The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by Kristen Zimmer

  “You should be a model.”

  As soon as she says it, I get a hankering to lunge across the table and choke the ever-loving shit out of her. It’s startling. I am not a violent person, and she hasn’t even done anything wrong. Yes, she has! She dropped a line on my girl! Not my girl, just… oh, fuck me sideways! Of all the stupid things I have done in my life, introducing Payton to a tall, blonde, sometimes lesbian with high cheek bones might be the dumbest.

  “She’s starting classes at the Music Academy of Los Angeles soon,” I butt in, trying to lighten my own mood while simultaneously informing Lauren that Payton has much more going for her than a spectacular physique.

  The look of surprise on Lauren’s face irritates me to no end. Was she expecting Payton to be another brainless, pretty girl who came to LA in hopes of being discovered? “MALA. That is very impressive. I hear they only cater to prodigies,” she says.

  Payton grins. “I wouldn’t classify myself as a prodigy.”

  “I would,” I interject. Payton glares at me. “What? You’re amazing. You have to hear the music she writes. It’s superb, extremely moving.”

  Lauren nods. “And what are you majoring in? Classical? Contemporary?”

  “Film scoring, actually,” Payton replies before taking a sip of her wine.

  “You definitely chose the right school for that.”

  Throughout the entire meal, the two of them go on and on while I silently observe. I am little more than a fly on the wall, a stalking shadow. They are hitting it off famously, and I’m fading into the background. What’s worse than Lauren’s flirtation is that Payton is playing off of it—she is flirting back. I want to tell her not to fall for it, the smooth-talking starlet bit. But there’s a real chance they might honestly like each other. If that’s the case, I have no right to stand in the way. I’ve laid no claim to Payton; she can’t be stolen from me if she was never mine to begin with. Oh, look, there’s more wine!

  “Oh, Kendall,” Lauren says, “are you going to the Time Zone Ball?”

  “Are you kidding? My publicist requires it. He went as far as to mandate that I accompany Gunner Roderick.”

  Lauren chortles. “Kendall Bettencourt and Gunner Roderick, now there’s a match made in gene pool heaven.”

  I nod. “Oh, yeah, we’d procreate and pop out beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed heirs to the Tinsel Town throne if Lawrence had his way. Seriously, he’s shipping us so hard. Gunner will probably get stuck escorting me around for a while.”

  Payton furrows her brow. “What is the Time Zone Ball?”

  “It’s the annual New Year’s Eve party at the Beverly Regency Hotel,” Lauren replies.

  “Basically, it’s an excuse for celebrities to dress in couture, get completely hosed, and make out en masse,” I add.

  Payton rolls her eyes. “That sounds like a blast.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Lauren says, “except that I’m going solo.”

  I already know where she’s headed with this—someplace that is sure to infuriate me. I contemplate excusing myself to the ladies’ room so that I can throw a fit out of public view, but I stay seated, exposing myself to the fullest extent of punishment.

  “Payton, would you like to be my date?” Lauren asks slickly.

  Payton is entirely flummoxed, like she’s the ugly duckling who just realized she’s a swan. “You want me to be your date?”

  Lauren titters, amused. “Yes, I want you to be my date. Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “Because… I’m nobody.”

  Lauren reaches across the table, takes Payton’s hand and says, “Everyone is somebody. And you happen to be somebody that I’d like to get to know.”

  Jesus Christ, I’m going to pass out! I am seriously going to have a nervous breakdown right here in the middle of the restaurant. More fodder for the tabloids. Just say no, Payton, like you would to crack cocaine!

  “I’d be honored, but I don’t have anything high-fashion enough to wear to that kind of thing.”

  She didn’t. I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing.

  “Minor detail,” Lauren says, shirking off Payton’s fret. “Who is your favorite designer? We can have them dress you.”

  Payton looks at me, and I shrug. I am so not down to help you throw yourself at anyone. “I don’t really have a favorite,” she says.

  “I think you’d look amazing in Vincenzo Montebello,” Lauren remarks. “What do you think, Kendall?”

  I think you should drop it before I sink my claws into your pretty little neck and rip your tongue out through the gashes. Say what now? No! Kendall, for real, what the hell is wrong with you? I lean back in my chair, fold my arms, and fake the most undaunted expression that my facial muscles can form. “I think she’d look amazing in anything to be honest.”

  Payton blushes again. “I do like Victoria Westfeld.”

  “She is very punk-rock sexy,” Lauren replies. I can tell by her tone that she approves. “All right, so if I can get you in a Westfeld, you’ll be my date?”

  “Sure,” Payton smirks as if she doubts that it could happen. I know what she’s thinking. New Year’s is three days away. It’s such short notice. She has no idea how things work in this town, but boy, is she about to find out. When Hollywood comes knocking, designers haul ass.

  Lauren grins. “Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we can go down to Rodeo to get you fitted. How does one o’clock work for you?”

  Payton coughs on a mouthful of wine. “Are you serious?”

  Lauren nods. “I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

  Okay, enough! I gesture to the waiter for the check. He slips a leather bill presenter on the table. I quickly place my Amex Black inside. I know it’s showy to the point of tasteless to toss in Lauren’s face the fact that I command bigger paychecks than she does, but it’s the last thing I’ve got in my favor. Not that Payton cares at all about money. When it comes down to it, Lauren is more charismatic and daring than I am. That’s what counts the most.

  I fake a smile. “She’ll be ready to go by one if I personally have to drag her out of bed.”

  “Cool. Can I get your number?”

  “Yes,” Payton nods. They exchange phone numbers.

  “Great. I will see you tomorrow.”

  We say our goodbyes and bolt out of there with a quickness. The valet pulls my car around, opens the door for me and then for Payton. I gun the engine and blast the car onto the road faster than I should. When I look over at Payton, I see she has a firm hold on the “oh shit” bar on the passenger-side door.

  I say through clenched teeth, “Stupid Bentley. Sorry, sometimes I forget how much power it has.”

  “It’s okay. Just please don’t kill us.”

  “I’ll try not to, but I make no promises.” I sigh. “So, you and Lauren seemed to hit it off well.”

  She shrugs. “I guess.”

  “You guess? She asked you to the Time Zone Ball. She’s taking you for a Westfeld fitting. She obviously liked you enough for you to do more than guess.”

  “Okay, so she likes me.”

  “What about you? Do you like her?” I ask like I have a right to know. She’s got this dreamy, far-away glaze in her eyes. There’s my answer.

  “She seems cool. I don’t know her well enough yet to say whether I like her or not.”

  Okay, fine. Lauren is cool. And she might even be able to make Payton happy. Who the hell am I to stand in the way of that? “Give the girl a shot. What could it hurt? If nothing else, she has perfect bone structure.” Perfect mother effing bone structure!

  CHAPTER NINE

  Payton

  I’ve been in the study messing around with my MIDI program since the sun came up. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. After dinner, I was sort of in a daze, and I still cannot believe it; I’m in California less than forty-eight hours and the universe presents me with an opportunity I would be stupid to pass up. Lauren. She’s pretty, she seems cool, and she wants to “
get to know me.” It must be some kind of celestial intervention like Venus or Ishtar or whoever is screaming at me, “Here! Here’s someone to concentrate your energy on who will actually return the favor!” I should go for it and be thankful, shouldn’t I? I can’t keep endlessly moping around like a lovelorn loser. She might be exactly what I need to get over Kendall. Nothing else I try seems to be working. Yeah. I’ll give Lauren a chance.

  I’m in the middle of mixing down a track when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I slip my headphones down around my neck.

  I look up to see Kendall rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Why are you up so early?”

  Because I’ve been arguing with myself all night about the pros and cons of dating somebody in order to forget about someone else. “I was dreaming and had a stroke of musical genius,” I fib. “I’m gonna try my hand at crossing classical with electronica.”

  She skulks over to the rolling office chair and slumps into it. “That’ll be interesting,” she croaks through a yawn.

  “Yeah, hopefully, or it could be a disaster.”

  “Nothing you do could ever be a disaster.”

  Wanna bet? “Thanks. Why are you up so early?”

  She hunches her shoulders. “I wasn’t tired anymore.”

  “Would you like some coffee? I was gonna make a pot.”

  She nods.

  We make our way to the kitchen. She sits at the breakfast bar and watches me as I work my caffeine magic. When it’s finished brewing, I pour her a cup with hazelnut creamer, exactly how she likes it. She takes a sip then shoots me a wide grin. “I love your coffee. If you were a barista, you’d put everyone else to shame.”

  “That’s the real reason I agreed to this move—not to be your music teacher, but your personal barista.”

  “That’s fine by me,” she retorts before taking another sip.

  “So, I decided you were right. About Lauren, I mean. I’m going to give it a chance with her. If she’s interested, that is.”

  “Oh, she’s interested,” she speaks into the side of her coffee mug. “I’ve been hanging out with her a lot lately. She’s good people. Before you know it, the two of you will be celebrating your one year anniversary together in Paris.”

  A disbelieving laugh seeps from my mouth. “Counting your chickens before they’ve hatched much?”

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, gets up, and saunters over to the fridge. She peers over her shoulder at me. “We’ve got no food.”

  “What did you expect? You’re always eating out,” I reply.

  She looks at me straight-faced then starts chuckling uproariously.

  I don’t get it. “What?”

  “You are the worst lesbian ever.”

  “What?” I repeat. She strains her neck at me all like, ‘Come on!’ I take a moment to consider what could be so funny about the phrase, “you’re always eating out.” And then it hits me like a Mac truck. “Oh, dude!” I howl. “Your mind lives in the gutter, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, right next door to the mind of a horny sixteen-year-old boy. They get along well.”

  “Good. I’m glad your mind has friends.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows at me then quickly goes quiet again. Something really serious must have popped into her head. “Let’s go to Whole Foods. You’ve got time for grocery shopping before your hot date with Lauren, right?”

  My hot date with Lauren. Yeah, there’s plenty of time before that happens. “You’re driving,” I say.

  “Okay. Go get dressed,” she replies, and a puckish little smile flickers into being.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Whole Foods is ridiculous, and I’m not talking about the prices. It’s like someone called a meeting of the Hollywood high council or something. Every famous person in the state of California must be here doing their food shopping. Normally “star-struck” cannot be used to describe me, because honestly, who cares? Celebrities are only people with deep pockets. But today, I feel downright out of place like a peasant in the presence of royalty. This is no way to act like a rock star.

  “Will you relax, please?” Kendall grabs a bunch of bananas and places them in the cart. “They’re just people. Isn’t that what you always say?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with, like, regularly walking among them.”

  She laughs. “Walking among them? What are they, aliens? And if they are, what does that make me?”

  “I don’t know, the next queen of the colony?”

  “Well, if you’re keeping company with the person who’s next in line for the throne then you must be a VIP, so start acting like one.”

  “Okay.” I reach for the sunglasses she’s pushed into her hair, slip them onto my face and adopt an “I am so amazing. You just don’t know it yet” stance. “Better?” I ask in my most laid-back, surfer-dude voice.

  “Yeah, much better.”

  I push the cart down the next aisle. “Cool.”

  We run into Rebecca Gordon, Kendall’s co-star from Idol Worship, in the canned goods aisle. Kendall introduces us. Weirdly enough, my first thought is to ask her what it was like to kiss Kendall, because that’s something I’d die to have the chance to do. Instead, I nod in her direction. “Hey,” I say like I imagine a rock star who is thoroughly unfazed by anyone’s fame would do. She and Kendall have a polite chat about stuff no one actually cares about. I pretend to be completely disinterested in the whole conversation and wander off to examine the nutritional facts on a can of creamed corn, which I already know has absolutely no nutritional value.

  I pinch a jar of dill pickles from the shelf and place it in the cart. A little while later, I hear Rebecca call, “Glad to meet you, Payton.” I lift the Aviators off my face. “Glad to meet you, too.” I somehow manage to make it sound like I couldn’t have cared less to make her acquaintance. Kendall wants a VIP, then that’s what she’ll get—Payton 2.0.

  “That was very suave,” Kendall says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means where did this Cooler than Thou thing come from?”

  I put the sunglasses back on. “You told me to be cool, so I’m being cool.”

  “I meant be the awesome, charming person you are, Payton, not be an incredible asshole.” She quickly turns on her heel and walks away from me.

  Okay. Apparently Payton 2.0 needs some refinement. “I’m sorry,” I mutter once I’ve caught up with her. “I need some time to get used to being out here in your world. I’m feeling completely out of my element right now.”

  She turns quickly to face me and throws a giant chocolate bar in the cart. “In my world, all you need to do to fit in is be yourself, okay? Do that and everyone you meet—celebrity or not—will like you. You were completely yourself at dinner last night with Lauren, and she was so taken with you that she asked you out!” She sighs. “Don’t you get it? You’re so damn likeable. And if given the chance to really get to know you, you’re actually loveable.”

  I am? Crap. I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that. “I said I was sorry. I mean it, I’ll try harder not to be weird.”

  “Please do. Now, let’s finish shopping. I told Lauren I’d have you ready to go by one. I intend to do exactly that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply and make a ridiculously goofy face.

  She smiles. “That face.”

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  “I like how I introduced you to Lindsay Pratt on the checkout line and you were all like, ‘Oh hey, you were really good in that movie where you played a prostitute. I think only you and Julia Roberts have ever pulled that off well.’ And then everyone around us started laughing about it,” Kendall says as she places the tangerines in the fruit bowl.

  “She was good in that movie.”

  “Yes, she was. Hey, it’s noon. You’d better go take a shower.”

  “Right.”

  “And wear something sexy,” she shouts at my back as I’m retreating to my room.

  “Feel free to g
o ahead and pick something out for me,” I call to her.

  When I get out of the shower, I’m not surprised to find a pair of destroyed hip hugger jeans and a cut-off black tank with the word “OBEY” printed across the front laid out and ready to wear. It’s been a running joke between Jared, Sarah, and Kendall that my “boobs make everyone obey” ever since I bought the damn shirt. It’s a little embarrassing, but sometimes I think it might actually be true, especially when I catch random guys staring at my chest.

  I dry my hair, get dressed, and walk out into the living room. Kendall is sprawled out on the couch watching some terribly written, even more horribly acted soap opera. Once she notices me standing next to her, she does a double take. “Mmhmm, I should have been a stylist,” she says, her mouth creeping into a satisfied grin.

  “I’m stealing your Aviators. I think they’ll complete the look.”

  “They will, definitely.” She sits up and digs through her purse. “Come sit down.”

  Despite my qualms, I join her on the sofa.

  “Look up.”

  “You’re so weird,” I reply as I raise my head.

  “Pssh, not with your head! With yours eyes.”

  I look at her, momentarily confused. “What? Why?”

  She clicks her tongue against the roof her mouth. “Will you do it, please?”

  I shrug, lower my head and roll my eyes toward the ceiling. I feel all her weight shift on to me as she repositions herself to straddle my lap. My lungs deflate with a sting as though her body has literally knocked the wind out of me. I flinch so hard at the contact that I nearly knock her to the floor. She anchors herself by latching on to my shoulders.

  “Don’t jump,” she says sharply. “I’m gonna do your makeup. How do you feel about the smoky-eye look?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Good, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.”

  Once she’s settled and balanced, I become extremely aware of how petite she is. She can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She’s so tiny and seemingly fragile, I’m almost afraid I’ll break her. “Why are you sitting on me, anyway? I could’ve sat, and you could’ve stood.”