The Fundamental Theory of Us (3 page)

Chapter Five

Andrew Warren’s apartment was bare. A brown-checkered couch and a coffee table strewn with books and magazines. A large dog bed by the window, and next to it, an assortment of dog toys.

He had no TV, no kitchen table, no pictures hanging on the wall—or taped, the way frat guys did in the movies. Sawyer didn’t even go down the hall where his bedroom was. Too personal, even if he had no personal touches in there. It was where he slept. That was personal enough.

At the far end of the kitchen sat a ratty desk with a slim desktop computer. If he had Wi-Fi, she would hook up her laptop to it—but he hadn’t given her the username or password. Just the password for his computer. Which was fine, because she kept all her documents online for occasions like this.

Sawyer settled at his desk, switched the computer on, and waited a few seconds while it booted up. Next to her, the counters were bare except for a box of granola bars, some instant oatmeal in microwavable bowls, and a microwave. No dishes. No clutter. Either the guy was a neat freak or he didn’t cook much. He had a stove at the other end of the kitchen with a giant bag of dog food on top and the clock wasn’t lit up, like he’d unplugged it.

The welcome screen glowed blue, bringing Sawyer back to the reason why she’d taken Andrew up on his offer—even after she put her foot in it. Really shoved her boot right up in her mouth, down her throat, and into her stomach. She could almost taste leather.

“What were you thinking?” she said to the empty apartment.

She wasn’t thinking—the main problem. When Sawyer let anything slip past her net, the results were always the same. Shame. The kind of soul-deep shame thousands, maybe even millions of people felt. That made it even worse.

Stop thinking about it—about
them
.
They were all nestled at the stem of the problem, but at the roots, the ones with a strangle-hold on her, was just one person. Sawyer reached for her phone and a moment of heart-twisting fear gripped her, stealing her breath. That was power: when an inanimate object made a person so scared she couldn’t breathe. The person behind the power wielded it without even knowing.

No texts, at least. At dinner last night with Rachel, Sawyer had caved and put Rachel’s number in her phone. In a stroke of brilliance, Rachel also chose her own text tone. That way, Sawyer would know it was Rachel opposed to someone she avoided like the zombie apocalypse.

Setting her phone aside, Sawyer focused on her assignment. Tried to. Her thoughts kept straying to Andrew, to what he said before he left. “You’re safe with me.” Whatever that meant. He couldn’t tell, could he? No. She didn’t have it tattooed on her forehead. Or anywhere. Who would advertise that?

Sawyer threw herself into her work and only stopped when her stomach growled two hours later. She hadn’t eaten breakfast—the plan was, stop by the library, do what she needed to do, and hit the local Food Lion after for necessities. Sometimes she let herself get hungry on purpose, to the point where the pain reminded her how fortunate she’d been growing up with excess everything. Some people didn’t have regular meals, or a maid who cooked them Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.

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 she 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.