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  You should call him.

  This wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to me. It was an insidious little whisper, a prodding, pushing, haranguing voice, and it disregarded facts.

  Fact one: I didn’t have his number.

  Fact two: I could call my brother to get it, but I had no guarantee he would give it to me. After my discussion with Leo in Aspen about Abram, how he’d warned me away, I doubted he’d want me calling his friend. Yes, I would probably be able to extract the number from him after many minutes—or hours—spent in hostage negotiations, but that was assuming I didn’t start crying on the phone. If I cried on the phone, Leo would never give me the number. Since I couldn’t stop crying, calling Leo would just have to wait until I was more “myself.”

  Fact three: I wanted to talk to Abram, more than anything, but he’d been the one who left this time. He was the one who’d insisted it wasn’t goodbye. I had to be patient. I had to be practical. I would give him space. I would wait. But I promised myself, if a month or two passed and he still didn’t reach out, then . . .

  Then you will still want to see him.

  GAH!

  Was Lisa right? Was I becoming someone else? Someone pathetic? Over a guy? But Abram wasn’t “a guy.”

  But is he “the one?”

  I hated the term, the one. However, here I was, using it, because I needed to call him something relative to my feelings for him. And yet, he couldn’t be “the one.” He didn’t meet the minimum requirements.

  By his own admission, Abram had never thought of getting married. I wanted kids, a house, a picket fence, normalcy, consistency. My feelings for Abram hadn’t made those dreams go away, they’d just shifted, settled around him. He’d now become part of that picture.

  But what if he didn’t want to be part of that picture? What if he didn’t want any of those things? What if his picture was completely different than mine? What then?

  I rubbed my chest with stiff fingers, massaging my hurting heart through my ribs, telling myself that it wasn’t Abram who’d made me weepy, he wasn’t the cause for my constant catastrophic crying. It was me.

  I was the problem. Me and my quest for stability while falling in love with a musician.

  “Yeah, come over and help me talk some sense into her.” Lisa raised her voice, obviously wanting me to hear her phone conversation, and I glanced up. She was sending me a stony look, her eyes slightly narrowed.

  I glanced at the phone in her hand. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Gabby. She’s on her way, bringing over ice cream and wine, but also offered male strippers.”

  Ah, Gabby.

  I reached for my tea. “No. No, thank you. I don’t need the wine or the ice cream either.”

  We’d gone out with Gabby during my first two days in Chicago. She was an excellent distraction. Or rather, her constant gabbing, zaniness, and wacky stories were. I was glad she was coming over just for the distraction factor.

  “Well, you’re getting wine and ice cream because she already bought them,” Lisa said to me as she meandered closer, and then to Gabby, “Tell Duke to stay on standby. Okay, see you in a little bit. Bye.” My sister returned to her spot on the couch, leaving her phone on the coffee table.

  Taking as deep of a breath as I possibly could, I decided it was time to explain the entire situation to my sister. The inability to speak without becoming a blubbering mess had been a major limiting factor. I would just have to get over it. I would accept the tears, rather than fight them, and I would tell her the whole story.

  “I’ll tell you everything that happened,” I rushed to say before she could launch into another rant. “Truly, Lisa. Abram is not like that, he’s not like Tyler. He’s not like Mom and Dad either.”

  She gritted her teeth and released a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “He is exactly like Tyler—and Mom, and Dad—musicians and artists are all the same, Mo, especially the brilliant ones. They’re flighty, selfish, and vain. They might be brilliant, but they only care about themselves, their ego, and their music. They will suck the soul right out of anyone who loves them, and they use it to feed their own brilliance until your light is extinguished, until you’re left broken. And then they move on.”

  “Let me just tell you what happened, okay?”

  “Fine, but if he doesn’t call you soon, groveling, and begging for forgiveness for not making contact in six days, then I will junk punch him with my new taekwondo moves, and then break his femurs.”

  For the record, I didn’t want Lisa to junk punch Abram, but for some reason her overprotectiveness warmed my heart and, you guessed it, made me want to cry. I blinked against the new onslaught, lifting my eyes to the ceiling.

  “Okay, first, let me explain something.” I cleared my throat and endeavored to recenter my thoughts. “You first have to understand, time doesn’t exist. As such, I can’t be angry at Abram for not calling me.”

  One of Lisa’s eyebrows lifted, her gaze became a glare. “Riiiiiiight.”

  “No, hear me out. We talk about people being deep, we talk about feelings being heavy. I’ve been thinking about this for the past week and it made me wonder: Do heavy feelings have more mass? Do they have their own gravity? Fields we cannot detect with any scientific instrument because they’re calibrated for the physical world?”

  “Mona—”

  “Just listen. If time is the result of gravity shaping or warping reality—which it is, which is why clocks tick faster on a mountain than at sea level—then what impact do heavy, weighty feelings have on time? I hypothesize that sadness slows time, and happiness does the opposite. Make sense?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Only you would overcomplicate something so simple. Forget about the rules of physics—”

  “Laws of physics.”

  “Whatever! The rules of life, of society and engagement say that—if Abram was serious about you, if you were important to him—he would have called you the very next day. You can’t tell me the weight of your feelings is at all responsible for the force of the mass of the gravity of fucking, selfish, shitty boys being shitty to you, blah blah blah.” She waved her hands through the air, working herself into a frenzy. “He hasn’t called you in six days. I don’t care about gravity and feelings. In every universe, six days is a ridiculous amount of time.”

  “Yes. But—”

  “There is no but! Stop making excuses for him!” Lisa’s voice had lowered to a sharp whisper, and it was clear my attempt at using logic to explain my behavior was angering her.

  “I’m not making excuses. You’re right, okay? Six days is long, fine. But it’s not really about Abram, is it? It’s about me. What I’m saying is, I am heavy with unfamiliar feelings. All this crying, it’s not because of Abram, not really. I’ve slowed time to an eternal crawl, and I’m overwhelmed. Therefore, me and my heavy, unfamiliar feelings are the problem. Not Abram.”

  I reasoned that, perhaps once I adjusted to this new time—Abram-less Agony Time—I’d stop being such a mess. Unfortunately, the only cure for Abram-less Agony Time was more time, and time was the problem in the first place, and time didn’t even really exist! AH!

  I need a nap. And a cookie would be nice.

  Lisa gathered a deep breath, looking like she’d run out of patience and maybe needed a nap too. “Mona, I love you. But you are making me crazy. You can’t accept responsibility for other people being assholes. I know you really like Abram, I know he said he loved you, but there’s a reason people say, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ I totally get it. He’s hot. Talented. Charismatic. Something special. But if he doesn’t treat you like a goddamn queen, then it doesn’t matter how special he is, he’s not worthy of you! And one more thing—”

  The buzzer to the apartment cut her rant short and she frowned, looking mildly surprised. “Whoa, that was fast.”

  “Is that Gabby?”

  “It must be.” She seemed frustrated by the interruption. Lisa stood, walking to the button in her s
mall foyer. “This conversation is on pause, but it’s not over, okay?”

  I nodded, frowning, feeling increasingly muddled.

  Meanwhile, Lisa pressed the button, unlatching the main door at street level. She then unlocked and propped open her front door before shuffling to the kitchen and calling over her shoulder, “Prepare yourself for some serious day drinking. This is an emergency and the wine will help you relax enough to tell us the real story of what went down with you and Abram in Aspen. Think of it as medicinal.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink anymore?” I straightened from the couch and stretched, walking aimlessly back and forth in front of the coffee table. Slowly, I turned toward the entryway. My brain was scrambled, but I figured I might as well be useful and help Gabby carry up her provisions.

  “I don’t drink anymore.” Lisa appeared at the entrance to her kitchen holding two wine glasses. “But Gabby does, and she’s a frequent visitor. She bought me these as a housewarming gift.”

  Despite the brain scramble, this data made me chuckle. It sounded so much like Gabby, buying someone a gift for their apartment because she would use it. Reluctantly, I admired how good Gabby was at looking after herself, knowing what she wanted, making it happen, and being unapologetic.

  However, Gabby was also generous in completely unselfish ways too, like the wine and the ice cream.

  “Here.” I shuffled toward the door. “I’ll go help her carry everything up. Be right back.”

  “You’re still in your pajamas.”

  I glanced down at myself, at my plain white T-shirt, and black and blue pajama pants. “Yeah?”

  Lisa twisted her lips to the side, considering. “I guess, nothing. Go ahead. But if you see the cute guy in the apartment below mine, make it clear you’re my twin sister.”

  “Oh. I see what’s going on.” I nodded, managing a small smirk, and backing up toward her front door. “You want me to say I’m Lisa and ask him if I smell. Do I have that right?”

  A rueful grin pulled her lips to one side, and she opened her mouth as though to respond to my teasing. Her eyes then moved beyond me, her mouth snapped shut, and she flinched. “What the hell?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and did a double take. My heart jumped to my throat. My hand flew to my chest. I stumbled back. Behind me, standing in the doorway, was Tyler.

  And behind him was Abram.

  2

  Elliptical Orbits

  *Abram*

  Stepping around Tyler, I walked directly to Mona. I saw only her, and her stunned expression gave me no pause. I wrapped my arms around her body, lifted her off the ground, and kissed her lips.

  She was warm, and soft, and tasted like peppermint and honey. I bit back a groan.

  God, she felt good. Great. Celestial. Heavenly. I may have surprised her, but she responded immediately, enthusiastically, twisting her arms around my neck, opening her mouth and welcoming the invasion of mine.

  It wasn’t enough.

  It was a crumb, and I was starving. Desire—to tighten my hold, devour, take, keep, cherish, to never let her go—obscured thought and sight, and I slipped a hand under her shirt to touch the silky skin of her back, sliding my fingers upward until they rested under her bra strap.

  Mona lifted her chin, breaking our mouths apart, and I kissed the point of it, the elegant line of her jaw, the tender spot beneath her ear, the hot skin where Mona’s graceful neck met the slope of her shoulder. I was so hungry for her, I couldn’t stop myself from tasting every exposed inch.

  “Abram,” she said, her voice a breathless, disbelieving whisper, followed by a little laugh. Her fingers flexed at the back of my neck, pressing me closer. Every part of my body hummed and vibrated, unable to contain the immensity of now, of this divine feeling.

  “You’re here,” she said, her soft voice full of wonder and happiness, soothing the ravenous panic holding me hostage for the past six days. It had been a peculiar kind of madness, not being able to reach her while pretending all was fine, pretending she didn’t occupy my mind every second of the day. But receding now, it left a new kind of turmoil and urgency in its wake.

  We had no time.

  No, I corrected myself, We have time. We have the rest of our lives.

  “I need your fu—your phone number.” I spoke gruffly against her neck, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing her in, again and again, the heat and sweetness of Mona.

  I’d missed her, and that was a gross understatement. I’d been speeding toward this moment for days and being with her now felt like the aftermath of a head-on collision. Stupefied, frantic, but determined to enjoy every shared second remaining. My hands were shaking.

  We have time. Calm down. Calm down.

  Mona laughed lightly, the sound melodic, beautiful, and she pressed a kiss under my ear. “Why didn’t you just ask Leo? Or send me an email?”

  Leo.

  I worked to keep the darkness of my thoughts from showing on my face as I leaned away, letting her slide to the ground but unwilling to release her fully, fisting my unsteady hands into her T-shirt. “I couldn’t find an email for you anywhere, and neither could Marie. She tried calling your department for me. They told her all media requests had to go through the PR department at the university and it would take two weeks to a month for a response.”

  “Ah, that’s true. My email is on lockdown, otherwise it gets out of hand.” She nodded contritely. “But what about Leo?”

  “Leo.” I forced my jaw to relax and I lowered my voice but couldn’t completely disguise the intensity of my wrath. “Leo wouldn’t give me your number.”

  Mona’s hand moved to my face, her palm pressed against my cheek, the pads of her fingers softly stroking my beard. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” I ground out. “He said he was doing me a favor. So I flew to LA.”

  “You flew to LA?” I felt her body tense, and the moment realization dawned, her beautiful eyes growing impossibly large as they moved over my face. “You must be so tired and—but I wasn’t in LA, I was—”

  “Here. Yes. I found that out yesterday when I stopped by your department at Caltech and they told me you weren’t due back until Friday,” I rushed to explain, multitasking, using the time to devour the sight of her, soak and submerge in the reality of being here with her.

  Calm down. We. Have. Time.

  “They said you’d be leaving for Geneva on Monday,” I continued, willing my heart and speech to slow. “But that you were in Chicago, visiting your sister this week.”

  I left out the part about Mona’s department secretary being a huge fan of Redburn, but not enough to give me Mona’s email or phone number.

  “What’s he doing here?” Lisa cut in, sounding pissed.

  I glanced at Mona’s sister out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to us. Her stare was firmly fixed on some point behind me, I assumed Tyler.

  “I also tried calling Gabby for your phone number,” I continued, needing to tell the rest of the story before explaining Tyler’s presence. “But her number had changed.”

  That caught Lisa’s attention and her stare shifted to mine, held. “Yeah, well, that’s Tyler’s fault. He wouldn’t stop harassing her last year, asking for my number, so she had to change hers.” And then to him she said coolly, “You can leave now.”

  I spared a glance for the rocker, turning over my shoulder. “You should go.”

  The blond lifted his chin, his slate blue eyes flickering between me and his ex. “Don’t forget what you promised.”

  I sensed Lisa’s stare as it bored into the side of my face.

  “I won’t forget.”

  With a head nod and one more distracted glance at Lisa, Tyler turned and left.

  As soon as the apartment door closed, Lisa spun on me. “What did you promise?”

  Ignoring her, I turned to Mona. First things first.

  I stepped back, pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and offered it to her. “Mona, will
you please do me the honor of entering your cell number into my phone? And your email address.”

  “Absolutely.” My beauty wore a small, genuine smile, but I also noticed she seemed tired, pale.

  Before I could study her in greater detail, she took my cell, lowering her face and navigating to messages. She sent herself a text that contained her email address, handed the phone back to me, then her cell chimed from somewhere in the apartment. I took a moment to read her email address and number, repeating it to myself.

  “It’s so great to see you.” Mona seemed to hesitate before hooking her fingers into the beltloops of my jeans.

  I looked up from my screen. Her grin had grown, her gaze warm and hazy and happy, but now I could see her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying recently. This discovery settled like a punch to my stomach, added a restless frustration to my sense of urgency, and I felt my eyebrows pull together.

  This. Right here. This was the reason I’d been frantic to get here, to see her. We had time now, we had all the time in the world now, but I knew—I fucking knew!—the clock had been ticking on her faith in me. I’d told her it wasn’t goodbye, I’d asked her to trust me. But without contact for days, she must’ve been thinking the worst.

  Fucking Leo.

  “Hey.” I returned the phone to my back pocket, repeating her number to myself one more time, and cupped her cheek. “Are you okay? I honestly came as soon as I could. I promise, if I’d had your phone number, you’d be sick of hearing from me by now.”

  Mona pressed her cheek against my palm, her eyes drifting shut as her smile grew soft, dreamy. “Yes. I’m better than okay.” She sighed. “Now that you’re here, I’m awesome.”

  This was exactly the reassurance I’d needed. Relief didn’t crash over me. It gradually settled, like a soft, warm blanket thawing the freezing panic in my bones. The terrible truth was, I hadn’t trusted Mona to trust me. Technically, we’d known each other for over two years, but in reality, it had only been twelve days.