Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  The way he said that statement was like I’m somehow contributing to the demise of the world.

  My body is shaking. I unwrap my arms from my body and throw them up in the air. “That’s right, Adam. People die. He’s dead!”

  “Who’s dead?” he asks.

  “Brad!” I shout.

  Suddenly, the world goes completely silent. My stomach just dropped ten feet, and my head is a rush of blood and tears and memories.

  From the harshest scream to the lowest whisper, I hold out my arms out and state, “Brad is dead.”

  He looks like he was just punched in the gut. Those dark onyx eyes glisten, water pooling on the insides, threatening to be released. His mouth opens and closes. His hands fly to his hair and brush it back, pulling at the ends. His mouth is pinched. Pinched so tight that I fear he might fall apart if he releases it.

  “I don’t know what kind of crusade you’re on, but it’s not going to bring him back. You are right to get that scum off the streets, but you can’t do it alone. We’re trying here, too.” I point to Juice and Paulie.

  I look up at Adam, my eyes prickling with moisture. It’s the second time in as many weeks that he’s saved me. Whether I needed it or not, he was there. As much as I want to be angry with him, I know there’s a good guy in there. I knew him once. A long time ago. I want to know him again.

  He clenches his jaw, his eyes bloodshot. Yet, instead of seeing hate in his gaze, I only see…fear. The look he’s giving me is making my pulse race and my skin tingle, and my head becomes unclouded.

  I look down at his knuckles. They are crimson and raw. No one who hates someone as much as I thought Adam Reingold hated me defends them with as much passion as he has with me—not once, but twice.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  His lashes flutter as my words catch him slightly off-kilter. He has absolutely no idea why I’m thanking him. That’s fine.

  I take one last shaky, deep breath and walk away. I have nothing else to say. Maybe I’m shell-shocked from the moment, but I don’t want to fight. Not tonight. Not anymore.

  “Let me walk you out,” Juice says as I turn the lights off in The Bucking Bronco.

  “I’m fine. I doubt anything will happen on the thirty-step walk from the back door to my car.”

  “Based on what happened earlier, just twenty feet from the front door, I think it’s safe to say you should never assume.” He holds the door open for me and then watches as I lock up. “Then again, you do have your own personal security detail with you.”

  I pull the key out of the lock and swivel the key ring around my finger. “Yes. You’re never too far.”

  “I wasn’t talking about me.” He nods toward Main Street.

  On the corner, in his police cruiser, is Adam facing the parking lot.

  I roll my eyes and then look up at the heavens. “Great. Now, he has some savior complex.” I start walking toward Luke’s car that he’s been letting me borrow some nights for work.

  “He parks there every night,” Juice says like it’s common knowledge.

  I speak over my shoulder, unlocking my car door, “It’s a good spot to get people who are leaving the bar. He thinks we over-serve and then let everyone drive home.”

  “Yeah, I thought that at first, too.” He opens the door to his car.

  I inwardly laugh as I open my door and throw my bag on the passenger seat. Turning around, I lean on the doorframe and ask, “Now, what do you think?”

  “I think he waits here for you.”

  Ten

  Luke and I are pulling up to Homes for All Souls. I’m four hours late, so I know exactly what kind of reception I’m going to get.

  I’m particularly bouncy today. Despite last night’s dramatics, Luke and I had a great morning, doing something we wouldn’t normally have done. It was all part of the plan of hosting last night’s fundraiser. To be able to see it all come to fruition this morning has felt terrific.

  “Someone looks pissed,” Luke says from the driver’s seat.

  We both turn to a glaring Adam. He’s standing outside on the dirt lawn of the center house. His hard stare can be felt through the thick glass of the windshield.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay and volunteer?” I ask Luke.

  “Maybe next weekend. Right now, I am staying as far away as possible…from that.” He gives a little hand wave to Adam, who does not reciprocate. “Good luck,” Luke sings through his teeth.

  “I’ll need it,” I say, grabbing my bag as I get out of the car.

  “Where have you been?” Adam is on me before the door is even closed. “I was at your house at nine.”

  “And I was out of it at seven.” I wave to Luke as he leaves. I turn back to Adam and see his tough-guy stance with his dirty jeans and mud-slung boots, arms crossed over his clay-colored T-shirt. I reach into my bag and hand him an envelope. “I texted you that I was running late.”

  “And I texted you back that it was unacceptable,” he chides, taking the envelope from me. He looks inside. “What’s this?”

  “It’s the money we raised at Construction Night at the bar.”

  His brows turn in. “Construction Night?”

  “Yes, last night, when you were accusing me of the three Ps—play, party, and pretend—we were having a charity night for Homes for All Souls. Raised a decent amount, too.”

  He looks down at the envelope in bewilderment. “This is what you raised?”

  “Only a third. I bought toys for the Framer kids this morning. I spoke to their mom on Thursday, and she invited me over for lunch. We need to make sure Louise Framer has a top-notch stove because that woman can cook. Oh, and we stopped by the shelter to bring the Mikgus kids a voucher to the water park. I told the park their story, and they kicked in free tickets for the rest of the season.”

  “You brought them presents?” he asks, dumbfounded.

  “Yes, keep up.”

  “And tickets to the water park?”

  “And taffy,” I add, placing my hand back in my bag and producing a tin. “I made some for you, too.”

  He raises a brow and peeks inside the tin at the bright orange taffy. “You made this?” Closing the tin, he looks back at me. The sun is in his eyes, so he’s squinting. “About last night—”

  I walk toward Toby and hand him a tin. “Made you some, too. So, what is the plan this afternoon?”

  Toby and Adam exchange glances. Clearly, they’re not accustomed to me being so amenable. I stand and wait for my assignment. Since they’re not giving one, I take it upon myself to choose.

  Turning to Toby, I say, “I want to use power tools today.” My hands are on my hips, my chin up in the air.

  Toby’s eyes curve in confusion. “Uh, have you ever used them before?”

  “She took a class in high school, and now, she thinks she’s Joanna Gaines,” Adam says from behind me.

  With a pointed look, I correct him, “Chip uses the power tools. Joanna has the perfect eye for design and a love of shiplap.” Then, to Toby, I ask, “You got a circular saw around here?”

  Toby looks unsure. “I’d prefer it if you stuck to spackling. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I gasp. My eyes nearly bug out of my head.

  Before I get a chance to explain to him that I am more than capable as a woman to use power tools and that I put together an entire kitty city in a weekend without the help of a man, Adam’s arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back.

  “Come on, tiger. You want to build something? We’ll build,” he says, tugging on my torso.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I say in the air as a comeback to Toby even though I wasn’t actually arguing with anyone.

  My hand lowers to Adam’s thick forearm as he spins me around and forces me to walk in front of him toward the freshly framed house and around back to where there’s a table saw and a bunch of two-by-fours on the ground.

  It’s quiet back here. And empty. I wonder if he’ll want to talk about last
night again. Part of me does, and part of me—

  “You ever use one of these before?” he asks, holding out a pair of safety goggles toward me.

  “Goggles? I think I can handle putting these on,” I answer sarcastically even though I know he was referring to the table saw. Seeing he’s not amused by my response, I add, “It’s been a while.” I take the goggles from him, put them on, and then start pulling my hair out from around the strap.

  He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know. What am I doing?” My hands are flattening my hair to make sure no pieces are flying around.

  “It’s a construction site. Not a club. Not a dating service.” His tone is irritatingly similar to last night.

  I breathe and remember that today is a great day. I tilt my head at him. “Did it ever occur to you that women want to look good for themselves, not for men?”

  He unfolds his arms and walks around the saw to the plug that is lying on the ground. “You mean to tell me, you wouldn’t have been happy with playing with Dumb and Dumber up there?” He plugs it into an extension cord.

  I look back toward Tim and Gary, who are arguing over how to carry a piece of Sheetrock into the house. “At least they want me around.”

  He brushes his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, they want you all right,” he says. Then, he turns on the saw.

  I can feel my smile stretching across my face. “Aw, are you jealous, Adam?”

  He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me with the most serious of expressions. “No.”

  And, now, I can feel my smile falling. Looks like he’s going for grumpy this afternoon.

  I walk over to him and look down at the saw. “Okay. You wanna show me what to do, or should I just go for it?”

  “Not so confident now that the machine is on?”

  “Of course I am. I just run the wood up the center and cut.”

  He places his hands on my hips and moves me over. “Not unless you want to start mixing drinks with a prosthetic. Stand here.” He positions me to the side of the blade.

  He walks over and grabs a board from the ground. He puts it on the table and pulls a pencil and a piece of paper from his back pocket. Making a note, he writes on the paper and then puts the pencil behind his ear.

  “What is that for?” I ask.

  “I took notes when I was framing the downstairs closet yesterday. Got too dark to finish.” He puts the paper in his pocket. Then, he positions the wood on the saw and adjusts the settings.

  “Come here.” He pulls me toward him again. “Stand to the side of the blade when cutting. See this piece here?” He points to a clear panel on the saw that the board is resting against. “This is called the fence. Keep the wood tight to it to avoid kickback.”

  He comes up behind me, and my body goes stiff. Leaning over me, he puts my left hand on the handle of the saw, his on top of mine. He starts talking about why it’s important to keep the board straight and mentions something about splitting, but all I can think about is how his hand is the perfect mix of smooth and calloused. It’s warm, soft, and strong, but when he glides it over mine, I can feel the hard spots on the pads of his palm.

  “Got that?” he says.

  My brain is hit with the spice of his cologne.

  I swallow and nod.

  He turns the blade on, and the metal spins rapidly. He lowers our hands as we guide the blade over the wood. The cut is made. He turns the blade off.

  “We have to do three more.” Adam puts the wood against the house and grabs another two-by-four. His feet halt as he pauses for a moment. Then, he adds, “I’m gonna guide you for one more, and then you can do it on your own.”

  I agree and take the board from him. This time, he lets me adjust the measurements and puts it against the fence of the machine.

  He sidles up to me again— closer. His hard chest is against my back, and as I bend over slightly to hold the board, I press gently into his pelvis. He doesn’t move and I don’t try to move him away.

  I turn the blade on and let him guide my hand down, like he did before. The cut is made in seconds. As soon as it’s done, he steps away and takes the freshly cut piece with him.

  I just stand here.

  Still.

  He comes back with a third piece and holds it out toward me. “All right, you’re good to go. Let’s get to cutting.”

  I do my best not to slice my fingers off. When all the boards are cut, we take them into the house and finish the framing of the closet.

  Adam is kneeling on the floor, putting a finishing nail into the wood.

  “Hey, Leah.”

  I jolt at the sound of my name, nearly dropping my hammer. It’s Rick.

  “Toby said you were looking to work with power tools today. We’re gonna install the copper piping for the heating system. If you want to use a blow torch, now’s your turn.”

  My fingers are itching to use a torch. I really want to check it out, but I know it’s just going to lead to an argument, and I’m here to work. Not for fun.

  “No, thanks. I’m going to finish up here.” I motion to the closet.

  “It’s all right,” Adam says.

  I look down. He’s squatted below me, his thick thighs splayed out beneath his jeans.

  “Go.”

  My eyes widen in surprise. He’s letting me out of his sight by choice? And to do something I would find remotely fun?

  “I’m okay. This is part of my hundred hours. I’m not here to have a good time.”

  “Actually, you are.” He leans an elbow on his thigh. “This isn’t supposed to feel like work. The purpose of volunteering is to enjoy helping others. So, go light something up. Just don’t burn the place down.” He says that last bit with an unintentional smirk.

  I smoosh my lips together and nod.

  I’m halfway out the door when I back up and look to Adam. “Thanks,” I say.

  I am rewarded with a nod of understanding.

  Brushing paint onto the front portico of the almost finished home, I hum to myself and enjoy the slight reprieve we’re getting as the sun begins its descent.

  It’s peaceful.

  Usually, around this time, I’m looking for the next thing to do. Where can I go tonight? What events are we having at the bar? Who’s having a party? Yet, here I am, little Miss Do-Gooder, painting away.

  I’m not gonna lie. I kinda like it. It’s oddly refreshing, just taking a moment to be by yourself. If I’m not working, I’m with my parents, Luke, or Emma. Or I’m with my girlfriends. Sure, this is work. But it’s…different.

  Maybe I should take up painting or adult coloring or something like that. Who am I kidding? I’m never going to do that. My life revolves around the party. If I lose that, I’ll lose the essence of me. And my essence is pretty spectacular.

  Using a torch today was by far the coolest thing ever. I was more scared than I’d thought I’d be to light it. But when Rick let it ignite, it was like I had this immense power in my hands. Power to create. Power to construct. It was awesome.

  Some of the other girls who were volunteering today as part of their sorority philanthropic commitment joined in. We took turns in welding copper piping for the plumbing. It took a few hours, and when it was done, we cheered and high-fived each other. There is nothing more empowering than women who can get shit done.

  As Rick and I walked back to the cooler to grab waters, I caught a familiar face staring, almost appreciatively, at the job I had done.

  The look Adam was giving me was almost reminiscent of the way he’d stared at me when I was sixteen years old. Back when we’d spent time together by choice. Back when I’d almost thought he was developing feelings for me.

  “You ever wonder what it would be like to have cameras following you around?” I asked Adam from the blacktop of his parents’ driveway.

  He bounced the ball back to me so I could take another shot from the key.

  His right brow rose as he answered
with a light laugh, “No. Why?”

  “EDtv.” I took a shot, extending my wrists and elbows as he’d taught me.

  When the ball went in, I looked at him from over my shoulder. His brow was still perched in question.

  “Matthew McConaughey?” My hands and head were outstretched in exasperation.

  Adam dribbled the ball in front of him, a closed mouth smile on his face. “You’re really into that guy.”

  “What’s not to like? Sexy accent. Killer body. Curly golden hair. And, of course, there are those baby-blue eyes.” I was pretty sure I sighed.

  “Can’t argue with the baby blues. I’m a sucker for them as well,” Adam said nonchalantly, taking a shot into the basket.

  He swished. He scored. I blushed.

  He bounced the ball back to me. “What’s your favorite movie of his?”

  “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.” I dribbled, mentally preparing to take my shot. Feet shoulder-width apart, my shooting foot pointing at the hoop—

  “What about Killer Joe? A dirty cop in a cowboy hat and sunglasses? The guy is pure evil. That has to be in your top ten.”

  I stopped dribbling and stood up straight. “You said you didn’t watch McConaughey movies.”

  He shrugged. “I did a little research.”

  “And?”

  “He’s all right.” Adam rushed up and stole the ball out of my hands, traveling to the net and slam-dunking it in.

  A rush ran through my skin and surged into my head and heart. Blame it on sixteen-year-old hormones, but sometimes when I was with him, my heart would race, and I would have to make it stop even if he wasn’t necessarily doing anything exciting. There was just something about him.

  “So, any good plans this weekend?” I asked.

  “Camping.”

  “You like to sleep on the ground?” I gave a shiver. The thought of sleeping with bugs crawling all over me was enough to taper my beating heart.

  With a full white-toothed grin, Adam answered, “Every weekend. Camping, hiking, waterskiing, making a fire, and roasting marshmallows. As soon as the ground thaws, I’m there. It’s the best feeling in the world.”