Burning Through Gravity

by Addison Moore

  “Ladies.”

  I twist in my seat, and my heart sinks. Ford stands tall and handsome like an athlete who cleans up well. My eyes magnetize to his navy suit. He looks as if he’s ready to pose for GQ before dropping trou. Holy hell, he had better not expose himself in his underwear to Evilyn. I’m not above reverting her hair to its unruly state by way of pulling the crap out of it.

  “What have we here?” She spikes to her feet and clops her way over with her feet wobbling out of her heels—the straps unhooked because she was too busy putting on her clown lips to buckle her shoes.

  God, if this entire scheme backfires on me, I’ll be a guest at their wedding. Claire would never be this stupid. But, then, Claire would be far more careful with her heart, and I’ve already had mine split in half. I can’t just give it away if he has any feelings left for this woman. It’s best they flush out their emotions and see what’s left in the toilet before Ford and I take a single step toward the bedroom.

  “These are for you.” He hands her the flowers. “And this”—he produces a cup of coffee from behind his back—“is exactly how you like it.”

  “The Evelyn!” She squeals.

  God, I hate the squealing.

  “That would be it.”

  She goes in for a kiss, and he turns his cheek just enough.

  His eyes meet up with mine, and I give a slight smirk of approval.

  “What’s the big project?” He asks as Evelyn plucks the coffee and flowers from his hands.

  “Gravity.” She clip-clops her way back, tossing the flowers onto her desk, and a handful of petals rain to my feet. “I’m having them go over the final details. The opening is just two weeks away. Can you believe it? We’ve dreamed of this club for years.”

  “Gravity?” I look to Ford. That last night we spent at Shipwrecks comes tumbling back, sucking me down in the undertow. A part of me feels as if I’m drowning again. I wonder if Ford will be the beautiful boy who pulls me to shore?

  “It’s my new business venture.” He spreads the papers out with his thick fingers, and it takes all of my self-control to keep from placing my hand over his, leading him to my hips where I ache for him to be.

  “Unique name.” I lift a shoulder to him. “I bet Evelyn thought of it.” I’m betting she didn’t, but I’m happy to see her squirm.

  Her face contorts as if trying to fit the square truth into the circular hole I’m sucking her into.

  “Crawford thought of it.” She sniffs hard into her defeat. “He’s a genius. But I was right there with him.” Her finger curls under his chin. “We were together in the biblical sense, and he was reading poetry to me beneath the sheets.”

  “Aww,” Bella swoons into this disastrous news.

  His eyes widen a moment. Clearly, it’s nothing he wanted to share.

  My mother’s poems? It’s taking all my restraint not to gag myself with a couple of those long-stemmed roses. He’s taken his obsession with my mother to a tragic new pinnacle—in bed with Evelyn.

  “Terri Heifer, right?” She nods at him as if to confirm her error. “She’s Crawford’s favorite writer.”

  “It’s Eaton,” I correct. “A heifer is a fat cow.” I run my gaze down her hips, and she cringes. She can’t be serious. She weighs a buck fifteen. Both of her thighs can fit into one of mine and still have room for one of her bony arms.

  “Terri Eaton—and she’s a poet.” Ford nods and warms me with a smile that says I’m sorry more than it does anything else.

  “Whatever.” Evelyn wraps her stringy pale arms around him and pretends to dust his collar.

  “I’d better get going.” He carefully untangles himself from her gangly limbs. “You want to”—he grimaces at her for a brief moment—“hit dinner tonight?”

  “A date?” She touches her hand to her chest as if he just suggested a public hanging.

  “Just you and me.” His gaze drops to his shoes before bouncing right back to meet hers.

  “You can pick me up at seven.” She says a little too loud. “I’ll fill you in on all the little details regarding opening night. I’ve got plans that will bring all of Breakers Canyon to its dirty dancing knees.”

  “Sounds good.” He walks by, his eyes tracing over my body as if committing it to memory. “Ladies.”

  Evelyn waits for the door to click shut before that false smile she pinned to her cheeks falls like an anvil.

  “Flowers?” She spits it out, tossing the bouquet to the floor. “Coffee?” She pitches the cardboard tumbler, and her signature Evilyn latte splats over the wall like chocolate-colored brains.

  “Shit,” Bella whimpers.

  “You”—she jabs her finger in Bella’s direction—“get some rags from the supply room and clean this mess up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bella nods and cowers her way the hell out of here.

  “A date?” Evilyn takes a seat on the lip of her desk. Her eyes reduce to slits of hatred as she narrows her suspicion on me. “I don’t know how you did this, but I smell a Stevie-sized rat.” She leans in hard and even then she can’t produce cleavage. “Do you think you can outsmart me?”

  Oh, little Evil—I pinch my lips shut to keep from grinning—I already have.

  “How in the universe could I possibly outsmart you? I’m not the one with flowers.” I glance longingly to the petals scattered all over the floor. “God knows I’ve always had a weakness for blood roses. I’m not the one with a steaming cup of Stevie to toss as I please.” I look up at the dark stain blooming over the gray-colored wall with a twinge of elation. “And, I certainly don’t have a coveted dinner date. I guess you’re right. He’s your soul mate. I’m just a ship that’s already sailed out of port. One and done. He’s tapped this well, and he’s not thirsty for what I have to offer—”

  “I get it. I get it.” She spins as her hands fly to her ears. “It’s really happening then.” She falls over her desk and grips the edges as if she’s about to give birth to an insane idea. A deep moan comes from her, and, for a second, I expect her to pant her way through the next several minutes. “If I find out you had anything to do with this.” She twists into me. “If you’re screwing with me in any way—” Her finger rises over me, and I snatch it and place it over her chest.

  “How could I possibly convince Crawford Cannon to do all those things for you just to screw with your pretty little head? Do you honestly think I have that much power?” A dull laugh rattles through me without my permission. “Because if I did—if he did all those things just to please me—to turn you into some sort of a punch line, then watch out because there would be no stopping the things I could get away with.”

  Her mouth opens wide as she stares past me trying to sort out what’s just happened.

  “Then it’s true. He’s come back to me.” She staggers forward. “I need to get out of here.” She shuffles around collecting her purse and flicking off her shoes before hitching them over her thumb. “If anyone asks, I’m in a very important meeting.”

  I give a knowing nod. “Tanning salon?”

  “Mani pedi, too. He loves me in a French manicure.” She gets lost in thought a moment. “The things he does with that tongue.” A groan escapes her as she barrels out the door.

  Bella barges back in with an armload of towels.

  “What the hell happened?” She marvels at the discarded roses.

  “Hurricane Evilyn just happened.” I pluck my phone from my purse and start taking pictures of every single document spread across the table.

  “What are you doing?” Bella’s voice squeaks to the ceiling.

  “Never you mind. Why don’t you clean that wall like she asked before she makes our lives a living hell?” I sit behind Evelyn’s desk and note her laptop is open. My lips curve at how easy this is all going to be. “You clean, Bella. I’ll secure our future.”

  And, with that, I start in on a snapping spree that spans the breadth of hours.

  Lincoln and Kinsley meet me at the Trattoria, an Ital
ian restaurant that overlooks the water just north of their home.

  “Hugs, hugs,” I say, pulling them both in as I arrive. The Trattoria is brimming with bodies tonight, all of which seem jovial to the point of hysteria. A Friday night will do that in L.A. It’s an aphrodisiac that works better than vodka and makes all of our misery disappear for a few short hours. Well, their misery. Mine tends to linger.

  “Did you hear what I said this morning?” Kinsley leans in with her eyes sprung wide and blue as a pristine sky. “You hung up before I could finish.”

  “Yes, I heard.” I take a seat across from the two of them. “You’re going to sleep with your brother and get paid for it.”

  Lincoln cinches back because obviously he hasn’t been apprised.

  “It’ll be ground breaking television”—I continue—“of which will spawn a thousand copycats, and, before you know it, incest will be the new black.”

  “Right.” Lincoln flags a waitress down. “Three Manhattans.”

  She takes off before I can protest.

  “I wanted a strawberry lemonade.” I live for the Trattoria’s fresh squeezed lemonade with tiny bits of strawberry pinched into the glass. Next to sleeping with Ford, it’s heaven on earth.

  “And I’m driving.” Kinsley knocks his elbow off the table.

  “All that talk of groundbreaking television made me very thirsty.” He’s quick to defend his actions. “They’re all for me.”

  I squint at him, wondering if an intervention is in his future.

  “So where is it?” He flicks his fingers, and I produce my phone. I let him know I had some dirt on Jinx as I was leaving my dorm.

  “Don’t tell Dad,” I say as I hand it over. “That’s my department, got it?”

  “Holy shit.” He scrolls through the pictures. “You keep this up, and we’ll shut them down in a week.”

  A week? Ford and those heated kisses he doled out spiral through me. A week isn’t nearly enough time to—

  “Stevie?” A woman calls my name from behind in a horrid screech. I glance back, and my body stings with a mild jolt of electrocution. There she is, all six-foot six inches of Evil.

  “Evelyn?”

  Her date! I search the vicinity for signs of Crawford Cannon, the man who’s company I’ve set to ruin by way of the pictures Lincoln is currently scrolling through. Crap, crap, crap! I knew I should have stayed in my hidey-hole and not gone to the party that night. I would never be in this mess—and stealing Ford’s company would feel like a boardroom victory not bedroom treason.

  “This one.” Lincoln waves my phone in the air while belting out a laugh. “What a fucking idiot!”

  I spike up and push Evelyn back a safe distance from the table. “What are you doing here?” I hiss.

  “I’m about to use the ladies room.” She slits a murderous glare at Kinsley and Lincoln. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re about to have dinner. Aren’t you supposed to be off somewhere bagging your boyfriend?” A hot spear cuts through me as I say those words. It doesn’t feel right referring to Ford as anybody’s boyfriend, certainly not Evilyn’s. The only one who should be bagging him is me.

  “We’re just about to leave.” She cuts a gaze past me to the far end of the balcony, and I know if I turn around, I’ll find him. If I look at him I might break. I’m not sure I can stand the thought of Evil dragging him home and bagging him in any way, shape, or form tonight or any other night. “Stay put,” she warns. “I’ll make sure we head out the opposite direction.” She trots back in a panic from where she came.

  A loud crash emits from the balcony. One of Evil’s hooves probably got out of control as she tried to make her escape. Honestly, I’ve never seen a woman so afraid of my vagina before. She never did use the bathroom. It’s nice to know she’d risk losing a kidney just to keep him from noticing me.

  “Moron.”

  “What are you mumbling?” Kinsley pulls me back into my seat. “Who was that woman?”

  “That’s her.” I tilt into the two of them. “Those files are from her office.” I widen my eyes as if to prove my point. “She’s insane. She thinks I set her up by having him take her out on a date.”

  “Did you?” Lincoln says without missing a beat because we all know it’s possible.

  I lift a brow and smile.

  “You’re making him think you’re not interested!” Kinsley gives me a congratulatory smack on the arm. “Did I steer you right, or did I steer you right?” She cackles as the waitress sets down our drinks—correction, Lincoln’s drinks, and a basket full of breadsticks.

  He cinches his head back. “You taking advice from Kins on love? You do remember the Ferrari incident, don’t you?”

  A breath gets caught in my throat. Kinsley once stalked a boy so thoroughly she snuck into the trunk of his Ferrari hoping for God-knows-what and ended up almost starving to death and suffocating from lack of oxygen. Three days she spent in the back of that rat-trap, pissing herself, crying herself to sleep, and almost landing me with another dead sister.

  “Yes, I remember the Ferrari incident,” I say almost catatonic. Lincoln is right, listening to Kinsley will land me pissing myself with misery. I jump from my seat and bolt toward the balcony. There’s no way I can let this charade go on another minute.

  I smack into a body, and the sound of glee escapes my throat. It must be destiny if we’re bumping—

  I glance up at a surprised sinewy boy with a bright red tie that reads Trattoria.

  Oh. It’s just a waiter.

  A moment thumps by before I realize he’s hoisted a family-sized platter of spaghetti over my head in order to avoid a pasta-based collision.

  “Sorry.” I pat his chest a moment using him as a human shield to scout the premises from around his shoulder. There they are. She’s leading him out the back just like she planned.

  “Not a problem.” The poor boy tries to sidestep me, but I grab a hold of his collar.

  “How would you like to make a quick hundred bucks?” I ask before leaning into his ear and whispering something I might deeply regret if I had a soul.

  I sashay back to my seat. If all goes according to plan, my new friend Dan will divert the happy couple in this direction. I pull a Benjamin from my wallet and tuck it beneath the napkin inside the breadbasket.

  “What gives?” Lincoln has already moved on to Kinsley’s Manhattan.

  “Just a moment of insanity.” I blink a smile at my sister. “Of course, I’m going to stick to my guns. I have no intention of giving in to him. He made a fool out of me.” I’m not sure I mean it, but for my siblings sake I go with it.

  “He used you for sex.” She bounces her breadstick in my direction.

  A gurgle of protests comes from behind, and I cringe because it looks as if I’m about to get one hundred dollars’ worth of entertainment.

  “Please, Miss just step this way. I assure—”

  A gasp—then a strangled cry for help ensues and I can only pray Evil has been newly accessorized with angel hair. I rubberneck along with the rest of the establishment. And there she is—the spaghetti queen of the Trattoria. My lips invert to keep from laughing.

  Evelyn twitches out a tap dance, trying to shake off the excess noodles while her cream lace dress stains orange in a zigzag formation.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up right away.” The waiter whistles and a small army of waitresses haul poor little Evie toward the restroom. He speeds over and gives a knowing wink. “I’ll refill your breadbasket.” He trots off a hundred dollars richer, minus one spaghetti platter.

  Ford runs his fingers through his hair just as his eyes snag on mine, and he does a quick double take.

  “Stevie?” He heads in my direction, and I meet him halfway.

  “Are you stalking me?” My lips stretch into the grin they’ve been waiting to indulge in.

  “Hardly.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Evelyn likes to come here.”

  Evelyn likes to come here? As in th
ey frequent the place together? I can’t count how many times I’ve been here with Lincoln and Kinsley—with Aspen while she tries to escape that dolt she’s leashed herself to. God, what if I’ve looked right at Evelyn and Ford and thought nothing of them? Or, God forbid that I ever thought they were a cute couple.

  “I like to come here.” The words slip from my lips far more desperate than anticipated. “Funny we ran into each other. I guess its destiny.” And the going rate for destiny is about ten thousand pennies.

  “It must be.” Ford leans in with his gaze pressed against mine like he’s trying to move a boulder. “I’ve tried your little experiment, and I’m glad to report I’m still not interested.” He glances in the direction his spaghetti-laden date trotted off in.

  I shift my gaze to the mouth of the establishment.

  “The night is young.” Any second now I except Evilyn to ride in on her broom and kick me in the teeth for lying to her. “Maybe you should see where things go?” I skim over his powder blue dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his khakis and worn Doc Martens. He has that sexy casual thing going on, enough to drive any business senior of the female persuasion wild—or intern for that matter. Ford’s cologne rinses over me, warm and exotic—he holds the scent of wild nights at the beach house, and an entire flood of memories wash over me, take me down and pin me to the ocean floor as I succumb to how beautiful it all seemed at the time.

  A panicked voice rails from the entrance—something about a lawsuit and the labor board. We turn to find Evelyn with her dress soaked down the front. The impression of her lace bra and panties shows through.

  Ford cups my cheeks in his hand, grafting his gaze over mine. “I can take Evelyn on a thousand meaningless dates, and I would still rather be with you. Only you.” His thumb brushes over my face before he pulls away. “Goodnight, Stevie.”