The Duality Principle Read online

  Connor frowned, his brow furrowed once again in confusion. She hadn’t mentioned the impending sale to him before, unwilling to open up about something that cut so deep. But he’d accepted her so completely, drawn back the curtains over the part of herself she’d been trying to bury. Set free the sexual side that others had scorned. He’d shared the painful details of his own past too. There was no reason she couldn’t do the same.

  She could trust him, with her body and her heart.

  “They’re selling this house,” she told him. “It’s gonna kill me to let it go.”

  His frown deepened. “That’s awful. Is there anything you can do to stop them?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d played with the idea of going to a lawyer, but she didn’t think she had a leg to stand on. “I wish they understood what this place means to me. When I was with Nana, I could just be, you know? No expectations. No disappointments. I never felt like that anywhere else. With my parents, my friends growing up, my boyfriends—no one seemed to get me. I always felt like this…” she shrugged, “…outcast. I hated trying to be who they wanted me to be, like I was forcing myself into a skin that didn’t fit.”

  Connor reached up and ran his index finger over her earring.

  “Is that why you did this?” His other hand stroked her ink. “And this?”

  She grinned sheepishly. “I’m a little bit of a rebel too, you know.”

  “I’m getting the idea.” He kissed her, his lips a gentle brush over hers. “So, we’re both rebels. Could be a dangerous combination.”

  “Could be.” She settled back down into the crook of his arm. “I wish you’d told me who you were from the start. You don’t know how many fantasies I’ve had about being on the back of that bike with you. I could have been your riding buddy.” She turned to face him, remembering another reason she’d watched him so intently. “Hey, why do you always ride alone? I mean, don’t you biker guys come in packs?”

  The awkward twist of his lips made her think she’d struck a chord she should have avoided.

  “Dean doesn’t ride. His truck is his baby. And Mikey would probably fall off one.” Connor looked like he was trying to smile, but it wasn’t working. He gave up. “My dad was the one who got me into bikes, before he left. And I guess it’s easier to be alone. That way no one can ever get close to me again.” He shook his head. “Cliché, I know.”

  Gabriella reached up and cupped his cheek. Connor glanced down at her hand with the strangest look on his face, like he didn’t know how to react. Then he kissed her palm and brought it to his chest.

  “I was sure if I let you know the real me, you’d run in the other direction. Every time we were together, I thought I was just screwing up all over again. Taking things too far, and—”

  Gabriella looked up at him, her hand still pressed over his heart. “And?”

  He took a breath. “And I worried if we went too far, and then you got word about what a bad kid I was, you’d see the same shit the rest of this town does.”

  She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “What did you think I would see?”

  He lowered his chin and set his mouth in a firm line. “That I’m a loser. A fucked-up orphan who fixes up bikes and plays with computers, and doesn’t have a shot in hell at being more.”

  His words broke her heart. She hated that he saw himself that way, when in such a short time being with him, she’d seen so much more to him than that.

  “That’s not who you are. It’s not what I see,” she said softly. “You can be the rebel who rides the bike, the programmer, the nature lover who spouts philosophy, and the man who does the filthiest things to me bare-ass naked in the backyard.”

  She smiled, hoping the last line would draw a laugh from him, but Connor was silent when he met her eyes. His stare was so intense it took her breath away.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You can be more than one thing too, you know.”

  Gabriella’s chest started to constrict, all her old ghosts coming forward to haunt her mind, her worries about herself, her life, her thesis, but what he said next chased them all away.

  “Those things you said in your email? About having to be one way for everyone else? That’s bullshit. You’re amazing just how you are. You can be the mathematician and the hiker, the brilliant M.I.T. student and the girl I fuck on dining room tables.”

  She laughed, but it was a sound of pain and relief, one that started in her lungs and broke somewhere around her heart. Connor stroked her cheek and wiped away the tear that streaked down her face.

  “You can be all those things, Gabby. Duality isn’t a bad thing. It’s the different sides of us that make us who we are. It makes us whole.”

  She gazed at him, at this man who in a week made everything she’d ever doubted about herself disappear. She blinked, feeling the different pieces of her life fall into place, and suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Wriggling out of his embrace, she hopped up off the bed and reached for her computer, sitting back down to open it on her knees. Connor sat up behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Emailing my advisor. I need to tell him I’m reversing the direction of my thesis.”

  “You are?”

  She turned over his shoulder to see his perfect face blooming into a grin. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  She couldn’t disprove the Duality Principle anymore. It made no sense. It was illogical to even try. Because she could be both A and B, could love both the rose and its thorns. She could be the butterfly and break out of the ugly casing the caterpillar wove, letting love and nature turn her into something beautiful. She could be Gabby Evans, the mathematician and the freaky slut, and give in to the dual sides of her being. She could be true to who she was, just as her grandmother said she should, and let both sides shine.

  Proving that duality existed was undeniable—she couldn’t refute it anymore—especially as Connor hooked his finger in her shirt and drew her back down beside him into her bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Connor pulled on his helmet and straddled his bike. August was closing in around him. He could feel it from inside his riding jacket—the humidity already a little less noticeable, the season coming to an end. Tourists were still everywhere, desperate in their attempts to enjoy what remained of summer until the back-to-school signs herded them home.

  Connor felt the same desperation too.

  He knocked back the kickstand with one leg and cranked the Yamaha to life. The four-cylinders purred into action under him, just like he’d known they would when he rebuilt it.

  The guy who’d nearly destroyed this beautiful machine didn’t know shit about bikes. It had probably been a midlife crisis purchase, a whim he’d gone and spent fourteen grand on in an attempt to feel young again. He’d brought it into the shop, banged up and on the back of a flatbed. The engine had seized on the ramp to 95 and that’s when it rolled. Jerry, Connor’s boss, promised the guy he had the best mechanics in Portland, but the owner didn’t care about fixing it. He just wanted to know how much it was worth.

  Connor brought the Yamaha into the back. He’d never loved the bikes he worked on, but this one spoke to him somehow. It was a year out of the dealership at most, with smooth lines, charcoal black from end to end. A more thorough inspection proved that the engine wasn’t busted but had probably been raced down the street before the oil had a chance to warm up, still thick and cold and unable to do its job. The dipshit out front had taken crappy care of it, never even did so much as an oil change. There was some corrosion too, but that was common in coastal areas because of all the sea salt in the air. The scratches were minor, something that could be fixed with some chrome polish and elbow grease. It would need work, but it wasn’t trashed.

  He’d gone out front and given Jerry his analysis: internal damage, scored main bearings, a shitload of valves bent
. Even in good condition, it would have depreciated to half its worth, but with the engine rebuild and other work needing to be done, they should take another two grand off the top. It was obvious the owner had lost his taste for riding, though, and just wanted to be rid of it. It wasn’t much of a surprise that when Jerry threw a number at him that wasn’t even in the ballpark of reality, the guy went for it.

  Connor started working on it right away. The bike reminded him a little of himself—beaten up, taken care of by someone who had no business riding it and then rejected. He needed to fix that bike, needed to see it returned to its former glory. He came in early when he didn’t have class, worked past his afternoon shift late into the night. Once the rebuild was done, he took it out for a test. It didn’t make any horrible noises and accelerated decently enough to make him happy with his work. But it seemed hard to let the handlebars go when he rumbled back into the shop, and Jerry had known the look in his eyes right away.

  He put it on layaway for Connor. Slivers of his paycheck went to keeping it under a tarp in the back of the garage. The summer before he met Gabby, the bike was finally his.

  Connor slid his boots onto the footrests, found his balance and sped off. Now he knew what his father had felt when he was riding—the freedom, the heady exhilaration. It made him understand Travis a little better when the Yamaha went from stationary to sixty in two-point-eight flat. He eased back, taking it easy on the throttle since he didn’t have far to go. Harnessing the bike’s energy, however, was almost as hard as tapping into the control he needed for what was happening tonight. And for tomorrow too.

  His stomach tightened in anticipation of where he’d be this time tomorrow, with the dinner hour in front of him and Gabby on her way back to Cambridge.

  They’d had an amazing summer together after that crazy, confusing first week. It seemed like years ago, after all the things they’d packed into the weeks that followed. She’d been busy reworking her thesis, and Connor had used the time while she was working to read up on search engine optimization, enjoying the quiet of her grandmother’s house and watching Gabby think. She talked to herself sometimes, especially when trying to reason something out. It was one of her little quirks he’d come to adore, one of the many things that made air catch in his chest at the same time as blood rushed down to his dick. He’d had to practice the art of patience more times than he could count, letting her work when he’d much rather have been working her over.

  To be honest, they’d done plenty of that too. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out she had a thing for doing it in places they might get caught. He could have kicked himself for misreading all the signs she was giving him in the beginning. He’d made up for it, though, against the windows of her bedroom, in her car, and even once on her front porch after finding some creative positioning and a blanket to cover them up. At the first beach bonfire party they’d gone to together, she’d sat down between his legs and leaned back against him, her hand snaking back behind her, nails scraping over the zipper of his fly. He’d hissed and hauled her up from the sand, ignoring the way Jamie and Dean smirked at them as he led Gabby to the abandoned lifeguard stand.

  He still remembered the way her legs felt wrapped around him that night, the way her fingers dug into his back, and him unable to keep his eyes open, clutching the slatted wood they were braced against, something more powerful than an orgasm taking over him.

  He was sure he’d never forget how she carried herself at dinner with his grandparents the week after that, either, with a poise that so easily covered the bad girl underneath. Or maybe it wasn’t a cover. Maybe it was just Gabby, both angel and devil, never all one or the other, and Connor enjoyed getting to be both sides of himself with her too—proper when necessary and letting loose when they were alone.

  His grandparents loved her, of course, and Connor thought he might feel the same way, although that wasn’t a word he and Gabby ever exchanged. Wondering if he loved her, and if it was possible she felt the same way about him, was what helped propel his doubts along during their other adventures. She’d said she wanted to feel the open road like he did and asked him to ride them out to a hike in the White Mountains. They’d gone to Jerry’s and Connor showed her all the body armor she’d need. Seeing her in a riding jacket and gloves nearly had him rubbing one off in the shop’s dingy bathroom. She looked damn good in leather and even hotter when she topped it off with a helmet. He decided to upgrade his helmet too, and insisted on paying for both of them, splurging on a matched set with Bluetooth integration so they could talk during the ride.

  They’d set out early one Saturday morning, her voice in his ear, arms tight around his waist as she marveled over the quality of the helmet, how it channeled the air around her head. She said she’d always wondered how he’d stopped from getting dehydrated in the heat. He’d replied something about soaking his shirt under his clothes and the brilliance of his grandfather’s advice on showers, but talking about being naked and wet with Gabby while he was supposed to be focusing on the road was a formula for disaster. It was already difficult enough to concentrate with her body pressed against his back, her legs split open on either side of him. He had to pull over, had to insist on changing into the bathing suits they’d stashed in her backpack. He’d carried her laughing into the crisp, cool mountain run-off that cut a rocky path between Lincoln and Conway, warming her with his body over hers and his hand down her bikini. It was either that or they’d both have become smudges somewhere on the Kancamagus Highway.

  They’d come back to his house later that evening to find it empty. A note from his grandparents had been left on the dining room table saying they’d gone down to Ogunquit for an impromptu overnight getaway.

  “You can hop in the shower if you want,” he told her. “I need to clean the drive chain.”

  “I’ll wait. I want to watch.”

  “Seriously? It’s pretty basic. And kind of sticky and messy too.”

  She’d smiled coyly and followed him back into the garage. “Fine by me.”

  Connor chuckled. Only Gabby could turn something as grime-filled and boring as oiling a chain into something hot and sexy. She settled herself onto the floor while he set the bike up on its stand. He peeled off his riding jacket and shirt, changing into one of the ratty tanks he wore for greasy jobs before bending down and starting to work. He could feel Gabby’s eyes on him, and he smirked. The shirt made his arms look good and he knew it.

  “Any idea why it’s best to lube after a ride, not before?” he asked her.

  “I would have thought it would be the other way around.”

  “No, you do it after because then the chain is nice and hot. The lube penetrates better into the links that way.”

  “Penetrate,” she said.

  He turned to grin at her. “That’s what I said.” The words were innocent enough, but he could see them affecting her already, through the quickening of her breaths and the way her eyes changed. Fuzzy, drunk with lust.

  She got up on her knees and crawled closer to him. Connor felt himself thicken, hardening for her despite how, only hours before, she’d had her fingers wrapped around him in the water. Crazy, the shit this girl could do to him.

  “Anything else you want to—” she bit his earlobe, “—penetrate?”

  “Maybe. What did you have in mind?”

  She moved in close. He could feel her hot breath over the span of his shoulder. Then she bent low and sparked her tongue out over his bicep, licking slowly across his tattoo. He groaned. The chain could wait.

  With grease still on his fingers, he stripped her down. She didn’t mind the way he ran an oily line between her breasts, painting her in the markings of his past, or how he left handprints behind on her sides when he stopped to pull a condom from his pocket. She’d taken the reins then, yanked down his pants and boxers, and climbed on top of him. She even took his dirty hands in hers and dragged them back to
her hips, silently asking him to guide her movements, to set the pace. He complied, happy to take the chill of the cement floor against his back if it meant he got to watch Gabby writhe above him, to feel her tighten when she got close and hear her tiny gasps when she got even closer. He arched up and fisted his hand in her hair, knowing exactly what it would take to push her to the edge, and swallowed her moans with a kiss that took him over as well.

  She was still trembling when he picked her up and sat her down on the bike, her long legs splayed out on either side of it, back slippery against the leather. She tried to shimmy away from him when he started to play with her clit, saying she was too sensitive to go again, but he knew she could. He knew her body, knew all its cues. Her eyes slid closed and that crush of emotion he’d felt at the bonfire returned—a compression that seemed to force its way through him from the inside out. It was a need to be closer, to solder his bond to her. To quiet the doubts that told him these adventures they were having were no more than just that. That Gabby didn’t think he was the best thing that ever happened to her, because if she did, how could he ever believe her? She was still the kind of girl who went beyond his wildest expectations. The kind he still thought he could never have. She hadn’t mentioned anything about what was going to happen after the summer ended, and the thought of her leaving wrecked him so thoroughly he almost couldn’t breathe.

  She’d pulsed against his fingers, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut, mouthing the words I love you.

  Connor sped around the corner and found Gabby waiting outside her grandmother’s house. She’d thought it wasn’t going to be hers to stay in much longer, but tonight was going to change all that. She turned toward him as he pulled up on the driveway, her riding gear on, helmet balanced against her hip.