The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (16 page)

“Spain?” she questions as we arrive at the restaurant. She holds the door open for me, I note.

I slip my sunglasses off and dangle them from the collar of my t-shirt. “Yes, next July. I’d like to see the running of the bulls.”

She chuckles as we are being seated. “Sure. I’ve always wanted to watch a bunch of idiots get trampled to death.”

“It sounds cool as hell, doesn’t it?”

She snatches the menu from the table and scans it over quickly. Her features contort with confusion. “I can’t read any of this,” she sighs. “I should’ve taken Spanish in high school.”

“It’s cool.” I reach across the table and rub the soft skin on the back of her hand. “Leave it to me.”

Our waitress comes over. I say, “Me gustaría que el pollo saltado, y mi amiga tendrá el pollo de gallina. Y dos refrescos de dieta, por favor.”

Payton’s jaw drops so low it nearly hits the table. “How did you do that? You didn’t take Spanish in high school, either.”

“I’ve picked it up here and there.”

“Uh huh.” She folds her arms. “So, what did you order for me?”

“Pollo de Gallina, chicken cooked with eggs, peanuts, milk, and cheese. And a diet soda.”

“I’m impressed. Nice job.”

“I need to practice for our trip to Pamplona.”

She grins. “You should teach me.”

“Okay. That’s a fair trade for piano lessons.”

❄ ❄ ❄

We get back to the apartment around six, leaving us just enough time to get ready for our night out with Lauren. I take a shower, blow dry my hair, and slip on a black, one-shouldered cocktail dress. It’s designed in such a way that it looks like I’m wrapped in a body cast made entirely of lace. I’m checking myself out in the mirror when Payton knocks on my door. I don’t spot it at first, but on second glance I see she’s in a towel. Her hair is damp and draped over her shoulders.
This is not good.

She’s staring at me with such intensity that, for just a second, I wonder if maybe we’re both thinking the exact same thing. I want to say “Let’s do this and get it over with already,” but she speaks first.

“I, um, I don’t know what to wear.”

Anything! Please, put
something
on. I don’t care what.
“You’ve got those black dress pants,” I suggest. “With a white button down and the little vest that has the buckle in the back. That will be perfect.”

“Right. Thanks,” she says and heads for the door.

I think the moment has passed, but then she stops and turns back to me. “You look beautiful by the way.”

I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
Now please leave. This is too bizarre.

She nods and walks away. I narrowly escape with my sanity intact.

❄ ❄ ❄

We arrive at Diamante’s fifteen minutes after eight. Payton’s fretting about showing up late, and I tell her to relax. In LA, being late is fashionable. The host recognizes me right away and leads us over to the table where Lauren is.

“Hi!” Lauren stands and faux kisses both of my cheeks. It’s the most cliché Hollywood greeting, but I return the gesture anyhow.

“Lauren Atwell, this is Payton Taylor,” I motion between them. “Payton, Lauren.”

Lauren examines her meticulously. The look on her face! It’s like she’s a starved wolf about to pounce on wounded prey. She beams warmly and extends her hand. “Hello, Payton. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Payton flashes her most charming smile. “Congratulations on getting the part,” she says as she shakes Lauren’s offered hand. The very instant their palms meet, the air around us thickens. The sparks between them are practically visible from
space.
Typical!

“Ladies, I’ve gone ahead and ordered us a bottle of Château,” Lauren sits and signals for our waiter to pour the wine.

“Lovely,” I mumble as I take a seat. I realize very quickly that I need to keep my tone in check; it has a serious bite to it, totally capable of doing irreparable damage. I grab my glass of wine, nearly down it entirely in one gulp, and motion for the waiter to refill my glass.

“Thank you,” Payton says to both Lauren and our waiter.

“So, Payton,” Lauren starts, “you’re a model?”

Payton’s face reddens. She giggles nervously. “No. I’m a college student.”

“You
should
be a model.”

As soon as she says it, I get a hankering to lunge across the table and choke the ever-loving shit out of her. It’s startling. I am
not
a violent person, and she hasn’t even done anything wrong.
Yes, she has! She dropped a line on my girl!
Not
my
girl, just… oh, fuck me sideways! Of all the stupid things I have done in my life, introducing Payton to a tall, blonde,
sometimes
lesbian with high cheek bones might be the dumbest.

“She’s starting classes at the Music Academy of Los Angeles soon,” I butt in, trying to lighten my own mood while simultaneously informing Lauren that Payton has much more going for her than a spectacular physique.

The look of surprise on Lauren’s face irritates me to no end. Was she expecting Payton to be another brainless, pretty girl who came to LA in hopes of being discovered? “MALA. That is very impressive. I hear they only cater to prodigies,” she says.

Payton grins. “I wouldn’t classify myself as a prodigy.”

“I
would
,” I interject. Payton glares at me. “What? You’re amazing. You have to hear the music she writes. It’s superb, extremely moving.”

Lauren nods. “And what are you majoring in? Classical? Contemporary?”

“Film scoring, actually,” Payton replies before taking a sip of her wine.

“You definitely chose the right school for that.”

Throughout the entire meal, the two of them go on and on while I silently observe. I am little more than a fly on the wall, a stalking shadow. They are hitting it off famously, and I’m fading into the background. What’s worse than Lauren’s flirtation is that Payton is playing off of it—she is flirting
back
. I want to tell her not to fall for it, the smooth-talking starlet bit. But there’s a real chance they might honestly
like
each other. If that’s the case, I have no right to stand in the way. I’ve laid no claim to Payton; she can’t be stolen from me if she was never mine to begin with.
Oh, look, there’s more wine!

“Oh, Kendall,” Lauren says, “are you going to the Time Zone Ball?”

“Are you kidding? My publicist requires it. He went as far as to mandate that I accompany Gunner Roderick.”

Lauren chortles. “Kendall Bettencourt and Gunner Roderick, now
there’s
a match made in gene pool heaven.”

I nod. “Oh, yeah, we’d procreate and pop out beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed heirs to the Tinsel Town throne if Lawrence had his way. Seriously, he’s shipping us so hard. Gunner will probably get stuck escorting me around for a while.”

Payton furrows her brow. “What is the Time Zone Ball?”

“It’s the annual New Year’s Eve party at the Beverly Regency Hotel,” Lauren replies.

“Basically, it’s an excuse for celebrities to dress in couture, get completely hosed, and make out en masse,” I add.

Payton rolls her eyes. “That sounds like a
blast
.”

“It’s not so bad,” Lauren says, “except that I’m going solo.”

I already know where she’s headed with this—someplace that is sure to infuriate me. I contemplate excusing myself to the ladies’ room so that I can throw a fit out of public view, but I stay seated, exposing myself to the fullest extent of punishment.

“Payton, would you like to be my date?” Lauren asks slickly.

Payton is entirely flummoxed, like she’s the ugly duckling who just realized she’s a swan. “You want
me
to be your date?”

Lauren titters, amused. “Yes, I want
you
to be my date. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because… I’m nobody.”

Lauren reaches across the table, takes Payton’s hand and says, “Everyone is somebody. And you happen to be somebody that I’d like to get to know.”

Jesus Christ, I’m going to pass out! I am seriously going to have a nervous breakdown right here in the middle of the restaurant. More fodder for the tabloids.
Just say no, Payton, like you would to crack cocaine!

“I’d be honored, but I don’t have anything high-fashion enough to wear to that kind of thing.”

She didn’t.
I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Minor detail,” Lauren says, shirking off Payton’s fret. “Who is your favorite designer? We can have them dress you.”

Payton looks at me, and I shrug.
I am so not down to help you throw yourself at anyone.
“I don’t really have a favorite,” she says.

“I think you’d look amazing in Vincenzo Montebello,” Lauren remarks. “What do you think, Kendall?”

I think you should drop it before I sink my claws into your pretty little neck and rip your tongue out through the gashes
. Say what now? No!
Kendall, for real, what the hell is wrong with you?
I lean back in my chair, fold my arms, and fake the most undaunted expression that my facial muscles can form. “I think she’d look amazing in anything to be honest.”

Payton blushes again. “I do like Victoria Westfeld.”

“She is
very
punk-rock sexy,” Lauren replies. I can tell by her tone that she approves. “All right, so if I can get you in a Westfeld, you’ll be my date?”

“Sure,” Payton smirks as if she doubts that it could happen. I know what she’s thinking. New Year’s is three days away. It’s such short notice. She has no idea how things work in this town, but boy, is she about to find out. When Hollywood comes knocking, designers haul ass.

Lauren grins. “Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we can go down to Rodeo to get you fitted. How does one o’clock work for you?”

Payton coughs on a mouthful of wine. “Are you serious?”

Lauren nods. “I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

Okay, enough!
I gesture to the waiter for the check. He slips a leather bill presenter on the table. I quickly place my Amex Black inside. I know it’s showy to the point of tasteless to toss in Lauren’s face the fact that I command bigger paychecks than she does, but it’s the last thing I’ve got in my favor. Not that Payton cares at all about money. When it comes down to it, Lauren is more charismatic and daring than I am. That’s what counts the most.

I fake a smile. “She’ll be ready to go by one if I personally have to drag her out of bed.”

“Cool. Can I get your number?”

“Yes,” Payton nods. They exchange phone numbers.

“Great. I will see you tomorrow.”

We say our goodbyes and bolt out of there with a quickness. The valet pulls my car around, opens the door for me and then for Payton. I gun the engine and blast the car onto the road faster than I should. When I look over at Payton, I see she has a firm hold on the “oh shit” bar on the passenger-side door.

I say through clenched teeth, “Stupid Bentley. Sorry, sometimes I forget how much power it has.”

“It’s okay. Just please don’t kill us.”

“I’ll try not to, but I make no promises.” I sigh. “So, you and Lauren seemed to hit it off well.”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“You guess? She asked you to the Time Zone Ball. She’s taking you for a Westfeld fitting. She obviously liked you enough for you to do more than
guess
.”

“Okay, so she likes me.”

“What about you? Do you like her?” I ask like I have a right to know. She’s got this dreamy, far-away glaze in her eyes.
There’s my answer.

“She seems cool. I don’t know her well enough yet to say whether I like her or not.”

Okay, fine. Lauren
is
cool. And she might even be able to make Payton happy. Who the hell am I to stand in the way of that? “Give the girl a shot. What could it hurt? If nothing else, she has perfect bone structure.”
Perfect mother effing bone structure!

CHAPTER NINE

Payton

I
’ve been in the study messing around with my MIDI program since the sun came up. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. After dinner, I was sort of in a daze, and I still cannot believe it; I’m in California less than forty-eight hours and the universe presents me with an opportunity I would be stupid to pass up. Lauren. She’s pretty, she seems cool, and she wants to “get to know me.” It
must
be some kind of celestial intervention like Venus or Ishtar or whoever is screaming at me, “Here! Here’s someone to concentrate your energy on who will actually return the favor!” I should go for it and be thankful, shouldn’t I? I can’t keep endlessly moping around like a lovelorn loser. She might be exactly what I need to get over Kendall. Nothing else I try seems to be working.
Yeah. I’ll give Lauren a chance.

I’m in the middle of mixing down a track when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I slip my headphones down around my neck.

I look up to see Kendall rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Why are you up so early?”

Because I’ve been arguing with myself all night about the pros and cons of dating somebody in order to forget about someone else.
“I was dreaming and had a stroke of musical genius,” I fib. “I’m gonna try my hand at crossing classical with electronica.”

She skulks over to the rolling office chair and slumps into it. “That’ll be interesting,” she croaks through a yawn.

“Yeah, hopefully, or it could be a disaster.”

“Nothing you do could ever be a disaster.”

Wanna bet?
“Thanks. Why are
you
up so early?”

She hunches her shoulders. “I wasn’t tired anymore.”

“Would you like some coffee? I was gonna make a pot.”

She nods.

We make our way to the kitchen. She sits at the breakfast bar and watches me as I work my caffeine magic. When it’s finished brewing, I pour her a cup with hazelnut creamer, exactly how she likes it. She takes a sip then shoots me a wide grin. “I love your coffee. If you were a barista, you’d put everyone else to shame.”