How We Deal With Gravity (10 page)

“Do you ever just stop?” Mason asks, pushing his phone back
into his pocket and dropping his feet to the ground. He leans forward on his
elbows, looking at me across the table. His arms flex slightly, and I can’t
help but shift my gaze to his bicep and the tattoo.

“What’s with the tiger?” I ask, changing the subject
entirely.

“He was a makeup tattoo. Covering up something stupid I got
when I was drunk once in Vegas. You didn’t answer my question.” He moves over a
seat, so he’s closer to me, and I shift my tray to my other hip, just to add a
barrier. He notices, and his lip curls up on the side in a devious grin.

“I know. I’m avoiding it,” I say back. He’s not going to
charm me—
this
girl can dish it,
and take it.
 

He sits back in his chair, and folds his arms now, propping
a foot back up along the side of the table. He’s chewing at the inside of his
cheek, and I’m just waiting for him to come back with a second round. I keep
loading up my tray, and when it’s full, I turn to leave. I’m almost free when
Mason catches up to me and walks me to the bar.

“I probably should have asked that differently,” he says,
pulling the tray from my hands and putting the dirties in the bin before
handing it back to me. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Avery. Not a girl in
her twenties, anyways. You just go and go and go. And I was just thinking, you
never take time to just stop—and to just
be.”

I’m sure the face I’m making back at him isn’t flattering,
but really…that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. How can I just
be
?

“You know what kind of girl does that?” I say, moving in a
little closer just so Mason knows he doesn’t intimidate me. “A vapid one,
without a kid, and who is planning a beach-house getaway with her girlfriends.
That girl is a fairytale, Mason. Make-believe. Us
real
women
? We have
responsibilities—and we put other people first. Because it’s the right
thing to do. So no—no, I don’t just ever…stop. Too much depends on me
going.”

I can actually feel my hands shaking I’m so flustered by
this conversation. All I want to do is smash my tray in his face and race off
to the locker area to lie down and breathe. But I can’t.

I can’t, because somewhere in the midst of my rant, Mason
grabbed my hand with his, and now all I can freaking focus on is the feeling of
his thumb lightly grazing my fingers and how much it makes me want to burst
into tears.

“One drink, right before close. That’s all I’m asking,”
Mason says, his eyes boring into mine like lasers. “I’m not saying pick up and
go backpacking across Europe. I’m just asking you to take a break, for once in
your life. Have a beer with the guys and me while Ray closes up. We’ll shoot
some pool, or throw some darts. Twenty minutes, and then you can go back to
living for everyone else.”

Mason’s hand is still on mine, and my brain is tangled from
the many emotions being mixed like a blender inside my chest. Whatever the
cause, I nod
yes
slowly, and slide my
hand from his.

“So, yeah? After the show tonight—we’ll hang out? Just
for one drink?” Mason’s walking backward, and he’s looking at me like he used
to in my dreams. This entire week has been surreal, and I’m capping it off with
a far-fetched fantasy. My smile is cautious, but it’s genuine. I’ve taken a
leap—and there’s the possibility that I’ll go home to Claire tonight, and
cry for an hour. Or, maybe I won’t cry. Maybe I won’t cry at all, but rather...

And I hate that feeling almost more than any other—I
recognize it, it’s hope. Goddamned Mason Street has given me hope. He better
not crush it.

Mason

I’m not
that
drunk.
I’m pretty sure Avery thinks I’m as blitzed as Ben or the other guys. But I’m
not even close. I had three or four beers, which for me is nothing. I’m in full
control of this. I’ve watched that girl avoid me all night—and I know she
was avoiding me. My mom’s not very good at secrets, and she asked me outright
why Avery was so bent on her handling
us
boys
tonight. I told her that Avery didn’t get along with Ben, but I know
it’s also because she doesn’t want to be around me. Not after I watched her cry,
and almost kissed away her tears.

The lights are coming on, and the jukebox music is the only
thing left in the bar. Josh and Matt are nearly passed out at the table. I’m
going to have to call them a cab to take them back to their apartment. Ben’s
handling his liquor pretty well, but he’s busy flirting with the last girl who
performed. I told him she didn’t look like his kind of girl—she was
pretty innocent looking, more of a girlfriend kind of girl—but he didn’t
care. He never does.

I was glad to see the boys. It’s been a couple of weeks
since we all split, trying to make sense of the label dumping us. Matt and Josh
drove around the country for a few days—they’re both originally from
Indiana, so they spent some time with their families. Ben had planned on coming
home with me, but he got hooked up with some girl in Texas and well….

I can see Avery moving back and forth, from the kitchen to
the bar, and back again. She’s busying herself, helping out others on purpose,
just to avoid spending time with me. I catch Cole’s attention while she’s in
the kitchen.

“Hey, man,” I say, nodding toward the door. “She’s avoiding
me. I just wanna talk. Help a brother out?”

Cole smiles big, and just gives me a nod, letting me know he
gets what I’m asking. Cole’s a good-looking dude, and I feel okay admitting
that. I wondered at first if he and Avery ever had a thing, but it’s clear they
haven’t. And I don’t get the sense that there’s really any interest either way.
When Avery comes back out, Cole stops her before she starts loading up more
dishes for the back.

“Ave, if you do all my work, then I won’t have a job. So…how
about you let me finish this up?” he asks. She turns to look at me immediately,
and then back at Cole, biting on the inside of her cheek. She knows I put him
up to this, she’s just deciding whether or not she wants to play along.

“All right, you sure?” she says, drying her hands on the bar
towel.

“I’m sure, Ave. I’m sure,” Cole says, almost like he’s
giving her permission. I see her shoulders rise and fall with her deep breath,
and when she turns to me, she looks like she’s in line for the world’s scariest
roller coaster.

“One drink. That’s it,” I say, walking closer to her and
crossing my heart with my right hand.

“Fine, but I get to pick the drink,” she says, moving away
from me and behind the bar. When she comes back with two Cokes, I just about
lose it.

“Ha! Seriously, this is your idea of a big night out. Damn,
girl…I’ve gotta teach you a few things,” I say, lifting the straw and
inspecting it. “Is that…a bendy straw?”

“It sure is,” she says, bending hers and taking a big sip.
Shit, her drink is already a third of the
way gone.

“Alrighty then. Well…how about we shoot some darts,” I ask,
trying to come up with anything that will slow her ass down.

“Sure. Whatever,” she says, brushing me with her shoulder
when she passes. She’s trying so hard to keep this front up. It’s really cute,
but it’s frustrating as hell.

I follow her to the billiards room and open up one of the
cabinets, pulling out the metal darts. Ray never went electronic with anything.
He always said it ruined the authenticity, and I tend to agree. These darts are
the same ones I learned to throw when I was nine years old. They’re still crazy
sharp, though. I take a small sip of my Coke and laugh under my breath. I
should have known Avery would have found a way around this—a loophole!

“So, what are we playing, first one to zero from three
hundred?” I ask, thinking that this game could go on for at least 30 minutes.

“I can’t be here that long, Mason. Let’s do two hundred,”
she already looks put out, and it’s killing me. I don’t know how I’m going to
make this girl turn a corner with me, but damn it, something’s got to get
inside her head.

“Two hundred…okay. But…we’re playing to zero exactly,” I
say, knowing that throwing a little strategy in—and making both of us end
our score at exactly zero—might just buy me a few extra minutes.

Avery’s eyes are squinted, and she’s studying me. I hate
that every time we interact she puts our entire exchange through a litmus test.
I can see her physically questioning my every motive. It’s my fault she’s like
this with me. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s my fault that she’s like this
with her entire goddamned life.

“Fine, we’ll play your way. I’m shooting first. Give me the
gold,” she’s got a little fire in her voice. Suddenly, Avery’s got a
competitive spirit going on.
This
…I
can use!

“You can be gold. But—” I hold the darts back before I
give them to her. She flips her hair around and stops her feet right in their
tracks.

“No more buts. Just throw the damn darts when I’m done,
Mason,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh at her version of bossy. No doubt,
Avery is a strong woman—and I know from experience that she can get her
point across when she needs to. But now she’s just being difficult to be mean,
to get back at me. And while I should pretend it’s working, I just can’t hold
my laughter in.

Her hands are on her hips now, and she’s forcing her lips
tight. I know she’s about to bail on the entire night. I manage to hold my
breath long enough to compose myself, and hold my hands up to signify a truce.

“We need to have something to play for. That’s all,” I say,
and she immediately gives me a sideways glance, her suspicion spiking again.

“Fine, if I beat you, you do all my dishes—here and at
home—for the next week,” she’s proud of herself with this one, and the
smirk on her face shows me she thinks I’ll back off, not wanting to do any hard
work. She should know better, though—I’ve never been afraid of hard work,
especially at the bar.

I nod my head in agreement, and step closer to her, reaching
out my hand to shake on it. When she slides her soft fingers into mine, it’s
the most amazing feeling in the world. Other than those few seconds when my
fingers were on her face, the only other time Avery touched me was when she
slapped me across the cheekbone. I like this touch
a whole lot
more.

She’s about to let go of our shake when I hold her grasp
firmly, and step in even closer. I’ve got one shot at this.

“And if I win,” I say, my lips unable to contain the
shit-eating grin on my face as I move closer to her ear. She’s frozen, and I
can see her neck speckled with goosebumps, but she’s not moving away either. I
lick my lips slightly, just to see what that does, and when I hear her breath
escape, I know I’ve got her. “If I win, I get to kiss you. Like I was supposed
to a decade ago.”

Her face is flushed when I pull away, her lips parted, and
her eyes almost afraid—but her hand is still in mine, so I give it one
more shake just to seal the deal. I turn away, and I can feel her still
standing there, watching me. I wanted to kiss her right then, her neck is so
soft and she smells so good. For the last five years, I’ve done nothing but
have one-night stands and flings with girls who smell like smoke and tequila.
Avery—she smells like heaven.

“Go on, princess. You wanted to go first,” I say, wishing
like hell that I kept up with this game. I used to be good—even hustled a
few of the locals when I was in high school. But it’s been years since I’ve
thrown a dart.

Avery takes a drink of her soda, and I notice her hands are
still shaking slightly when she tries to line up her shot. She’s nervous, and I
hope like hell she throws this game so I can feel how soft her lips are. She
shuts her eyes for a brief second, and when she opens them again, her hands are
steadier. Her eyes are focused on the board, her elbow bent in front of her,
when she releases.

Eighteen. Okay, so this is not going to be a walk in the
park. Her next throw is only a four, and her last one is a ten, so I feel like
I might have some room to breathe.

“Show me what you’ve got,” she says as she walks by with a
little swagger in her step. She’s putting up a good act, but I notice the small
quiver in her voice when she speaks.

I grab my darts from the table, and take a big gulp of my
Coke, wiping my mouth across my sleeve like I would if I were drinking the hard
stuff. It makes her laugh, so I got what I wanted.

“All right…let me show you how this is done,” I say, holding
her gaze long enough for her to blink and look away. I’m smiling while I line
up my shot, and I move my arm back just enough to give the dart some sticking
power, and then release.

Two.

Avery is laughing so hard she has to actually cover her
mouth. It’s one of those laugh-so-hard-no-noise-comes-out kind of laughs.
Honestly, I love seeing her face like this. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile
like this once since I’ve been back, and it’s almost worth losing…
almost.

As pretty as her lips are when they’re smiling, I can’t
imagine how they look inches away from my own…begging.
Begging.
Like I could ever get Avery to beg me for anything. But
just the thought…

I have to shake my head to focus; I’m getting so worked up.
Avery’s too busy fussing with the feathers on her darts to notice, which is
good, because I’m pretty sure what I’m thinking about right now—the way
I’m reacting to her—she would
notice
!

After a few deep breaths, I refocus, and line my second shot
up. This one’s better—seventeen. One more big number, and I’ll be in the
lead. I’ve got Avery’s attention now, too—and this time, there is no
laughter. Instead, her bottom lip is completely tucked under her top teeth, and
her knee is bouncing like a damned jackrabbit.