Free The Force of Gravity by Kelly Stevenson Page B

run up and tell them you’re going to leave your car here overnight. It’s under a light, so it should be okay. Do you have an alarm?”
    I shake my head. “No one’s going to steal that thing, trust me.”
    “It’s a classic,” he says as he pats the roof. “Just needs a little TLC.”
    “More like CPR,” I gripe.
    He chuckles as he locks my door. He returns my keys, and I’m careful to not make contact with his hand this time.
    “I’ll take you home and maybe your parents or someone can help you with this in the morning.”
    I hesitate. “A-are you sure? I can try to call someone.” My friends are all drunk, and I doubt my parents are awake. . . . “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
    “No trouble, Kaley.” Something inscrutable flickers briefly across his eyes. “I’m not leaving you here. Hop in.”
    He opens his passenger door for me, and I hoist myself in—well aware that my dress is not meant for climbing into a Tahoe. As I sit down, I notice a fire in his eyes and my mouth goes dry. His gaze burns through me as he tells me he’ll be right back and shuts the door. Okay, I can’t be imagining the way he just looked at me. It was too real—too intense. I shiver again.
    The inside of his SUV is spotless. Of course. Not a speck of dust, or a single empty water bottle. The interior smells like it was just hand-washed by angels, mixed with a hint of the same scent I enjoyed earlier on his jacket. A vibration on my lap jolts me out of my thoughts. Annoyed, I yank my phone from my clutch. It’s Tommy. A picture of the two of us locked in a tight embrace glows on the screen. Emotions tug at me as my thumb hovers over the display. I hit “decline” just as the driver’s side door clicks open. Mr. Slate hops in, and I drop my phone back into my clutch.
    His eyes slide over my body. “Buckle up,” he says, his voice strained.
    I do as I’m told and give him the directions, my throat becoming increasingly dry. We ride in silence for a few minutes before my anxiety can’t stand it.
    “So, how’d you get this job so quickly?” I ask. “I mean, it just seemed really fast. I figured you were just a substitute.”
    He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, last summer they offered me a job teaching English of all things, but I turned it down. That would’ve been disastrous.” He chuckles. “I was teaching math part-time at two different junior high schools, which was exhausting. And I substituted a lot before that as well. I’ve known Stan—I mean your principal, for a few years. He called me up on a Sunday afternoon after we played golf earlier that day and offered me the job. I accepted and started the next day. Normally, I wouldn’t leave a job in the middle of a school year, but since there were only a couple months left, I wasn’t going to turn it down.”
    It’s interesting to hear him talk about himself—even if it is just a snippet of his professional life. He seems so grown up and responsible. I’m surprised to find his life so attractive. I love that he’s mature and smart . . . and not doing keg stands in the middle of a party.
    “What about you? What are your plans after school?” he asks. I let out a groan and he laughs. “Sorry, touchy subject?”
    “Kind of. Long story short, I was stoked to be accepted to USC, only to have my parents tell me they couldn’t afford it.”
    “Ouch,” he says. “Sorry to hear that; that’s an excellent school. I have some family members who went there.”
    “Yeah. My friends and I were all trying to go together, but that’s quickly falling apart. Derek got a football scholarship, as you probably already know, and Emily’s on the waiting list . . . and then there’s me.”
    He clears his throat. “And Bradford?”
    My chest tightens at the mention of Tommy’s name. “Uh, no. He didn’t apply to any colleges. He gets good grades and everything, but he could care less. He’s next in line to take over the family business, so