The Force of Gravity by Kelly Stevenson Page B

jump down.
    He steps forward, pinning his body against the back corner of the Tahoe, blocking me. His arm stretches over my head, resting on the top of the vehicle, as he leans forward.
    I freeze.
    “It’s okay, Kaley.” His tone is like velvet. “I said you could talk to me, and I meant it.”
    He’s so close, we’re almost touching.
    I try to find my voice. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
    “You won’t . . . you’re not . . . it’s okay—it’ll be okay.”
    I blush. His words tumble awkwardly out of his mouth, but his eyes hold mine with a force that makes my whole body shiver, despite the warmth on my face.
    “So, I take it you worked everything out with Bradford?” There’s an undercurrent in his voice that I can’t quite grasp. “That’s good at least, right?” His impressive arm above me is distracting.
    “I guess,” I reply. His familiar scent is now mixed with his sweat. It’s sensuous, and I wonder if this is what he smells like when he makes love.
    His expression is impassive. “You forgave him for the other night?”
    “I guess so,” I say, running a hand through my hair. My elbow grazes his shirt. “Although, I somehow ended up apologizing to him.”
    “What did you have to be sorry for?” The edge to his voice surprises me. “He let you walk away in that dress, right?” His eyes darken. “That should be unforgivable.”
    I swear my heart stops beating, and I’m going to need a defibrillator. Energy charges the air between us as his intrepid words hang in the silence, dangling over me like forbidden grapes. A shiver ripples through me as my body recalls the sensation of his touch when I used Tommy’s body, and I fight the urge to reach out for him. It’d be effortless to lean in and kiss him, he’s so close.
    “Are you cold, Kaley?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
    I shake my head, stifling a nervous giggle. Dragging my gaze from his, I let my eyes slowly scroll down his toned body. When I look back up, there is an unmistakable hunger written all over his face.
    Holy hell.
    Anxiety grips me, and I break the silence. “So um . . . great game tonight.”
    Oh, real smooth. I’m at a loss for words, but there are probably a hundred thousand different things that would top “great game.” Not to mention, I barely even watched the game—but we won so I assume it was great.
    “Yeah,” he says with a seriousness that makes me believe he isn’t thinking about baseball. “We weren’t expected to win, but we pulled it off.” His inviting lips part slightly as his eyes rest on my mouth. “Kaley,” he says softly. “I—”
    “Kaley?” A third voice interrupts from behind him.
    Mr. Slate jerks back in a flash, and I’m face-to-face with Derek.
    “Derek! What are you doing here?” Yeah, that’s probably the worst thing I could’ve said.
    And I said it.
    Anger flashes through Derek’s eyes. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I was coming over to talk to Slate about the game.”
    “Yeah, me too,” I fumble.
    Mr. Slate folds his arms across his chest and squares his shoulders to Derek. “What’s up, Larson?”
    I hop off the back of the Tahoe and adjust my skirt.
    Derek watches me before turning his attention to Mr. Slate. “Just wanted to talk to you about that last inning . . . but you look a little busy.”
    “Not at all,” says Mr. Slate. “We were just discussing precalculus.”
    Whoa. He lied.
    “Really?” Derek challenges. “I thought you were talking about the game.”
    I look at Mr. Slate in alarm, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. “Conversations progress, Larson,” he says with authority.
    “Wow. That looked like some heated precalc,” Derek throws back at him. “No wonder she has an A.”
    “What exactly are you implying, Derek?” Mr. Slate’s voice is severe. His entire body is tense, and I can tell he’s struggling to keep his composure.
    Derek smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing at all,