The Fundamental Theory of Us Read online

  The waiter stopped by and they placed orders. When Sawyer’s turn came, she stared between Andrew and the menu, unsure, until he finally ordered for her. Relief flooded her chest. Conversation returned to training once the waiter left their table.

  “We can start the heavy training in a week, if you give me an idea of what you want to work on,” Andrew said.

  TaylorandLogan’s enthusiastic response almost drowned out the sound of her phone. Sawyer felt it as much as she heard it. She’d become hardwired to recognize whatever sound her phone made when a text message came through. She knew Rachel wouldn’t be texting her—not after her blissed-out week with Lola.

  Everything faded away. People and conversation, the smell of fajita spices and sizzling peppers, heat from Andrew’s body next to her—gone, until she sat alone with her phone. This time she knew. How? She couldn’t say. But she knew.

  She opened the message, expecting the worst.

  Five words looked up at her.

  Five little words sent from over six hundred miles away.

  Five words, meant to scare her.

  And they did.

  You can’t hide from me.

  ****

  The rest of the night after she read his text passed in a blur. Sawyer didn’t even taste the chicken Andrew ordered for her. When he drove back to their building, she got out of his truck without saying a word—she walked into the building and up the stairs, shut her door, locked it, and ran to her bedroom. Hiding. Playing turtle.

  Sawyer should have changed her number when she moved, but she couldn’t—what if something happened to Courtney? No one ever called her, though. She embarrassed her entire family, and the day she left, they made it clear she wasn’t welcome back. The only one who contacted her was Chase.

  Early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting sunbeams across the room. A glance at her phone made Sawyer sigh. Not even six yet. On a Sunday morning. Groan.

  She tried forcing herself back to sleep. Threw a pillow over her head. I wonder how much Andrew hates me now. He had to. After the way she acted last night? She wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked at her again. He’ll probably avoid me, and stop sitting beside me in Fundamentals, and—

  Sawyer groaned and rolled onto her stomach. Half the bedding slid down to the floor. Cool air brushed her bare legs. She hadn’t bothered putting pajamas on last night and regretted that lazy-bum action now. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best … I bet even his dog hates me now.

  Nope. Sleep was not happening. Which sucked, considering the lack of quality rest she got last night. Bad dreams, tossing and turning, and that was not even mentioning the hour-long wrestling match with the covers. Sawyer pushed up on her elbows, her stomach growling. Five little words screwed up the delicate balance she’d tried to achieve in her new life. Swing and a miss.

  Another rumble in her empty jungle, and Sawyer trudged to the shower. She had the early morning shift at The Spot, the campus bookstore café, and had to bake a couple batches of muffins. Well, if popping a batch of premade, just-add-water mix in a tray and putting it in the oven counted as baking. Discarded clothes from the night before littered the floor. Sawyer ignored them, shoving on a pair of shapeless jeans and an equally unflattering sweater. Worn sneakers completed the look, if thrift store chic was a look.

  The hallway was clear when she stepped out. No signs of movement from Andrew’s door. No Rosie barking and running over to lick her hand. Sawyer stared at Andrew’s place. She half expected him to swing the door open after spending the night staring through the peephole. He seemed like that kind of guy.

  At the café, Sawyer heated the ovens and started up the fancy coffee machine, then poured the mix and water into a mixer. Watching muffin mix was boring and gave her overactive imagination time to come up with a million scenarios, all ending with the same scene: Chase, here in Boone, doing what he threatened every time they were in the same room.

  The mixer finished. She shut down her crazy and spooned the mix into muffin liners, finishing just as her phone chimed. This time, she didn’t jump—the funky tone belonged to Rachel. The tone she had chosen for her number. Her actual number.

  u at work? got coffee on?

  Sawyer replied, shaking her head with a smile. She wasn’t a rule breaker, though she hadn’t seen any rules against having another employee in when it wasn’t their shift. Besides, she could use the company. Something to keep her thoughts from swerving into the tornado of fear swirling around in her head.

  She had downed about a gallon of coffee when Rachel came in through the employee entrance, singing. People who sang this early in the morning made Sawyer cringe. People who were too happy made her cringe.

  “I think I’m in love with the smell of muffins,” Rachel said with a sigh, propping herself on the stainless steel counter next to the ovens. “Are those pumpkin spice?”

  “Yeah.” Sawyer frowned. “It’s kind of early in the year, but that’s the mix with today’s date on it. There’s also apple cinnamon and I have to make up some mocha crème frosting. Plus the cinnamon crème frosting for the pumpkin spice muffins.”

  “Yum!” Rachel grabbed a couple bowls. “I’ll help.”

  “Why are you even here? Didn’t you go out with Lola last night?”

  “Of course.” Ingredients surrounded the bowls. Rachel reached for a large wooden spoon. “It was a day ending in the letter ‘Y’.”

  Sawyer fought, and failed, a massive eye-roll. “You guys are together all the time. It’s like you’re skipping the dating part and going straight to the—” She paused, not really knowing what the next step was.

  Rachel smirked and helped herself to a day-old croissant from the employee’s canister. “I think by now Lola and I have moved past the ‘dating’ part. Nightly sex, waking up in her arms, and spending like, every free second together is more than just dating, in my opinion.” She popped a piece of croissant in her mouth and chewed, a wholly ecstatic look in her eyes that had nothing to do with flaky, buttery goodness on her tongue.

  Her stomach grumbled again and Sawyer remembered that she hadn’t eaten yet. She snatched the remaining croissant, eating it over one hand. Rachel poured two cups of coffee, added cream, and topped them with whipped cream, like she always did. One impromptu breakfast later, they each mixed up a bowl of frosting while Rachel filled Sawyer in on every detail of her “explosively awesome” sex life. Sawyer pretended not to be interested. Aside from looking up porn, this was her only experience with … that.

  Rachel set her frosting in the fridge. “Now we need to get you some action.”

  “No.” Sawyer almost dropped her bowl on the way to the fridge. She removed the muffins from the oven and set them on the racks to cool. The kitchen smelled as good as she imagined Heaven might smell like. “I’m not having this conversation.” She headed into the front to make sure things were ready for when they opened in a few minutes.

  “Why not? What’s wrong with sex?”

  Sawyer ignored her, grabbing a cloth to wipe the counters down. They were already clean; the evening shift saw to that. It gave her something to do, something to focus on, other than Rachel and her sex talk. Their conversations had switched gears, from begging Sawyer to go to parties, to all about getting physical. Inventive. She could list the surfaces in Boone where Rachel and Lola had “done the nasty” as Rachel liked to say.

  Rachel switched on the lights and set chairs on the floor. “It’s just sex. You’re not a commitment-phobe, are you? ‘Cause you don’t have to commit if you don’t want to, but, come on. Sex is the best kind of tension relief out there. And sweetie, no offense, but you’re so tense I’m scared you’ll crack into like, nine big pieces.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Sawyer left the counters to turn the sign and unlock the door. “Not everyone needs to discuss … that … all the time.”

  Rachel gave her the “I’m reading your brainwaves” side-eye. This lasted s
everal tense minutes, punctuated by the ticking clock and hum of lights in the display cases. “Something happened to you, didn’t it?”

  “What? No. Don’t be stupid.” Sawyer didn’t believe herself, so why should Rachel?

  “Look, I know we’re not like, super close. Yet.” She smirked. “But you can trust me. I mean, who else gives up awesome parties for you?”

  “That’s not even—” Sawyer broke off when the door clinked and Andrew walked in, dressed in work out gear that did nothing to hide his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful thighs.

  “Not even what?” Rachel pressed. She laughed when she saw Andrew. “Never mind. I can tell you’re preoccupied.”

  “What?” Sawyer gave the counter her attention. She must have wiped this section a hundred times in the last forty seconds.

  “You want him so bad, it’s like standing in a room with an honest to God gravitational pull.”

  Sawyer’s arm jerked into a rack of packaged biscotti and a few of them fell. She let out a curse and bent to pick them up, focusing on rearranging the display rather than Andrew’s body and his eyes and his smile.

  Rachel leaned in to murmur in Sawyer’s ear. “Did he do something to you?”

  “No, God no.” Warmth filled her belly at the memories of the past few weeks. “Nothing like that, okay? Whatever you’re thinking, it’s so off base.”

  “If you’re sure,” Rachel said, her narrowed eyes glued to Andrew.

  “I swear. If you’re thinking the”—Sawyer ducked her head to whisper—“the ‘R’ word, you’re wrong. I promise.”

  Purple Punk Princess studied the way Andrew was looking at Sawyer, and the blush creeping up Sawyer’s face. Then Rachel shrugged. “All right, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Leaving Rachel at the end of the counter, Sawyer moved slowly down to the register where Andrew stopped, waiting for her with his cocky, crooked grin. The heat in her belly traveled lower, and expanded, until she thought she’d go supernova right there in the coffee shop.

  “Hey,” Andrew said. The corners of his eyes creased deeper as his smile widened.

  “Hey.” She paused. “How’s Rosie?” There, a safe topic.

  He glanced over his shoulder to where Rosie sat tied up on a bike rack, slurping water from a small metal bowl. “She’s good. Took her on a long walk this morning.” He shoved a hand through his hair and the dark strands flopped on his brow. “You kind of shut down last night after you checked your phone.”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “But I think you could use this.”

  Sawyer looked at the card and her heart hardened. “A shrink?” She stared at him and swore her eyes turned into weapons. “You think I’m crazy. Thanks.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  Sawyer wasn’t interested in his excuses or reasons or whatever he wanted to call them. Accusations in pretty paper still stung. “Are you buying anything? If not, you’re welcome to leave and let the door hit you on the way out.”

  Andrew rose to the challenge. “I’ll take a cappuccino and a tall stack of oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes with two orders of bacon, and fresh fruit on the side.”

  Jerk. He picked the stuff that took the longest to cook. On purpose.

  Sawyer rang him up while an entire hive of killer bees swarmed in her stomach. When his hand brushed hers as he paid, her heart pounded so hard she tasted her pulse. Then he smiled, like she hadn’t bitten his head off, like he enjoyed it when people were rude to him on purpose. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind because it was her.

  She couldn’t brush off the “you’re crazy and need to get your head examined” moment. She might have issues, but who didn’t? And in light of the shit she’d put up with at home, Sawyer thought she had come out relatively sane on the other side.

  Andrew Warren was a complication. A sexy, complicated, and super-annoying complication, one she didn’t want or need.

  Lie.

  Chapter Ten

  A few days later, at lunch, Sawyer scoured the cafeteria for signs of Andrew. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but Rachel and Lola interrupted her search, so he could have been there and she just didn’t see him. The couple dropped down across from Sawyer, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Their lips kept touching, like not kissing was impossible.

  Sawyer frowned at her sandwich. The lettuce and tomato were together with a glob of mayo, which made the tomato slide out and land on her plate with a gross splat. The old her would have seen the pattern around the red circle, would have seen the beauty in it. Now all Sawyer saw was a filling that fell out of her sandwich, one she had to put back, and her fingers would get all sticky and gross because she didn’t grab a napkin on her way over to the table.

  “You look like you’re going to murder your sandwich,” Lola said, a spark in her eyes.

  Sawyer shook her head. “I forgot to get a napkin.”

  Rachel pulled a stack from her tray and set them in the middle of the table, followed by one of every piece of plastic cutlery the cafeteria had. “I figured you would. Your brain has like, totally died lately.”

  “Has not.” Sawyer fixed her sandwich and snagged a napkin.

  “Has too.” Rachel dipped a fry in mayo and waved it around as she spoke. “Look, I’m not saying he was right, but ignoring the guy isn’t the best way to get into his pants.”

  Lola jabbed Rachel in the ribs. They were both laughing.

  Ignoring people was how she coped. So what? Big deal. She grabbed a fork and stabbed the tomato. A person should be allowed to deal with her problems on her own. Without interference from so-called “friends.” And sexy neighbors.

  Sawyer heard a laugh—one she knew well—and looked up. Across the room, three tables away, she spotted Andrew sitting with Emory Daughton from art, and the pair looked pretty cozy. Hot jealousy twisted in her stomach. He was free to do what he wanted. It didn’t make the pain of seeing him happy with another girl any less excruciating. What if he was dating other girls? Hooking up with the entire female population on campus? Sawyer squeezed her eyes shut. He could do what he wanted. She didn’t care.

  Total lie, but whatever.

  Emory giggled and flicked her glossy brown hair over her shoulder. She felt up Andrew’s bicep with the other. Andrew didn’t move away. Nope. She was not going to sit here and watch their foreplay. Sawyer had lost her appetite.

  “I’m going to the library.” She picked up her tray.

  Lola settled her dark gaze on Sawyer. “Why? We were just teasing.”

  “Yeah,” Rachel agreed. “We’ll stop.”

  “It’s not you. I just … need to get out of here.”

  Sawyer turned and her foot caught on the chair. Her tray flew across the room and she ended up on the floor. A moment later, a pair of black boots filled her vision and a hand came down. She hesitated a second before accepting the silent offer of help, thinking, what the hell? When she was on her feet again, Sawyer looked into Andrew’s bright eyes. She snatched her hand away. Emory stood at his side, her hand on his shoulder shooting daggers at Sawyer. The look read “back off, bitch.” Sawyer stepped away, avoiding Andrew’s gaze.

  She didn’t give him a chance to ask if she was okay, because she knew he would. Grabbing her bag, Sawyer swung the strap over her shoulder, her movements jerky and her hands shaking, and left the cafeteria with her chin touching her chest. The room remained silent even after she pushed the doors open and stepped into the crisp fall air. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the library and plonked herself down in a chair and hooked up her laptop to the library’s Wi-Fi. Her hands were still shaking.

  The next day was Saturday. Sawyer watched from her bedroom window as Andrew and Rosie took off in his truck early that morning, and as soon as he was gone, she showered, dressed, and drove twenty minutes to Blowing Rock, where the nearest museum was located. There were a few closer
to Boone, though they were all about oddities and kids’ stuff. She wanted to see some art. Surround herself with the familiar. So she went to BRAHM—Blowing Rock Art & History Museum.

  She spent hours among the paintings, sculptures, and photographs, devouring each in awe. The thing about art, Sawyer realized at a young age, was, yeah, it was subjective, but unless she opened herself up to new possibilities and different views, she’d never see the beauty in each piece. She adored the sculptures because she couldn’t create something like those. The photographs, because she never could get the lighting and angles right. The paintings because these artists were brave enough to look beyond the bad things in their lives and turn it into stunning visual beauty.

  When she left the museum, Sawyer grabbed a cheap sandwich from a deli down the road and spent a few hours walking down the main streets of Blowing Rock. Before coming to North Carolina, she had never been anywhere else outside of New York State. Oh sure, she had taken trips to Paris and London, “family” vacations to St. Bart’s, and even spent six months in Moscow before she started kindergarten. So far, she liked the south best.

  The sky darkened and Sawyer got in her car, heading for home. She tried to spend as much time away from her apartment building on the weekends as she could. Especially now that Andrew was dating Emory. She didn’t want to hear them coming to his place, didn’t want to look out the peephole and see him kissing her. Touching her. The thought alone made her stomach twist. When she got home, she went into her apartment and shut the door. His truck wasn’t in the parking lot. Hopefully Sawyer would be asleep before he brought Emory over.

  She turned on the TV and found a Clark Gable movie, one of her favorites. It Happened One Night had just started, and she settled down on the couch to watch.

  She woke up hours later to a blaring infomercial for some kitchen crap, her stomach cramping and tearing, like it wanted out of her body now. Her temples throbbed a vicious beat as she pushed herself up. The room tilted. A hot sweat broke out all over.