How We Deal With Gravity (20 page)

Avery

“Why the hell are you so nervous,” Claire asks over the
phone, while I toss every piece of clothing I own on the floor, looking for
something—
anything
—that will
make me feel like a pretty girl on her first date.

Max is staying with Claire at Dusty’s until the crowd lets
up, and Cole is taking over her shift. I’d give anything for those two to hook
up, but I know neither one would make the first move. Claire talks a big game,
but she’s really quite the wallflower when push comes to shove.

“Claire, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a
date?” I say, not really thinking about it until she fires her answer back at
me.

“Yeah, about half as long as it’s been for me,” she says.
Ouch.

“Sorry,” I say, sitting down on my bed and hoping something
will jump out at me. “Claire?”

“What, pumpkin?” she asks, the sass back in her tone. I’m
about to make her day.

“I…slept with him,” I swallow hard, waiting for her
reaction.

“What! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Avery Abbot, you
better tell me everything this time—no glossing over the details. I want
Cinemax porn kind of details, you hear me? It’s not every day that your bestie
gets to see the hottest man to ever be spawned in your hometown without his
clothes on!” Her tirade has me laughing, and I promise her I will give her
every last juicy drop. It will embarrass the hell out of me, but she’ll harass
me until I tell her, so it’s best to just get it over with.

“I’ll fill you in tomorrow, while the band’s playing. But
look, I’ve gotta go now. He’s going to be here any minute, and I’m still
wearing sweatpants,” I sigh.

“Who cares, he’s just going to rip them off of you,” Claire
teases.

“Not helping!” I giggle.

“Just go with simple and comfortable. I’d wear jeans,” she
says, hinting that she might know a thing or two about my date.

“Jeans, hmmmm?” I ask, kicking out a few piles on my floor
to unveil my favorite pair.

“Yep. Now have a good time, and don’t worry about anything.
We’ve got you covered,” she says, hanging up before I can grill her for any
details.

Jeans—I can do jeans. I slip on my favorite
comfortable pair with the small jewels on the back pockets and pair it with a
black tank top—this look never really goes wrong. I put my low black
boots on just in case I need to do any walking—
what if we really are tipping cows?
I brush out my hair, and tip
the ends with an iron so the waves look even, and then splash a little bit of
my body spray on my neck just in time for there to be a soft knock at my door.

Deep breath. I barely get a glimpse of him before his lips
are crashing into mine and he’s dipping me backward, holding me close to his
body so I don’t fall. I start to laugh when I feel like his grip is slipping,
and he teases me, pretending to let go only to catch me and pull me back to my
feet.

“First off, you look amazing,” he says, and I smack at his
arm.

“You didn’t even look at me!” I protest.

“I did, in that split second when I almost dropped you. I
looked at you and your hotness,” he smiles, the freaking dimples doing their
job. “And two, I had to get that out of the way or else it’s all I’d be
thinking about doing. I should be good for the next hour then.”

“Hour?” I protest, knowing full well I can’t go that long
without kissing him again. Especially with him smelling like that, and wearing
those light blue jeans that sit low enough on his hips that when he raises his
arms I can see those two muscles leading into his boxers, which peak out right
above the waistline.

“Okay, maybe ten minutes,” he winks, holding out his hand. I
grab it and am immediately soothed by the sensation of his fingers intertwined
with mine. It’s such a simple touch, holding hands. But having Mason’s wrapped
around mine feels so natural, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel
alone.

Mason leads me to his car, and I look around for clues while
he walks to his side. He catches me, and starts laughing. “You’re not going to
find a map in here,” he says, looking over his shoulder while he backs out onto
the road.

“Can you give me any clues?” I ask, and he just slips on his
sunglasses and smiles.

“I can tell you that you’ll be out all night. Good thing
tomorrow’s Friday,” he says, his eyebrows raised just above the rims of his
glasses.

I huff, but it’s really only for pretend. Truth is, Mason
could be driving me to a grocery store where he plans to walk the aisles for
hours, and I’d happily join him. These last few weeks have been a dream, and I
never want to wake up.

We pull up next to a barn about thirty minutes north of Cave
Creek, and Mason jumps out quickly, rushing over to my side to get my door. “I
can let myself out of a car ya know,” I say, though I secretly like that he’s
going full-gentleman tonight.

“Just preserving your energy,” he says, tipping his glasses
down to give me a look that has my body tingling and wishing we were alone. He
holds my eyes for a few long seconds and then shakes his head. “Damn.”

“Damn, what?” I ask.

“Just…damn,” he smirks, and I blush.

Mason leads me to the other end of the barn where there’s an
older man saddling up a few horses. “Hey there. Are you Jeff?” he asks, and the
man dusts his hands against his jeans, sending puffs of dirt in the air, before
turning around to shake Mason’s hand.

“That’s me. You must be Mason?” he says, his mustache
groomed into this perfect handlebar. We have a lot of cowboys in town, but the
further away you get from the big city, the more authentic they are. Jeff here
looks like he’s probably the real deal.

“I’ve got ‘em saddled for ya. You’ll want to follow the
green trail on the map. Dinner’s at eight,” he says, handing the reigns over to
Mason. When I realize Jeff is leaving us alone, with two ginormous horses, I
start to laugh nervously.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” I say, taking the
reigns of the smaller horse from Mason. I pet my horse along his nose, and he
dips his head down to sniff me. I’ve been around horses a lot. I’m not a great
rider, but I’m comfortable with them.

When I look back to Mason, he’s already swinging his leg
over and getting ready. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see him so relaxed on
a horse, but I can’t hide my shock. “You are full of surprises, Mason Street,”
I smile, lifting myself up and climbing onto my horse.

“Her name’s Dixie. This is Red. I had to sell them when the
contract fell through,” he says, running his hand down his horse’s neck and
back up again. When he looks at me, his smile is forced and flat, and I feel
heartbroken for him.

“I had no idea. I’m sorry, Mason,” I say, my brain
entertaining silly thoughts like running away with him and his horses right
now.

“It’s okay. It was just one of those things; I always wanted
horses. You know, like some people always want a racecar or…whatever. I didn’t
get to see them much, and it didn’t really make sense to own them anyhow. It
was the first thing I did with the money we got, and it was probably a stupid
financial decision. Jeff works for the ranch I sold them to. They let people
ride. I haven’t been up since I’ve been home, but it felt like a good time to
come…with you,” he says, and the way he’s looking at me feels like he’s been
looking at me for forever.

We ride Dixie and Red for about an hour, winding through a
trail along a riverbed and through a few small hills deeper into the desert. By
the time we reach a small group of people, the sun is starting to set.

“Here,” Mason says, dismounting and reaching to hold Dixie
for me while I climb down myself. We never rode fast or hard, but my thighs
still hurt anyhow. I know I’ll pay for this tomorrow, but I’d ride for hours in
pain just to end up here with Mason.

There’s a large campfire going, and a few older men sitting
with guitars and playing. I notice three or four other couples walking over to
a small table to pick up food, and I smile up at Mason.

“Are we having a cookout?” I ask, watching him pull a rolled
up blanket from the back part of the saddle.

“I figured I could take you to a fancy restaurant anytime,”
he says, reaching for me. I fold right against his body, his arm tucking me in
tightly.

The fall weather is starting to settle in and the desert air
is chilly at night, so Mason lays out our blanket close to the fire, and makes
me comfortable while he goes to make our plates. The three men playing and
singing on the other side of the fire are singing old country tunes, and they
remind me of my mother. She loved Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings.

Mason comes back with two plates piled high with more food than
I could ever eat, and we both sit close together on our blanket, devouring
barbecued chicken legs, cornbread, and beans. I’m barely though half of my
plate and I have to stop.

“Are you giving up?” Mason asks, his mouth busy working a
bite while he talks.

“Uhhhhg, I’m so full,” I say, lying back on the blanket and
pushing my plate toward him. He just looks at me and grins, then grabs my
cornbread muffin and eats it whole. “You are like a bottomless pit!”

He stands up and brushes the crumbs from his shirt, then
picks up our plates. “Bottomless pit of
lovin’,
”
he says in his most ridiculous fake sexy voice. I roll my eyes at him, and slap
at the back of his leg as he steps over me. “You know you love me.”

I can’t help but smirk when he walks away because he’s
right—I know I do.

After dinner, we snuggle close, and Mason pulls the bottom
edge of the blanket up over my legs to keep me warm. The old men tell a few
stories, but we’re not really listening. We’re whispering to one another, like
young campers up late at night.

“When did you know you wanted to play music?” I ask him,
situating myself along his arm so I can watch his eyes animate while he talks.

“I used to watch your dad play with some of his friends, and
I liked the way everyone looked at him. So one day I asked him to show me how
to do a chord, and he did. The next day, I asked him to show me another. And we
just sort of kept on going like that for months until he finally just gave me a
guitar of my own,” Mason says. I love the way he loves my dad.

“I’m glad he taught you. You’re better than him, though, you
know?” I say, leaning my weight into him, just needing to be closer.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, his face serious at first but
quickly falling into a grin.

“How about you. Why are you studying English?” he asks.

I have to think about it for a few seconds, because my
answer has changed since I took my first classes years ago. “I’ve always loved
reading,” I start, but then I pause. “It’s more than that, though. It’s like I
really understand books, and the story underneath the story. And, I had this
fantasy of getting my PhD. I wanted to teach at some fancy college back East.
But now…I think I just want to finish something.”

Mason’s stare at me seems thoughtful, and he leans forward
to brush a hair away from my face and kiss my forehead lightly. “You’re
amazing, you know that?” he says, still looking at me with the same intensity.

“I guess,” I say, looking down at my lap, uncomfortable with
his compliment. There’s nothing very amazing about me at all.

“No, you are. Look at what you’ve done, on your own. If you
want to teach at a college, Avery, you should,” he says, lifting my chin to
look at him. “You should.”

The way he’s looking at me forms a lump in my throat. I’m
not used to anyone challenging my decision to give up. My father supports me,
and I know he’d cheer me on in whatever I do. But Mason—he’s doing more
than that. He seems to actually believe in me.

“Why don’t you talk to your mom much?” I ask, wanting to
divert the focus away from me for a while.
  

Mason lies back when I ask this, taking in a deep breath and
folding his arms under his neck. His shirt lifts up just enough to show off his
bare skin, and I want to touch it, so I lie back against him and run my hand
under his shirt just to feel his warmth. I feel his body react when I do, so I
don’t linger there long.

“My mom did the best she could,” he starts, but then chews
at his cheek for a few seconds, his brow bunched, until he turns his body to
face me. “No, that’s not true. She probably could have done better. She was
always pawning me off on people, your dad more than most, so she could go on
long weekends with guys she’d meet at the bar. She was always looking for that
quick fix
in life—marry rich and
live easy. When I got old enough to realize what she was doing, I’d confront
her about it. We had some serious fights when I was a teenager.”

“That’s when you stayed at our house a lot,” I whisper,
connecting Mason’s story, which I already knew, but for some reason hearing it
from him made me feel differently about it all. I felt sad, for him and for
Barb.

“Yeah, Ray said it was better for me and my mom to have
space, rather than ending up hating each other,” he says, his eyes coming to
mine while he talks, and his lips tighten into a soft smile. “He was right. And
I don’t hate her. I thought I did for a while, but I realize that she and I
aren’t very different. We’re both selfish in our own way. And I know my mom
loves me…she loves me the best she can.”

For some reason his words make me want to hold him tightly,
so I cling to his side and squeeze his entire body to mine. When I do, he pulls
me up to his face and kisses my lips softly. Then, he just stares at my eyes
for minutes, the sounds of everything else behind us fading away. The longer he
looks at me, the faster my heart races, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I won’t.