The Fundamental Theory of Us Read online

  Sawyer didn’t hear the door until the third knock. Andrew must have made it back and found his door locked—his reminder late last night wasn’t necessary. If the door had a lock, Sawyer always used it. She hurried to let him in. Instead of Andrew, she saw redhead with a body straight out of a Victoria’s Secret commercial and piercing green eyes. She looked Sawyer over, taking in the baggy sweater and loose-fitting jeans. Stringy blonde hair. Dull skin. Sawyer’s armor. Once, she was beautiful and let people see it. Not anymore.

  “Oh. You’re not Andrew.” A smirk settled over the redhead’s too-perfect lips. “Isn’t this his apartment?”

  “Yes, it is—”

  “Is he in?”

  “No, he’s—”

  “Well, do you know when he’ll be back? I didn’t drive all this way to talk to you.” She looked Sawyer over again, her pretty features twisting. “What are you doing at his place? Are you the cleaning lady or something?”

  Sawyer seethed. Constant interruption was one of her biggest pet peeves. Constant bitches, another.

  A dog barked, and Rosie barged past Miss Model, right to Sawyer. Rosie panted and dropped down at Sawyer’s feet, almost a protective gesture. A second later, Andrew came up behind the redhead, his skin damp and brow wrinkled.

  “Andrew!” Miss Model planted a kiss on his shocked and tightly closed lips. “Gross, you’re all sweaty. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

  Sawyer turned away, giving them privacy. A strange, tight fist pressed down on her chest as she gathered her things, getting ready to leave. Something about the way Andrew looked at her from the day he sat beside her in Fundamentals made it seem like…

  Nope, none of her business. Probably misunderstood him. Andrew was a nice guy, after all. That didn’t mean he liked her. She shook her head, stuffing her feet into the worn sneakers she kicked off under his desk while she worked.

  “What are you doing here, Miranda?” Andrew hissed behind her.

  “What, I can’t come visit my fiancé?”

  The pressure turned into a switchblade, slicing through skin and bone and muscle. Irrational emotions. They weren’t even friends. Why did she care if he had a fiancée? She didn’t. She did. God, what a mess!

  Rosie’s nails clicked over the floor. She licked Sawyer’s hand. As a reward, she rubbed Rosie behind the ears, the way she’d tried to get Sawyer to do a few times now.

  “I don’t know how you found me, but you’re wasting your time. We’re done.”

  “Andrew—”

  “Don’t make me call the police.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Sawyer could almost hear Miranda pouting.

  “I would.”

  The conversation behind her changed from painful for Sawyer to agonizing for Andrew. She didn’t know him all that well, but he’d trusted her in his space when he wasn’t here. The least she could do was rescue him.

  Air in. Air out. Pretend. She’d gotten good at pretending.

  “Honey,” Sawyer said, throwing Andrew a wink over her shoulder as she headed down the hall to his room. “When you’re done there, join me in the shower. We don’t want to be late for the movie.”

  Miranda’s jaw didn’t just drop—it unhinged. In another life, Sawyer might have stayed behind to catch the rest of the show. She entered Andrew’s room and shut the door behind her, and leaned back on the peeling cream paint. Blood roared in her ears. Breathing kept the panic at bay—only just. She looked around and her gaze landed on his bed. He made it with military precision, the way her dad did. One night table, one lamp, and a heavy watch next to the lamp, almost at a perfect ninety-degree angle. A dresser, all the drawers shut, nothing on top. A pair of crutches leaning in one corner of the room. Sawyer shut her eyes. Breathed.

  After some time, she didn’t know how much or little passed in the dim room, she heard, and felt, a knock on the door. Sawyer jumped away just as Andrew turned the handle and pushed the door open. Just like in her room across the hall, there wasn’t much space with a double bed. Enough to open the door. The backs of her knees collided with his bed and she almost toppled down on his navy blue comforter. Andrew didn’t come into the room. He stood in the open door to one side. He left enough space for her to slip out.

  His bright blue eyes zeroed in on her. All the tension in her body was mirrored in them. Rosie sidled up to him, rubbing her nose on his right knee. Andrew made a face, like he was in pain.

  Sawyer spoke first. “Is she gone?”

  “Yeah.” It was more a relieved sigh than a word. “Thanks, by the way.”

  “It was nothing, really.” Sawyer pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say next. Sensing that the two humans were too busy for her, Rosie jabbed her nose in Andrew’s knee once more before she shuffled away.

  “Mind if we trade spots?” He nodded at the bed.

  “Oh, uh, sure.” Sawyer ducked under his arm. The tips of his fingers grazed her hair and for once, a shiver went through her, different than the others.

  Andrew dropped onto his bed and began rubbing his knee through his dark track pants. They did nothing to hide his muscular thighs, and that shirt was so thin he might as well not be wearing a shirt at all. Black ink showed through. Something tribal, with hundreds of little shapes and intricate designs went from his left shoulder down to his chest. God, his chest was huge. Scary huge. Unlike Chase, Andrew didn’t use his body to intimidate. Not that she had seen, anyway.

  “Did you get your stuff done?”

  The unexpected question snapped Sawyer’s attention away from his chest. “Mostly. I’ll save it and go.”

  “I didn’t mean—” He paused, looking up at her through those long, dark lashes. “Stay as long as you need to, okay? I’m going to grab a shower, then order some pizza. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to join me.”

  Sawyer opened her mouth to decline. Her stomach chose that moment to go all king of the jungle and let out a super-charged growl. The familiar shame stoked a shame furnace in her cheeks.

  Andrew just smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes. What do you like on your pizza?”

  Stunned for a moment, Sawyer wracked her brain for a familiar pizza topping. One she never would have ordered in New York. “Pineapple.”

  There. That sounded normal. People ate pineapple. Maybe not a whole pineapple in a day because it was on sale, and on her shoestring budget, she was still trying to eat healthy stuff. Well, that and saving the bulk of her money for cheap vodka from the creepy guy in the liquor store who didn’t ask to see ID if she slid him a couple extra bucks.

  Andrew’s mouth curved. He had really, really nice lips. The kind that should be considered a weapon. “Pineapple, huh? I should have guessed. Do you like mushrooms?” Sawyer made a face and Andrew laughed—one of those full-on, belly laughs she couldn’t remember ever doing. “That’s definitely a no. How about bacon or ham, or something? Pepperoni gives me heartburn. I don’t know if you like it or not.”

  The guy must be a talker. Or he was wired after the confrontation with his ex. In as few words as possible, she answered him, and Andrew grabbed his phone from his pocket. He ordered two large pizzas, soda, cheesy breadsticks, and two giant cookies. She looked him up and down, wondering how a guy could eat all that and still look hot enough to melt the polar ice caps. Just on his abs. From where she stood, Global Warming was all Andrew Warren’s fault.

  Sawyer snapped her head back. Nope. Not going there. Ever.

  She turned away while he finished up the call and she busied herself with her messenger bag, working out how much cash she could fork over to help pay for all that food. If her life were a cartoon, a few moths would fly from her wallet. A lone five-dollar bill sat sandwiched between a handful of ones. The change section held a few nickels and pennies. Not even close to half of what Andrew ordered.

  “Hey,” he said, still sitting on the bed. “Put your money away. It’s my treat.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Maybe he sensed sh
e wouldn’t take no for an answer. Maybe he was just one of those rare good guys people talk about. Andrew shrugged and said, “How about, in exchange for food, you help me with this—”

  “I’m already helping you with Fundamentals for using your computer.”

  He flashed her a smile, sunshine in a perpetual storm. “I was going to say the project we need to come up with for art.”

  Oh. That. She worried over the stupid assignment for three days now, since Professor Hyun dropped it on them. He said they could pick a partner to work with, or go it alone. Most people had buddied up pretty quick. A few girls had asked Andrew, including peppy, pretty Emory Daughton, but he declined. Lucky for Sawyer, Rachel didn’t press the partner issue with her, choosing instead to work alone. There was only so much Purple Punk Princess Sawyer could handle in a day.

  “I don’t know.” Sawyer put her wallet back in her bag and leaned against the doorframe. “Sculpting is out for me. Too messy. And something about borrowing one of those super-expensive cameras makes me cringe. What if I break it? So there’s photography gone.”

  “What about prints?”

  “Like, etchings?” Sawyer bit her lip. “Acid. No thanks.”

  Andrew’s grin appeared, and so did a dimple. God, he had a dimple. Just one, and she could barely see it through his stubble, but there it was. “Drawing? I’m not that great at it. Maybe you are?”

  “Nope.” Lie. Lie. Lie!

  This time, he chuckled. “Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

  “We?”

  Andrew blushed. Actually blushed. “I guess I kind of hoped…”

  He let it dangle on purpose. Leaving the decision up to her. “We’ll see.”

  “I guess so.” Andrew pushed to his feet. “I’d better shower before the pizza gets here. If they show up while I’m still in the bathroom, just give them this.” He unfolded his wallet, took out a couple bills, and handed them to her.

  It felt too intimate. Every cell in her body vibrated warnings. Go. Run home. Hide.

  “Sawyer?”

  She looked down at him, still there on his bed, this big, scary-looking guy with the too-blue eyes. “Yeah?”

  Andrew kept quiet and still for a moment. “I meant what I said last night.”

  For a second, Sawyer was dragged into the past, to that day. The summer Sawyer turned fourteen and her breasts suddenly exploded from her chest like “hey world, here we are!” Alannah, her older sister, had brought her boyfriend to the Hamptons for a month-long visit. Alannah walked Chase up the front steps with a possessive arm around his waist, and Chase’s dark, penetrating gaze locked on Sawyer, standing next to her dad. She hadn’t understood the look he gave her, and she didn’t like it.

  Andrew looked at her like he saw her, the girl she was and who she wanted to be. He saw through the thrift store clothes and her stringy hair. He saw her, and yeah, it terrified her. No one broke down the barriers she put up. Andrew wasn’t trying to break them down. He was knocking on the wall, asking politely for—well, she hadn’t figured that out yet. If the past taught her one lesson, Sawyer learned no one did anything for free. They wanted something in return, and in her experience, the return favor came with pain.

  Andrew’s continued insistence of her safety in his presence reminded her of the stark difference between the men she knew back home, and those she met here. One guy was not the same as the next.

  Chapter Six

  They ate the pizza on his couch. Andrew poured two tall glasses of milk—she thought he would at least have beer in his fridge, but there was only a couple gallon jugs of milk, some juice, and a half-empty Costco-sized jar of green olives—and played music on his computer. An eclectic mix of country, jazz, and piano that somehow worked well together.

  Halfway through her second slice, Sawyer’s phone chirped. She dropped her pizza in the box as a band cinched tighter, ever tighter around her chest. Not a text from Rachel. Her tone sounded like a bowling ball hitting pins. Loud and irritating, just like Rachel.

  Tension squeezed the air from her lungs. Her pulse skipped a few beats. The terrified part of her wanted to throw the phone away and go without, until she could afford a new one. Of course, she had to look. It was like a deadly car wreck on the freeway. She knew she shouldn’t slow down and stare, but she did, even when seeing it made her feel horrible.

  Sawyer reached for her phone, sitting on the edge of the table. As she leaned away, Andrew set his hand on top of hers—in support, she supposed. This time, she was glad of his touch, soaking up the comfort he provided. This time, she wasn’t alone in her dark apartment when she read the message.

  Hesitant for a second, she cleared her lungs and grabbed her phone. The screen lit up and she slumped against the back of the couch. For a second she wondered why Rachel’s chosen text tone didn’t sound—until she read the message.

  hey its rach can u open ur door?

  “Open my door?” Sawyer stood and crossed the room to peer through the peephole. Sure enough, purple spikey hair and leather filled her vision.

  Andrew joined her at the door. “What’s up?”

  “Not sure.” She pulled his door open and Rachel turned around.

  “Oh, you’re busy. I can come back.” Rachel didn’t move from Sawyer’s apartment.

  She felt the warmth from Andrew’s hand on the small of her back, a touch so light and quick she couldn’t be sure it happened. “It’s all right,” he said, reaching for Rosie’s leash, hanging on the hook by his door. “You guys have some pizza and talk. I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Come on, Rosie.”

  The dog yipped and scrambled out the door, leaving Sawyer and Rachel alone. Rachel moved her eyes from Sawyer’s place to Andrew’s, her dark brows arched.

  “Don’t ask,” Sawyer said with a groan. “Where’s your phone?”

  A deep blush spread right up to Rachel’s purple hairline. She mumbled something, an excuse, probably.

  Sawyer smirked and changed the subject. “You want some pizza?”

  “What I want”—Rachel crossed the hall and stepped inside Andrew’s apartment—“is to know what’s up with you and Mr. McStudpants?”

  “Mc-what?”

  Rachel took in the lack of furnishings, then dropped onto the couch. “Ew, mushroom.” She reached for a slice of Sawyer’s pizza. “Ew, pineapple? You guys are gross.” She picked off the pineapple from a slice, then scarfed the pizza down to the crust. “He’s hot. Isn’t he in our art class?”

  Sawyer’s face burned. “Yeah. I was helping him with—”

  “No need to explain it to me.” Rachel kicked off her boots and rested her feet on Andrew’s couch. “If I were into guys, I’d be all over him. I’d let him wear me, like fur, but, you know, not dead.”

  “You’re weird.” Sawyer checked the hall, hoping Andrew and Rosie would come back.

  “Maybe I am.” Rachel paused. “Okay, the reason I came here is this. I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  After wiping her mouth with a napkin, Rachel took a long time folding it, unfolding it, and finally crumpled the paper into a ball. “I need you to help me make someone jealous.”

  For the first time in what felt like forever, Sawyer laughed. Really, truly laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

  When Rachel looked up, her expression was but the polar opposite of light-hearted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious about anything. Ever.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I look ridiculous.” Sawyer examined her reflection in the changing room mirror. Her hair, washed with Rachel’s expensive salon shampoo and conditioner, looked better than it had in years.

  After leaving a note for Andrew, putting the food in his fridge, and cleaning up, Sawyer agreed to go to Rachel’s place and help her out with her plan—which wasn’t going to work. Rachel didn’t seem to want to hear that. At her place, Rachel had dried Sawyer’s hair and it fell around her shoulders in soft, shiny waves. Her lashes were long an
d dark, with the help of very black mascara, and a swipe of dark shadow. The leather cupping her breasts, nipped in at the waist, and hanging in a super short Tinkerbell-style skirt made her look like an extra in “The Rocky Horror Show presents Peter Pan.”

  Rachel came up behind her. “You look great.” She adjusted the skirt so more of Sawyer’s thighs showed. “Now you look amazing.”

  Sawyer folded her arms over her chest—a fricking boob shelf, more like it, but it hid the scars—and the leather-cropped jacket that came with the dress strained at her shoulders. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It’s one date,” Rachel argued as she played with her purple spikes. “You don’t even have to do anything. Just sit there and look hot.”

  “Just what I’ve always wanted,” Sawyer muttered. “To be someone’s arm candy. By the way, what is it with you and leather? I’m wearing half a dead cow right now.”

  “It’s so sexy. Primal. And it looks hella hot.”

  Sawyer laughed. “I didn’t know people said ‘hella’ anymore.”

  A smile curved Rachel’s lips, painted a deep violet that almost matched her hair. “You’re in the south now. The usual rules don’t apply.”

  The saleslady hovered around the corner like a moth, waiting. Rachel told her they’d take the leather contraption—she called it a dress—and said Sawyer would wear it out. And the shoes. God, the shoes. They were gorgeous. The kind of shoes Alannah wore every day. Impractical as hell, though they made anyone’s legs look incredible. Deep red and a little metallic, like the paint on a red sports car and just as flashy. The shoes had a fairly high heel and black felt underside. Sawyer had never been the girl who went gaga over shoes, but for these, she’d eat a plate of bugs or a moldy pig snout. Or both.