by Jamie Shaw
Adam’s hand slides up the back of my neck to tangle in my hair. He kisses me until my thoughts are nothing but haze, and then he drops his lips to my neck and grips my hip, pulling me even tighter against him. I’m putty in his hands. He’s kissing me so passionately that I know there will probably be marks, but I don’t care. It isn’t until his cold fingers slip under the hem of my top, roughly clinging to my bare waist, that I’m shocked into opening my eyes.
We’re in front of the club, out on the open sidewalk. I catch the disapproving stares of people walking by, and I inch myself away, panting. “Adam.” I shake my head. “No.”
He looks around, realizing the public display we’re putting on. He seems equal parts agitated and amused as he roughly rubs his fingers over his eyes with a wide grin plastered on his face. “Bus,” he says, and then he stops rubbing his eyes and reaches for my hand.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “We can’t.” My body screams in protest, but it really needs to learn to shut the hell up.
His face contorts with confusion. “Why?”
“Because . . . we’re friends.”
Adam growls and runs both hands through his hair, frustration rolling off him. “We are not friends.”
His words cut right through me, and I’m afraid I might start crying right here in front of everyone. He must be able to see it, because he immediately backtracks. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” He looks almost nervous, reaching his hands forward like he’s afraid I’ll shatter into a million pieces and he’ll have to hold me together. I know he’s telling the truth, which makes me feel better. But there’s still the matter of the bus.
“Going back to the bus would be a really bad idea,” I tell him.
“What would be so bad about it?”
Nothing. And everything.
“I’m not looking for a one-night stand . . .” I force a weak smile. “Not even with Adam Everest.” Especially not with Adam Everest.
“How do you know it would be a one night stand?”
I give him a look that says it all. All Adam does is one-night stands. He can’t even deny it.
“Why did you come along on this trip, Peach?”
“I wanted to help you . . .”
“Why?”
“I just did.”
It’s Adam’s logic, so he can’t argue with it. He sighs and takes a step back, running his hand through his hair. After a few seconds, he asks, “Can’t we just see where this goes?”
I shake my head. “I still just want to be friends.” We both know where it would go. It would go straight to bed and then leave me sitting by a phone that never rings, crying on Dee’s shoulder.
“Honestly? After that?” Adam lets out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t think this ‘friends’ thing is really going to work.”
Frowning, I say, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
He steps forward again to rest his forehead against mine. “Peach,” he says, gazing deeply into my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly as I want to pick you up and carry you back to that bus right now.”
I brace my hand on his chest and slowly push him away. He doesn’t look happy, but he lets me move him.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asks me.
“Cool down,” I say with a counterfeit smile.
“And then what?”
“Forget what happened at Mayhem.” And just now. Because God knows just now has been scorched into my memory and will still be sizzling a year from now.
Adam shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Then just pretend.”
He shakes his head again, this time smiling. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want to.” He takes my hand and pulls me away from the wall so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders and walk me back toward the door.
“So you’re cool with being friends?” I ask as we walk.
He laughs against me. “No.”
“But . . . we’re going to try, right?”
He grins down at me, not giving me an answer as he walks me back inside.
Chapter Nineteen
SEEING SHAWN SITTING at the kitchen table the next morning, with his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands like a fifty-pound bowling ball, brings the evil out of me. His messy hair and his dirty clothes from the night before scream killer hangover, and I owe him payback for forcing me to tell Adam my secret.
I make my way to the coffee maker and then rummage through the cabinets and drawers as loudly as humanly possible. I open cabinet after cabinet, slamming them closed as I search for the ground coffee. I find it and slap the can onto the counter. Then I find a drawer filled with miscellaneous spoons and spatulas and shove my hand into it, swirling it around like I can’t find the tablespoon measurer even though it was lying right on top.
Shawn groans and buries his face in his arms. I smirk and pull out the tablespoon measurer.
“HEY SHAWN,” I say in an obnoxiously loud voice as I scoop coffee into a filter. “HOW ARE YOU FEELING THIS MORNING?” I pretend to “accidentally” kick the stove for good measure, the sound ringing through the kitchen.
“I’m sooorry,” he groans into his arms.
“What was that? YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK UP.”
Shawn raises his bloodshot eyes from his elbow, looking downright pathetic. Then he lifts his head and holds his temples between his palms. “I’m sorry, okay? I was completely wasted.”
I finish pouring water into the coffee maker and close the top, pushing the ON button before I turn around and lean back against the counter. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“I’m sorry for blowing up your spot. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I nod, accepting his apology. I feel a little sorry too—I know he hated keeping that secret from his best friend, but he still should’ve kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his secret to tell.
“What do you need?” I ask. “Tylenol? Eggs? Pancakes?” It’s my form of an apology, and it’s the best he’s going to get.
He gives me a bashful smile. “All of the above?”
I pour him some orange juice from the fridge, and then I find some Tylenol in a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I set them both down in front of him as softly as possible, not making a sound. “Coming right up,” I tell him, and then I shuffle him to the front of the bus so I can get to work.
Last night was definitely . . . interesting. Adam and I hadn’t made it very far back into the club when the rest of the guys changed our direction, ushering us out. They took the party back to the bus, and I was grateful when I saw that Michelle wasn’t part of it. I asked if we should give her a lift back to her car, but Joel assured me that a girl like her wouldn’t have a hard time getting a ride.
When Adam told the band about me being the infamous Peach, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was a long story with a lot of questions and confusion and teasing. Ultimately, it culminated in a very drunk Shawn getting punched ruthlessly in the arm. Adam flexed his hand afterward, and I smirked with approval.
Once the upstairs was clear, I crawled into the black satin bed, hoping it wouldn’t be weird. But I fell asleep before Adam ever came in, so I didn’t have to find out. And this morning, I snuck out, tiptoeing between arms and legs and blankets that were hanging out of bunks.
By the time the other boys wake up, I’ve made bacon, scrambled eggs, buttermilk pancakes, and toast. There’s not nearly enough for all of them, but they make do. The roadies eat quickly and then head out for a smoke break while the rest of the band stays on the bus. Adam isn’t up yet, so I make him a plate and stash it in the microwave.
“Where’s mine?” he asks groggily when he finally comes downstairs. He’s wearing his shades, and I’m guessing i
t’s because he’s just as hungover as Shawn. He’s also shirtless, with his faded, tattered jeans hanging low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his black CK boxers. Even though he sleeps without a shirt or pants on, I haven’t indulged in a good look at him. Now, I can’t help it.
A stilted laugh bursts from my mouth, and I hurry to cover it with my fist. When I’m confident I’m not going to burst out laughing again, I ask, “A unicorn?”
Adam looks down at the tiny unicorn stenciled on his lower abdomen and smiles wide. Then he looks back up and shrugs. “Shawn dared me. We were teenagers.”
Adam’s body is lean and toned. He doesn’t have an eight-pack or anything, but the sight of his hard stomach still makes me blush all the way from the tops of my ears to the tips of my curling toes. He has slight indents marking the muscles beneath his skin, but I think it’s the line traveling down the center that makes my cheeks heat the most. On his left pectoral is another tattoo—a Magic 8 Ball that says “Ask again later.” It’s so Adam, I’d smile if I wasn’t busy trying to pretend I wasn’t just shamelessly ogling him. I stand up and heat his breakfast in the microwave before carrying it over to where he’s sitting at the kitchen table.
“You saved me some?” he asks as I set his plate down in front of him.
“You’re welcome.”
He chuckles and picks up a piece of bacon, eating that first.
Joel finishes his last bite of pancakes and leans back in his chair, patting his belly. “I think I’m going to miss you, Peach.”
Shawn chuckles and says, “You’re just saying that because of the pancakes.”
“Am not. She’s one hell of a dancer, too.” He smirks over at me, and I blush, remembering how tipsy and dirty we got on the dance floor last night.
“Well,” Mike interrupts, “I’m going to miss having anyone around here who’s halfway decent at Call of Duty.”
“Hey!” Cody protests, making us laugh. His legs are dangling from where he’s sitting on the counter, distractedly texting on his phone.
“I’m going to miss you guys, too,” I say, feeling all warm but sad inside.
Adam scoffs, pouring a layer of syrup on his pancakes. “I don’t know why everyone is going all Hallmark on me. It’s not like you’re never going to see her again. You’ll see her in two weeks.”
“They will?” This is news to me.
Adam nods, letting the syrup soak in before he adds a second layer, just like I do. It makes me smile. “Yeah,” he says, “you’re coming to our show that Saturday.”
“I am?”
Shawn laughs, and Adam smiles, sliding his shades up onto his head. “Yep. You’ve even got a backstage pass.”
“Just one?” I’d really like to bring Dee with me, and maybe Leti.
“Or fifty. How many do you want?”
I chuckle and sip my coffee. If Adam wants me to go with him to Mayhem, I’ll be there.
I exchange numbers and hugs with the rest of the band before Adam drives me home, reserving my biggest hugs for Shawn and Mike. This trip would’ve been so awkward if it weren’t for how awesome they both are. I’m glad Adam wants me to keep hanging around once in a while, because if he didn’t, I’d definitely miss them.
We’ve been on the road for a while, the wind blowing through my hair—which I’ve left down for the first time in days—when Adam says, “So I managed to not pin you to the bed and have my way with you last night.” My throat closes, and I stare over at him. His shades are back down, and one side of his mouth is curled up in a sexy smile. “Are you proud of me?”
I half chuckle, half choke. “Yes, Adam, I’m very proud of you.”
“Because friends don’t sleep with their friends, right?”
Okay, now I know he’s just giving me a hard time. A really, really, really hard freaking time. “Right.”
“I mean, not that much sleeping would’ve been going on, but—”
“Adam!”
“Right.” He chuckles and pulls a cigarette from his pack, lighting it. “So do you think I’m going to pass this test tomorrow?”
“I think you’d better.” After all the studying we’ve done? If he doesn’t pass, I’m going to use our French textbook to beat him senseless.
“You don’t think we need another late-night tutoring session?”
As appealing as that sounds, I’ve been psyching myself up for saying goodbye to Adam all morning, and I feel like I need to pull the Band-Aid off before I lose my nerve. He’s said he’ll keep in touch, but once we’re back to real life and he’s swamped by all of the pretty, familiar faces that follow him around every day, I wonder how long it will take mine to fade from his memory. Now that I’m no longer Peach from Mayhem—and I’m just Peach, the girl who won’t sleep with him—he really has no reason to give me the time of day.
“Nah, I think you’ve got it covered,” I say, forcing a smile at him. “I have faith in you.”
“Careful, Peach,” he warns, glancing over at me. “Famous last words.”
I roll my eyes. “Faith or not, if you don’t pass this test, those are going to be your last words.”
Adam chuckles and rests his elbow on the door. “You’re kind of a violent little thing, aren’t you?”
“What can I say, you bring out the worst in me.”
He gazes over at me again, the seductive look in his eyes making me blush again. “Do I now?”
I distract myself by fumbling my phone out of my purse and checking my messages. Dee texted me to tell me that she misses my annoying face and to remind me that my daisies will “wither and DIE” if I don’t water them regularly. I snicker and move on to Leti’s text next.
Dee said you might wanna stay with me this week?
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Leti’s text is a giant red flag. Dee wouldn’t have messaged him unless this business with her RA has gotten serious. I chew on my thumbnail as my useless brain tries to devise some type of game plan. I can’t go back to Dee’s, but I don’t want Leti to run into the same problems. And his roommate kind of gives me the creeps . . . Ugh. This is such bullshit. I wouldn’t even be in this position if it wasn’t for Brady. And now he has our two-bedroom apartment all to himself.
There’s really only one choice.
When we get close to school, Adam asks me where to, and I tell him to take a right. “But this isn’t the way to the dorms,” he notes, his eyebrow lifting in question.
“I know.”
“Where am I taking you?”
I sigh, running my clammy palm over the cold leather of his armrest. “Dee’s RA gave her a notice that I can’t stay there with her anymore. So I guess I’m going back to my apartment.”
“To your ex . . .”
During the car ride, I’d told Adam the basics on Brady—that we dated for three years in high school, that we moved here together, that I never suspected him of cheating until that disastrous night at Mayhem. Adam had been uncharacteristically silent, listening without saying much.
“Yeah,” I answer. Our apartment has two bedrooms, so I guess I’ll just stay in my old room.
He stares ahead for a long time, and so do I. “Are you sure?” he finally asks me.
Hell no I’m not sure. But I don’t really have any other options, now do I? “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Chapter Twenty
I SIT IN Adam’s passenger seat nervously wringing my hands in my lap until I bite the bullet and grab my backpack from the backseat. The trunk is popped, so I’m just going to grab my things and head in. I turn toward Adam, prepared to say my final goodbye, when he opens his door and gets out.
Okay . . . this is not how I planned this going. I had a clear vision in my head. I’d smile, nod, say I had fun, then tell him I’d see him in class on Monday. Thirteen words, tops. “Thanks.” “I
had a lot of fun this weekend.” “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I recited them in my head a hundred times on the way here so that I wouldn’t go blank or stutter when it came time to say them, but then that jerk had to go and get out of the damn car.
I scramble to meet him at the trunk, watching as he pulls my suitcase out and then stands there staring at me. It’s so awkward, I don’t know what to do. “Thanks for letting me come along this weekend,” I stammer.
“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” he asks, the concern in his eyes sneaking into his tone. Even though Adam is a total playboy, I know that deep down, he’s a good guy. And I can tell that me going back to live with the man who broke my heart isn’t sitting well with him. But it’s not like I have any other choice.
I don’t know what’s making me feel sicker—that I’m about to talk to Brady face-to-face for the first time in almost two months, or that I’m about to leave Adam. That tomorrow, this weekend will officially be nothing but a memory.
“Yeah,” I lie—as much to myself as to the deliciously unkempt rocker boy standing less than two feet in front of me. “I promised I’d talk to him. And I’ll get Dee to bring my stuff over later.”
Adam leans against his trunk staring at his shoes, black Vans with black laces and white soles. What’s he thinking? Every second that he stands there, I feel weaker and weaker. I suck at goodbyes, and this one is already taking way too long. I hugged the other guys goodbye, but Adam? He’s just standing there, looking perfect.
He suddenly reaches into his back pocket and plucks out his phone. “What’s your number?”
I didn’t give it to him on the bus because he didn’t ask for it, and I’d grown pretty sure he never would. I didn’t ask for his either because, well, there’d be no point. He’s Adam freaking Everest—I’d never have the guts to actually call him, not even after spending so much time with him this weekend and realizing how amazing he is.