The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by Kristen Zimmer

  Suddenly it’s like the whole of me completely concaves; I realize how sick and tired I am of being a pathetic, love-sick idiot pining over my straight best friend. It’s self-inflicted torture, and it’s absolutely insane! I’m here in this beautiful place with a knock-out girl who is actually into me. Why shouldn’t I revel in her? Life is too short! Who the hell am I saving myself for? No one who wants you, that’s for shit sure! You’ve got the champagne equivalent of beer muscles in your favor, so go ahead and let yourself be that kind of girl. ‘Those kinds of girls’ have more fun.

  I move in for the kill, not faltering in the slightest. Our lips meet once and separate slightly, then touch again. “Let’s go back to my place,” I whisper merely inches from her mouth. I should be nervous, considering my complete lack of experience when it comes to sex. But I’m not. There’s something about her that puts me at ease; perhaps it’s her sweet southern charm that convinces me of her graciousness. I know that even if I should fumble around like a clueless virgin—which I probably will—she’ll be patient and kind about it. No, I am not sacred. I’m cool as can be.

  “Or we could go to mine,” she whispers back. “I don’t have a roommate.”

  “Yeah, but my place is closer.” And I want to get this over with before I start to lose my nerve. I kiss her again.

  She laughs into my lips. “Fair enough.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kendall

  I wake up New Year’s Day from an alcohol-induced coma, barely able to focus my bloodshot eyes on anything beyond the end of my mattress. I got so blitzed last night that I don’t even remember crawling into bed. Drinking my face off seems to have become my new favorite pastime. And why wouldn’t it? It helps me forget to care—not just about Payton, but everything else too. When I’m hosed I have no qualms whatsoever about my life. All God’s creatures have their eyes on me? Well, that’s cool! My mother wants to stunt every attempt I make at fully reaching adulthood by treating me like a perpetual child? I’ve got no problem with that whatsoever! Still, I know getting stewed on the regular isn’t a good habit to have; I should stop before it becomes a problem.

  Through the haze in my head, I hear that the TV is on in the living room. Payton’s up. Even though I’d rather hide under the covers and pretend the entire universe doesn’t exist, I force myself to my feet, throw on a pair of sweats, and shuffle out to say good morning.

  I misplace my words when I find that Payton is not alone. Lauren is stretched out on the couch, her head in Payton’s lap. The two of them are watching the Twilight Zone, giggling like little girls. That bitch is wearing Payton’s Deadmau5 t-shirt! Of all the tees Payton owns, that one is my favorite! I’ve worn it so many times before, but never because I needed clean clothes to put on after a long night of screwing Payton’s brains out. It should be me lounging there, wearing that shirt!

  All right, I’ve officially lost my damn mind. There it goes, right out the front door. I decide to follow it, and try to bolt out of the apartment before either of them notice that I’m standing here. Lauren must hear me grab my keys from the counter, because she sits up and looks over the back of the couch. “Hey, girl.”

  Rather than say what I want to say, which would be, “Oh hey, whore! Get the hell out of my house,” I mumble the second thing that comes to mind—something about having a day jam-packed with appointments, and then rush out the door like I swallowed a mouthful of speed.

  I haul my dumb, dazed ass down to the garage, hop into my car and proceed to drive around to stew in my jealousy. It’s stupid really, that I’m brooding on like this when I could have anyone I want! I’m Kendall goddamn Bettencourt, the best thing to happen to this town since Grace Kelly! Or, so it’s been said. I don’t actually believe that, but whatever. Perhaps it’s time to start acting like I believe it.

  I’m half-way to the Hollywood sign when my phone chimes, adding to my already elevated stress level. As soon as I say hello, Gunner is hyperventilating in my ear. “Kendall? Is this a bad time?”

  I sigh. “It’s as good a time as any. What’s up?”

  “The dry cleaner shredded the damn black and red pinstripe suit jacket that goes with the pants I’m wearing to the New Year, New Hope thingy tomorrow, and I can’t get a hold of my stylist! Man, he is going to bust my balls! He borrowed it from Van Ludwig! Anyway, I need to go shopping, and you know how much I suck at shopping.”

  “Whoa, okay. Take a breath. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home scratching my ass.”

  “Do you have a plain black suit or tux? Either of those would be fine,” I say through my laughter.

  “No. I don’t actually own any of the stuff my stylist makes me wear. I get it all on loan. I’ve got a closet full of holey jeans, Affliction t-shirts, and Diesel sneakers.”

  “All right. It’s too late to get something custom fit, but I’m sure we can find you a suit off the rack. Meet me at Bourdain’s on Rodeo in twenty?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says and disconnects.

  It turns out Gunner is a pretty good guy, after all. We had a nice, long chat last night at the Time Zone Ball about all the wonderful expectations we, as celebrities, have to live up to. He has to be a ladies’ man as much as I have to been seen in public with one, all so no one will suspect that he’s actually a sensitive guy or that I’m into girls—or into a girl. Not that I told him about that.

  I stroll up to the shop to find him standing on the sidewalk, looking kind of under the weather.

  “Thanks. You’re saving my ass.”

  “The same ass you’d still be at home scratching right now?”

  “Yes,” he says and pulls the door open for me.

  “Are you okay? You seem like you’re not feeling well.”

  He shrugs. “I’m getting a cold, but what can I do? I’d rather stay home and sleep than go to this banquet.”

  “If it weren’t a charity thing, I’d say you could skip it.”

  “Yeah, skipping a charity event is an asshole thing to do,” he concurs. He turns to the clerk. “I need a black double-breasted jacket, size thirty-eight R and pants to match, size thirty-two.”

  “Look at you, all knowing your size and stuff. See, you didn’t need me at all,” I joke, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t.

  “Do you ever think about bailing on life? The Hollywood life, that is. I do. Sometimes I think about going to college, or moving back to Wyoming to raise horses. It’s like that saying, ‘nothing gold can stay.’ I’m not sure I’d mind much to find out if that were true.”

  “I’m still kind of getting used to it, but yeah, I’ve thought about it. Then I remember that life sucks no matter where you are or what you’re doing.”

  The clerk returns, suit in hand. Gunner takes it from him and slips into the fitting room. I wait quietly for him to finish. A few moments later, he emerges with the suit on its hanger and a goofy grin on his face.

  “I guess that’s the one,” I say.

  “Deep down inside you always know when it’s the one, even if it’s hard to tell at first. Or hard to accept.”

  “We aren’t talking about suits anymore are we, Master Yoda?”

  “We both know what—or who— we’re talking about,” he replies as he pays at the register. He heads for the door without saying another word.

  “Do we both?” I holler at his back. After a few stunned seconds of silence, I catch up to him outside.

  “When Lauren showed up at your place last night? Yeah. It was kind of obvious you wanted to punch her in the face. I figured out why pretty quick. Ehem. Payton.”

  I click open the car doors, reach for the handle. “Gunner, you don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “I’ve got four sisters. I’m in-tune, all right? I know when a girl has it bad for someone, and you’ve got it bad for Payton. Personally, I think you should go for it.” He leans over the roof of the car and lowers his voice. “It’s the twenty-first century. I doubt anyone would care th
at you’re gay.”

  Dude, a little discretion would be appreciated. “I am not talking about this with you on the sidewalk. Get in the car.”

  “All right,” he says and scoots into the passenger seat and closes the door. I do the same on the driver’s side.

  “Firstly, don’t give me the ‘it’s the twenty-first century and everyone in America has reached enlightenment,’ bullshit. Watch the damn news; hate crimes still happen. Secondly, I didn’t say I was gay.”

  “Semantics,” he grumbles.

  “I wasn’t finished!” I whirl around to him. “Thirdly, it’s not really any of your concern is it? This thing between us is a business arrangement. It’s not like we’re actually dating.”

  “Because you don’t want to date me, you want to date Payton.”

  You can have anyone you want, eh, Kendall? Prove it; want him. Everything will be infinitely easier that way. “Would you please shut up?” I grab him by the collar of his shirt, tug him toward me, and plant the hardest, most desperate kiss on him. He’s stunned at the outset, but then I feel him pucker into it. He leans across the center console. I think that he’s going to put his arm around me. Instead, he puts his hands on my shoulders and softly pushes me away.

  Seriously? “Are you off your meds? I just made a pass at you!”

  “Look, you’re totally hot and you can be cool, but I know you aren’t into me.”

  I wave him off. “Like that matters! You’re a guy.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a Neanderthal. If I’m going to hook up with a girl, I want to know that she at least likes me. And you don’t.” He pops open the door and steps out into the harsh light of day. “Go home and figure yourself out, Kendall. Trust me, you’ll be happier for it.”

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  There’s nothing quite like being rejected to make you feel like shit. Worse than that, he was right to do it. I’ve been walking on eggshells for so long, protecting myself from what? Acknowledging that my biological imperative may not include the drive to procreate, that I just might be attracted to XX chromosomes instead of XY? That’s so stupid—minor in comparison to the fact that I might actually be in love for the first time in my life. It’s with a girl… so what? Lesbian, bisexual, whatever! This isn’t about categorization or chromosomes. This is about how I feel about another person.

  I am fully worn out by the time I stagger into the apartment. The first thing I notice when I walk through the door is that every light in the house is on. I hear music streaming softly from the studio monitors upstairs. A sense of dread takes hold of me. Payton is home and entirely awake. I’m certain I would be more at ease if I had walked in on the damn place being burglarized.

  Why isn’t she out with Lauren painting the town red? I decide I had better alert her to my presence before she realizes that she’s not alone and calls the cops or something. “Hey, I’m home,” I yell up to her.

  She turns the music down and sticks her head over the railing. “Hi.”

  “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought you’d be out with Lauren.”

  “Not tonight. I’ve been trying to call you all day. I wanted to talk.”

  “About what?” I place my clutch on the coffee table and take a solid, steadying breath. I jump nearly a foot in the air when I unexpectedly find her standing right in front of me.

  “About how you ran out of the house this morning. What was up with that?”

  “How I ran out…” I scoff. “Since you’re so concerned, I’ll tell you exactly what was up with that!” I realize how unfair it is to be yelling at her, yet I’m powerless to stop myself from doing it. I’m so wound up that every last sensible part of me has shut down. There’s not an ounce of stability left in me. “I’m pissed, Payton! Pissed at myself because I’m a stupid, gutless coward! I couldn’t just tell you how I was feeling. I couldn’t tell you that I think I want to be more than just your friend, and that it scares the shit out of me! It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late! You’re sleeping with Lauren, and–”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yells over me. “I tried to sleep with Lauren! Oh my god, did I try! I was this close, and then I started crying! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was for me, curled up in a half-naked ball at the edge of my bed telling a girl I really liked all about how I couldn’t be with her because my heart belongs to you? It does, you know! My heart has belonged to you for as long as I can remember! Jesus Christ, Kendall! I’ve been killing myself since I was twelve, trying not to notice it was there, trying to make it go away!”

  She’s been feeling this for years? Years! I am such an idiot! “I’m glad it never went away,” I mumble. Here she is, chilling in the middle of the living room, staring at me with her big honey-colored eyes. She is so lovely. I can’t…

  I rush at her, slamming her back against the kitchen wall. I run my fingers through her velvety tresses and kiss her hard. She kisses me back—tentatively at first, but soon I feel her tongue dance across my lips, begging for entrance to my mouth. Immediately, I realize how different it is, kissing a woman as opposed to kissing a man. It’s inquisitive rather than demanding, pleasurable rather than acceptable, more delicate, yet so much more tantalizing.

  My lips are wild, ravenous from waiting longer than they should have to be introduced to hers. Now that our mouths have become acquainted with one another, I never want them to be apart. I want to kiss her a hundred times a day, every day, for the rest of my life.

  I kick off my shoes and suddenly, I’m climbing her—wrapping my arms around her neck, my legs around her waist. She puts her hands on my butt and props me up higher. Kissing her is simply not enough. I need more. I need everything. “Please, Payton,” I whisper into her mouth. “I want to be with you.”

  She jerks her head back and gazes at me curiously. There is so much reverence sparkling in her eyes, but they are flecked with traces of apprehension, too. “I… We should probably…”

  We should probably slow down, but I’m afraid if we do I might chicken out completely. “Don’t second guess me. I want this.”

  As soon as I say it, her lips stretch into a smile. She pushes off the wall with her foot and carries me to the couch. In one fluid motion she gently lays me down and rests herself on top of me.

  Her kisses move from my lips down to my neck, and I shudder unrestrainedly. A ripple of ecstasy runs though me as she pulls my shirt down my shoulders and licks my collarbone. I am so turned on. I claw like a rabid beast at the buttons of her shirt. My greedy hands hunger to caress every single inch of her skin. Furiously, I peel away the layers of her clothing: shirt, bra, jeans, boy shorts. She wrestles the last bit of my pants down my legs along with my panties. Before I can blink, we are both fully naked. She’s hovering above me, holding herself up with her strong, lean arms. And then she stops.

  Shit! What if she doesn’t want this? Did I do the wrong thing, attacking her face like some kind of feral animal in heat? Maybe we should’ve discussed it more; made sure we were on the same page. “What’s wrong?” I’m panting so hard, I can barely form words.

  “You’re just so…” She looks me over, head to toe. It feels like the first time anyone has ever really seen me. “You are so beautiful.”

  I’m beautiful? I’ve been told as much by a million different people, but when Payton says it, I truly believe it. I want so much to thank her for making me feel beautiful and for constantly reassuring me that I’m smart enough to do anything I set my mind to. But I know I could never in a thousand years express my gratitude in words, so I close my eyes and resume kissing her.

  She cups my breasts in her palms. Her tongue slides down my stomach. Then lower and lower still. She halts again, looks up at me from between my spread legs. “Are you sure?”

  Sure? Are you serious? I’ve never been surer of anything, ever. “I’m positive.”

  That’s all the affirmation she needs.

  I can tell that she’s nervous at first, kind of twitchy and uncertain of where and
how to touch me, but soon she finds her rhythm. My frontal lobe sends a signal to my lips, like ‘let her know she’s right on target.’ “There. There, there,” I mumble.

  It’s only a matter of minutes before the shock waves begin to surge through every nerve ending in my body. My synapses fire on automatic. Repeatedly. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s the most startling, marvelous sensation.

  Are those her fingers? Holy…

  I hear myself whimpering and place my hand below her chin to force her to stop doing the magical things she’s doing. Her head snaps up at me questioningly, but I’ve got nothing to answer with. I lie motionless, struggling to take in air. She pulls herself up, rests her head on my shoulder.

  When I can finally breathe normally, I flip on top of her. All my weight is on her and I’m kissing her hard, like before. All of a sudden I get stupid anxious. I have the most extreme longing to make her feel as magnificent as I do, but what if I can’t do it right? What if I’m seriously bad at it? What if there are rules like in playing sports? I don’t understand sports! I fucking suck at sports!

  The moment before the panic alarm in my brain goes off, Payton stirs. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says, almost as if she has absorbed my thoughts via osmosis. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” She sounds so incredibly earnest, it completely renews my determination. I’m gonna do this like a boss!

  “I want to,” I reply breathlessly, then tease a trail down her body with my lips. My tongue finds its way to the space between her thighs. Her muscles go instantly rigid. I’m surprised at how I can actually feel her pulsating, like there’s a tiny drum beating somewhere deep inside her.

  “Kendall!” she purrs as her hips jerk upward. My name has never before sounded so sexy. As she reaches climax, she grabs fistfuls of my hair and lightly tugs my head back.