. We’re almost there.”
“Where’s ‘there’?”
“Payton! Stop trying to get it out of me! Would it kill you to let yourself be surprised, for once?”
Surprised for once? I’ve been plenty surprised as of late. In fact, I think I’ve had enough surprises to forever satisfy any sense of adventure I may have had.
The car comes to a staggering halt. The hinges squeak as the door opens. Kendall takes my hand, guiding me from the car. “Watch your head,” she gently palms the top of my skull to ensure that I don’t bang it against the doorframe. I hear her heels click-clacking against asphalt. “I told you we’d be here soon.”
“Cool.” I try to swallow my discomfort. “So why do I still have this thing on my face?”
“Have you always complained this much?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been blindfolded before.”
She slips her arm around my waist. “A few more steps.” We walk a bit more, and then she stops me. “Okay,” she says and undoes the blindfold.
We’re standing in a dark room. All I can see is Kendall, eyes wide and glued on me.
“Now!” She yells out enthusiastically. And I’m blinded by bright fluorescent lights. It takes my pupils a minute to adjust and focus on my surroundings. We’re standing alone in a music store I’ve always wanted to go to but could never afford, surrounded by instruments and electronics that are beyond my wildest imagination. In the center of the store is a recording studio display filled with microphones, monitors, computers, sound boards and various instruments. In the middle of the studio setup, there’s a small table with two place settings, a silver serving platter and a bottle of champagne. I must be deeply asleep, because this is the sweetest dream I’ve ever had. I can feel Kendall’s gaze all over me, which is the only reason I know this is real.
I walk across the room to the table. She follows.
“We’re having dinner in Ralph’s Music City? How the hell did you swing this?”
She grins. “I’m amazing, didn’t you know?”
Yes, I have always known that. Everyone who knows Kendall Bettencourt knows that. “Seriously, though, how did you pull this off?”
“I made a few calls, asked if I could set up a quiet meal for two after they’d closed for the night. I had to swear on my unborn children that we wouldn’t spill anything, so let’s try to keep it tame.” She smirks. “Are you happy?”
“If I hadn’t got chastised for crying earlier, I’d be a sniveling heap right about now.”
“Happy tears though, right?”
“Absolutely.” Then I’m hugging her so tightly that I can feel her heart thrashing against her ribcage. She’s holding me again, the way she did that night when she shared my bed—only this time, both of us are completely awake.
She lifts her chin from my shoulder and looks at me in a way I’ve never seen her look at me before. “Happy birthday.”
It’s a test of my strength not to kiss her. And I mean it is taking every last bit of willpower I have. “Thank you,” I reply in a near whisper, then force myself from her arms and pull a chair out from the table. “Sit,” I motion to her.
❄ ❄ ❄
Dinner is delectable. Kendall had the meal prepared by some highbrow French chef. The result is the best macaroni and cheese I have ever tasted. “I didn’t know there was more than one way to make mac ‘n cheese,” I say between bites.
“Michele bakes the noodles and then browns the top with bread crumbs. Plus, there’s a secret ingredient.” She wiggles her eyebrows like she’s all in the know.
“Is there?”
“Uh huh,” she beams. “You’ll never guess it.”
“Oh, yeah? You forget that you are speaking with a culinary connoisseur.”
She crumbles into laughter. “Sure, I am! You just said you didn’t know there was more than one way to make mac ‘n cheese. I bet you can’t guess.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She nods, her mouth stretching into a sly smile.
It’s true I don’t know the first thing about cooking, personally, but she must have forgotten about all those tasty dishes my mother made us when we were younger. Those meals earned my mom the nickname The Spice Queen. “What’s the wager?”
“Hmm.” She taps the tabletop. “If you’re correct, you get to accompany me to the greatest awards show on earth.”
She could ask me to accompany her to friggin’ Siberia, and I’d be ecstatic about it. “And if I’m wrong?”
“If you’re wrong I’m not going at all, even if I’m nominated.”
“So, you’re planning to be absent when they announce your victory? I don’t think so. I’m eagerly anticipating being thanked in your acceptance speech. I’ll take that bet.”
“Go for it.” She puts her fork down and folds her arms stubbornly. “I’m gonna enjoy watching the show from my big, comfy couch.”
I take a sip of champagne to clear my palate, and then take another bite of the cheesy noodles—this time allowing myself to savor the various flavors. Straightaway, I pick up a very warm, pungent taste that definitely has a kind of sugariness to it. “Mmm,” I say, taking a page from the Kendall Bettencourt Handbook for Eating In Public and talking with my mouth full. “I know what it is.”
“Liar.” She chuckles. “Come on, let’s have it, then! What is it?”
“It’s a mix of brown sugar,” I pause, bring a forkful to my nose for dramatic effect before continuing, “And cayenne pepper.”
There’s a semblance of astonishment on her face, somewhat like the pout a child has when they realize they’ve lost their favorite teddy bear. “I cannot believe it.”
“I nailed it right? Guess I’ll have to take a few days off of school to fly out to LA in March.”
“Um, about that. I think–”
“Oh no,” I cut her off. “A bet is a bet, and I won fair and square. You are going.”
“Whoa there,” she says. “Yes, I am going.” She reaches under the table, pulls out two pieces of paper—one white and one yellow. She places the yellow paper in front of me. I pick it up and read it. On the top, it says “Ralph’s Music City.” Below that is a list of SKU numbers, item descriptions, like CAD Black Pearl mic pack, Pro Tools 11, Dual Sound monitors, and MK2 pad controller, and the words “gift receipt” in big, bold letters.
“Kendall!” I squeal once the amazement dissipates. “You bought me a recording studio!”
“Not an actual building, but all the equipment, yeah.” She gestures like a game show host to the display around us.
“Are you out of your mind? I can’t accept all this. It’s amazing, and I love it! But it’s too much. Where the hell would I put all of this stuff, anyway? You’ve seen the closet I call a bedroom.”
“Good thing my penthouse is so spacious,” she replies matter-of-factly. She hands me the white paper—an application to the Music Academy
of Los Angeles. “It’s a formality. You have to fill out the paperwork and have your academic records sent to them, but I spoke with the Dean of Students a few days ago after I e-mailed her a video of your MSU audition. She told me you need to send your application to the Immediate Decision Department, and they will notify you of your acceptance into their Film Scoring program the same day they receive your application. They’ll figure out how your credits transfer when you make your class schedule for the spring.”
I am so thoroughly overwhelmed. My mind is finding it impossible to comprehend what she’s saying. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m hiring you to be my full-time music instructor. That means you’ll have to move to Los Angeles with me and attend MALA.”
Move to Los Angeles with her. Go to MALA. Sounds simple enough. There is only one problem: with my stupid heart aching for her, and my retarded hormones raging all over the damn place, there is no way I could survive being that close to her all the time. It would be sheer torture. I’d be perpetually living on the precipice. The smallest incentive could push me from normal human being to bat-shit-crazy psychopath. I can’t tell her that though. So tell her something else, moron. “Kendall, the tuition for MALA is outrageous! They only give partial scholarships and even with that I could never afford it.”
“I will handle the monetary details of your education.”
“No. I can’t let you do that. We’re talking, like, thirty grand a year for the next three years.”
“Shhh,” she says quietly. “Since you’ll technically be my employee, consider it payment for services to be rendered. It’s a business transaction.”
She is unbelievable. My teeth clench instinctively. “Why do you have to be so damn smart? You always have a solution to my every moral dilemma.”
“There is no moral dilemma here. You’ve invested so much time and energy in me over the years, specifically when I felt like I was losing faith in myself. I am paying you back the only way I know how.”
I don’t think she really understands what she is asking me. I’m not sure I really understand either. “To clarify, you want me to leave my school, my friends, and my mom to move 3,000 miles away and be your live-in music teacher. Do you know what kind of commitment that is?”
“You’re making it sound like I asked you to marry me,” she says nonchalantly. Her face then pales ghostly white. She snatches her champagne flute from the table and takes the longest gulp. “Look,” she begins slowly. “You happen to be the most talented musician I know. You want to get into the film industry, and I think MALA will help you do that. Plus, I’m tired of missing you. I feel weird when you’re not around for these long stretches of time. I thought we should try a different approach.”
Okay, Payton. You already know the cons, now weigh the pros against them. 1) You totally understand where she’s coming from when she says she’s tired of missing you. Despite the idiocy of letting yourself fall for her, she’s still your best friend. 2) MALA is an extraordinary school. 3) The weather in SoCal is supposedly beautiful year round. 4) A change of scenery might do you good. Crap! Logic sure as hell picked a great time to return to me. Where the hell was it a month ago when I really needed it to talk myself out of falling for Kendall? “I can’t do it until the end of December. I have to finish the semester and spend Christmas with my mom, or she will murder me.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I guess it is, yeah.”
She throws her hands in the air triumphantly. “Woo! We are going to take Hollywood by storm, you know that?”
“I do now,” I reply and raise my champagne glass in a toast. “Here’s to us taking Hollywood by storm.”
“Cheers to that.” She clinks her glass against mine. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers. From behind a curtain, a man in a chef’s uniform wheels out a cake in the shape of a guitar. ‘Happy Nineteenth Payton’ is scrawled across it in icing, and two sparkling candles are on top.
“Kendall,” I start. It’s all too much.
“Shut up and make a wish.”
I’m pretty sure the cosmos doesn’t grant wishes where matters of the heart are concerned, but I blow out the candles and silently wish to become numb to all emotion. Something tells me I’ve got a better shot at getting a pony. “There.”
“Good job.” She hands me the cake slicer. “Milk chocolate fudge, your fave.”
“I don’t think I can fit one more bite of anything into my stomach. Besides, you’ve provided more than enough sweetness for the evening.”
“There’s no such thing as enough sweetness.” She skims some icing off the cake with her finger and offers it to me.
I shake my head. No. I will not have any part of your body anywhere near my mouth. Ever. That would end very badly. Or very pleasantly, if I think about it…
“Fine.” She rubs the icing on my nose and giggles. “Use it as a facial.”
“I can already feel the exfoliation.”
She pulls a napkin from the table and passes it to me. “Clean yourself up so we can get out of here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kendall
The full weight of the evening crashes into me as we’re leaving the music shop. This is happening. Payton is coming to live with me. She’s right that it’s a commitment; our lives will basically become intimately intertwined. No matter where I go or how long I have to be away, I will ultimately come home to the place where she is—the space that we share. It’s nice, the prospect of having my best friend right there with me in the thick of it, keeping me rational when I come close to losing it.
“Hey,” she says, grabbing my attention once we’ve reentered the limo. “Do you think you can be with me when I tell my mom? I’m sure the news that I’m moving across the country will come as a much bigger bombshell to her than my homosexuality.”
“You told your mom?”
She nods. “This morning. It came out of nowhere. She woke me up to wish me a happy birthday and all of a sudden I’m like, ‘Gee, Mom, thanks for the cupcake. By the way, I’m a raging lesbian.’”
“Wow, that’s not awkward or anything. What did she say?”
“Um…” She pauses and chews her bottom lip. “She said she already knew.”
Really? I never would have known if she hadn’t told me. I’d be forever waiting for the invitation to her wedding to Prince Charming that would never come. “How did she know?”
“She said something about ‘paying attention.’ I don’t know.”
Paying attention? Is that it? I thought I was paying attention to you, but apparently not close enough. “I suppose congratulations are in order, aren’t they? I’m proud of you.” I move to put my arm around her shoulder, but settle for patting her on the back. “Of course I will be there with you when you tell your mom you’re moving. Can we do it Sunday? I’ve been roped into a father-daughter day tomorrow.”
“Sure, Sunday works for me,” she agrees. “Oh, did you decide whether or not you’re going to take the role in that action movie?”
“Yes, I’m going to do it.” I jumped at the chance, if I’m honest. There’s no sex in it at all, just lots of blood and violence. Is it bad that I’d rather stab people to death and blow stuff up than have to kiss anyone, like, ever again?
The limo pulls up to Payton’s house shortly after midnight. Our driver opens the door for us, and we hop out.
“Thank you for tonight. For everything,” she says once we’ve reached her porch. She has this look on her face that speaks much more than gratitude. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until the sun comes up. The thought makes my stomach flutter. It’s the most jarring, inexplicable thing. Okay, seriously? What the hell is that about?
“It was my pleasure.” I want to hug her. I should hug her. But for some reason, I can’t. I’m just standing here, feet shuffling like they’ve got a mind to run far and fast. The funny thing is, I know she feels it, too. She wants to hug me, but something won’t let h
er. Do it, Kendall! She isn’t some random stranger who recognized you on the street. This is Payton. I don’t move. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between us, and it isn’t going to come down any time soon, even though I long to chip away the bricks and mortar. “All right. Well, good night,” I say finally. I try not to roll my eyes at how completely witless I sound.
“Good night, Kendall.”
I’m about to walk away when she seizes me by the wrist. Her hand moves up my arm to my shoulder and settles delicately on the crook of my neck. She takes a step closer to me. Oh my god, is she going to kiss me? Yes, she is! But she doesn’t. She hugs me—quickly and lightly—before disappearing into the house.
I admit to myself that I’m creeped out only after I’m through my own front door. I’m creeped out not because I thought she was going to kiss me, but because she didn’t and I wanted her to. I really wanted her to. Where is this coming from? I’m not gay! I’m merely curious about Payton—about how the whole lesbian thing works. Until recently, I thought I knew everything there was to know about her. Finding out I was wrong has thrown me for a loop. Or maybe it’s because I am so paralyzingly afraid of losing her. I know someday she’ll fall in love, and I’ll lose her. She’ll meet a girl who will give her everything that I can’t. That isn’t any excuse! It isn’t fair of me to try to make her see me in a way that she doesn’t. And it definitely isn’t cool that I’m trying to talk myself into being something I’m not, right?
“Have a nice night, Pumpkin?”
“Jesus, Dad!” I nearly jump out of my skin. “You scared me.” It was a nice night. Until, it kind of wasn’t. “Yes, I had a nice night.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He smiles. “Are you okay? You look like you were deep in thought.”
“I was deep in thought.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Do I? With my dad? Hell no, I don’t. At least not right now. “Not tonight. I’m exhausted.”
“Okay. Are we still on for tomorrow?” He makes a putting motion with his invisible club. “Mini golf!”
The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 7