by Jamie Shaw
“In your bed?” I ask, just to be smart.
He lets out a short laugh. “No, not in my bed . . . But, come on, was sleeping in my bed really so bad? It’s big enough for the both of us. I bet you didn’t even know I was there.”
“Come on, Adam . . . This is weird.”
He frowns, and his head does that adorable side-tilt thing that makes me want to sigh. “Why does it have to be weird?”
“Huh?”
“I guess I just don’t get it.” He stares at his knees and picks at the frays in his jeans before looking back up at me. “Why is it weird? If we’re friends, why can’t I do something nice for you? If you don’t actually like me, Peach, just say so.”
“Adam . . . I was just kidding around . . .”
He shakes his head and stands up to get some distance, eventually taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “No. I’ve been thinking about it, you know. About why you didn’t come backstage that night. Why you never said hi to me in class. Why you lied about who you were and didn’t want me to find out. I know you think I’m some kind of player or something, and I’m not denying it, but that really doesn’t explain it. I mean, you said we can be friends, so why couldn’t you have said that a month and a half ago? Why’d you have to disappear and then hide? And then lie?”
“I didn’t think you cared,” I say quietly. I feel like such a jerk.
“Well I did.”
I sit down next to him and say, “I’m sorry.”
“Why is it so easy for you to be around the other guys but not me? I mean, you can play video games all night with Mike. You can dance with Joel. You and Shawn have inside jokes like you’ve been friends for years. But I try to do something nice for you and you get all uptight about it.”
“I’ve never shared a bed with Mike or Joel or Shawn,” I answer.
“Would it freak you out as much?”
No . . . it wouldn’t—because I just don’t think of them the same way. Not like I think about Adam. “No, but not because I don’t like you,” I answer honestly.
“Then why?”
Because I like you way more than them, way more than I should. “I don’t really want to answer that . . .”
Adam sighs and lets himself fall flat on the bed with his legs hanging over the edge.
“Adam?” I ask after a while.
He makes a noise that translates to, “Yeah?”
I twist my body to gaze down at him, at his shaggy brown hair and those piercing eyes. His arms are relaxed above his head, pulling his shirt up so the barest sliver of skin is showing just above the waistband of his jeans.
“You’re my favorite . . . That’s why.”
Staring up at me like he’s not quite sure if I’m telling the truth, he asks, “I’m your favorite?”
Understatement of the century. I smile down at him. “By a hair.”
Adam smiles, and then his expression grows more serious. He sits up, staring over at me. “How much do you like me?”
Oh, that question is so, so loaded. I bob and weave, weave and bob. “Enough to not make you sleep on the couch with Joel in exchange for tutoring.”
He laughs, and then after a moment, he stands up. “I like you too, Peach . . . And I’m cool with just being your friend. So stop overthinking this, okay?”
I crawl under the covers and snuggle my cheek into Adam’s pillow, feeling mixed emotions over how cool he is with being my friend. “Okay.”
I roll toward the wall, expecting Adam to leave, but instead he takes off his jeans and crawls in next to me, wrapping his arms around me.
I don’t really want to point out what I say next, but I’m too curious about what his reply will be to stop myself. “Friends don’t do this, Adam.”
“Well we’re friends and we are doing this, so it looks like you’re wrong for once.”
I chuckle before snuggling even deeper into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
EACH NIGHT FOR the next week and a half, I fall asleep with Adam’s arms around me, and each morning, I fail the ultimate friend test. I usually wake up before the alarm, and with no reason to get out of bed, I don’t. I lie with Adam until real life calls, and then I spend the rest of the day trying to convince myself that my reluctance to leave his bed each morning means nothing.
He drives me to school, and sits with me in French class, and we spend our evenings together, and . . . this is a mess. I’m a freaking mess.
I know it, and yet I still don’t get out of bed on Friday morning. I lie in his arms until I fall back asleep. When I wake later, it’s because he’s crawled on top of the covers and laid his entire weight on me. He’s dressed, and his freshly washed hair is dripping on my forehead.
“Guess what,” he says, his eyes bright with excitement.
I try not to let a goofy smile consume my whole face. “What?”
“I got an A on that French test.”
My eyes open wide. We studied for that exam harder than I’ve ever studied for anything in my entire life, but I never expected Adam to ace it! “You did?”
“Yep,” he says, beaming down at me. “Ninety-two percent.”
Without thinking, I lock his face between my hands, and his smile gets even wider. “Adam! Oh my God, that’s awesome!”
“Grades got posted this morning,” he says, laughing as I pull him into a strangling hug. “You should check yours. I bet I beat you.”
He didn’t beat me, of course, but I’m still super proud of him, and Adam decides to throw a party to celebrate. Later that night, I’m sitting across from him in a big circle on the living room floor. Low music is playing from the speakers nearby, mingling with the faint sounds coming from the video game that Mike and Macy are immersed in at the other side of the room. The rest of us are playing the drinking game Kings.
I’m glad Dee was able to drag Macy along, but we’ve barely worked Macy up to being relaxed enough to come to a party—getting shit-faced with a bunch of rock stars isn’t exactly in her comfort zone. Mike seemed to pick up on her apprehension, asking if she’d like to play a video game with him instead. He said he was just happy to have the excuse to play, but I know it was more than that; he’s sweeter than he likes to let on.
“Okay,” Dee says, wiggling her fingers over the card pile since she enthusiastically volunteered to go first, “how do I play this game?”
She’s sitting to my right, and Leti is to my left. Joel, Shawn, and Adam are playing too, along with two skanks from the ground floor that Joel took the liberty of inviting. Kayla and Zoey. Kayla is by far the more outspoken of the two, with long black hair, deep blue eyes, and fake boobs for days. Zoey is a tiny little thing with choppy bleached-blonde hair and, judging by the looks of her, an entire pharmacy’s worth of diuretics.
Shawn hands Dee his phone, which displays a glossary of what each card means. “Pick a card and tell us what it is,” he instructs, and Dee flashes him a shamelessly flirtatious smile as she plucks her first card.
“Okay, a five,” she says, “so that means . . .”
The sound of six hands loudly slapping the hardwood floor surprises me into slapping mine down too, and all of the guys bust up laughing.
“What the hell?” Dee says, her nose scrunched with irritation.
“Last one to slap the ground has to drink!” Joel exclaims. He’s dressed in dark denim jeans and a neon-yellow band T-shirt that highlights the blond spikes forming a runway down his head.
“That’s no fair! I didn’t know the rules!” Dee looks to me for backup, but I just shrug. After an aggravated huff, she picks up her cup. “Fine, but you guys are assholes.”
All of the guys smile at her appreciatively, but with a body like Dee’s, I’m pretty sure she could say she’s a Satan-worshipper who eats babies for breakfast and they’d still smile at her the same way.
Ever since she arrived wearing curve-hugging skinny jeans and a backless black top, Joel hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her.
We each take turns picking cards and taking drinks, until Kayla—also known as the black-haired skankopotomous sitting between Adam and Shawn—picks an “I never” card.
“Oh, yay!” she exclaims, sitting back on her knees and tugging on her black mini-skirt. She wouldn’t have to fight with it so damn much if she had worn something sensible. To Dee’s disdain, I’m still dressed in a navy-blue T-shirt and the light gray leggings Adam drew all over this morning when we were curled up on the couch. I was sitting by the arm and he was sitting next to me. He randomly tugged my legs into his lap, bit the cap off of his blue marker, and asked if he could draw on me. In that moment, with my legs stretched over his jeans and his hands on my thighs, I wanted him to do a hell of a lot more than write on me, but I managed a silent nod of my head.
“Hm,” Kayla continues, tapping on her lips in an obvious move to draw attention to them, “I neverrr . . .”
There are so many ways she could finish that sentence. I never: read a book whole way through, passed a class with an A, closed my legs for more than five minutes, had an intelligent thought.
“I never had a threesome,” she finally finishes with a sly smile in Zoey’s direction.
I don’t buy her ‘confession’ for a second. The sultry look she gives Adam screams that she has been in a threesome and already has another tentatively penciled in for tonight. Dee discreetly elbows me, breaking me from my glowering. My eyes are positively twitching in my poor attempt to keep them from narrowing into laser-shooting slits.
“Sure you haven’t,” Leti says, and if I thought I couldn’t adore him more, I was wrong.
In a high-pitched voice that she apparently thinks is cute, Kayla adamantly insists that she really hasn’t, while Adam, Shawn, Joel, and Zoey all take drinks.
I’m not surprised Adam has to drink on this one, but I am a little jealous—which doesn’t make any damn sense at all. Why would I be jealous of Adam’s threesome? I am in no way interested in having one. But the idea of him sleeping with not one, but two girls at the same time . . . it makes me want to snatch his hand from the card pile and drag him back to his room to make him forget all about past threesomes and future threesomes and every girl who isn’t me.
Which is just insane. If Dee and Leti were really good friends, they’d have me committed.
Adam chooses his next card while I’m still having a heated internal debate with myself. “I’m the question master,” he informs us, tossing the queen of diamonds onto the messy “discarded” pile. “That means I can ask any of you a question, and if you answer it, you have to drink.” He immediately looks my way. “Need any clarification about that?” I shrug, refusing to fall into his trap, and he smiles approvingly at me before turning his attention to Kayla. “What about you? Any questions?”
His smooth voice elicits a satisfied grin from her, and she answers him without a second thought. “Nope.”
Adam snickers as most of the circle laughs at Kayla’s expense. She blushes beet red when she realizes her mistake, and then she swallows her penalty drink. When she sets her cup back down and her cheeks are still rosy, Adam rewards her with a big, genuine smile that makes me bristle.
Someone really needs to explain to him that harebrained idiocy is not freaking cute.
Neither is the way she keeps licking her lips or playing with her hair. When it’s my turn again, I’ve spent the last few minutes daydreaming about holding her down and shaving her head. I reluctantly direct my attention back to the pile and take my turn, drawing another “I never” card.
“Here it comes,” Dee says, fidgeting with anticipation. In high school, there was always one thing I could say that would ensure everyone else had to drink: “I never had sex.” But frankly, that’s the last thing I want Adam or any of the rest of these guys to know. I’d never hear the end of it—I’d be a walking, talking pariah. I can only imagine the way they’d look at me if they knew.
There are so many things I haven’t done, my options for this turn are pathetically endless. I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket, I’ve never cheated on a test, I’ve never trespassed, I’ve never skinny-dipped. Finally, I settle on, “I never had a one-night stand.” I’m not ashamed of this one, and I smirk, knowing I’ve still got everyone pegged.
Shawn nods appreciatively, and Adam raises his cup in a mock toast. Everyone—even Leti—has to take a drink.
“You’re missing out!” Zoey says to me, but it’s obvious her comment is meant for Adam’s benefit—letting him know just how down she is for a one-night stand. I don’t even try to hide my eye-roll. Kayla catches it, but I don’t care. She’s been inching closer and closer to Adam since we started playing, and if she ends up on his lap, I swear to God I’m going to find an excuse to spill my beer on her.
When it’s her turn again, she picks the “rule maker card,” which means she gets to make a rule for the game. “Okay,” she says, flicking her loosely curled midnight-black hair over her shoulder, “so how about . . . when a player picks a seven, they have to kiss someone in the circle.” She smiles brazenly at Adam. “Their pick.”
When Zoey giggles, the two sluts share a secret smile that seriously makes me want to bash their heads together. Even though Joel invited them here, we all know who they’d pick, and it definitely isn’t Joel. Seven is a card that hasn’t been drawn yet, so they’re maximizing their chances. For hollow-skulled twits, they definitely know how to strategize.
Unfortunately for them, I pick the first seven. Dee’s shrill squeal breaks me from my shock. She claps her hands together, and Leti stares at me with animated awe lighting his eyes like fireworks, like I’m about to unlock the secrets of the universe or do something equally epic.
“This should be good,” Joel says, angling his body for a better view. Everyone’s eyes are on me.
I look at Adam first, because I suck and have no impulse control. He’s staring back at me, his expression utterly unreadable. I quickly force my eyes to the floor and curse myself for blatantly glancing at him the minute I saw my card. Knowing I have to cover up the slip, I look up at Joel, and then at Shawn. I force my eyes to travel all around the circle until my gaze lands on Dee. She widens her eyes in warning, and that’s all she needs to do for me to know what she’s thinking. I can practically hear her frantic inner monologue: Don’t you dare do what you’re thinking of doing! Pick Adam! Pick him! Pick him or I’m going to glue your lips to his while you sleep!
“Dee,” I choose, ignoring her unspoken threats and shifting to face her. She’s my only real option. If I pick Adam, he’ll know I like him, and that will ruin everything. If I pick Joel or Shawn, they’ll think I like them, and that will just be awkward. Dee is safe, and no one ever specified what kind of kiss. A peck and we’ll be done.
“YES!” Joel abruptly shouts, slapping the ground. “THANK YOU GOD!”
“WAIT!” Mike hollers from where he’s still gaming with Macy in the corner of the room. “Hold on a second!”
Shawn laughs. “Mike, better pause that game and get over here!”
“I can’t pause it!” His fingers are moving like crazy over the controller, the glow of the TV illuminating his frantic face. “It doesn’t . . . I can’t . . . It doesn’t pause!”
Dee leans in and whispers, low so that only I can hear, “What are you doing?! Just pick Adam!”
I shake my head and pull away. “Just a peck,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear.
Dee sighs and impatiently puckers her lips, and I swear that Shawn, Adam, and Joel are all leaning in like they’re trying to memorize the curves of our lips. Mike nearly trips over his own feet as he runs over for a courtside seat, and I have to shake my head. Men—they all suck.
“You ready?” I ask Dee
.
“Lay it on me, lover.”
Our lips touch and untouch in an instant, and I swear I can hear crickets chirping for a moment before Joel groans. “What the hell was that?” he complains. “That wasn’t even a kiss!” I can’t help smirking, but he frowns at us like we just stole his favorite childhood toy and smashed it with sledgehammers. “That could’ve been so fucking hot,” he whines.
“We’ll do it!” Kayla crawls toward Zoey, prompting Dee to say what I’m thinking.
“If you two do it, I swear to God I’m going to throw up.”
“I second that,” I add, and she smiles at me.
Kayla and Zoey ignore us and kiss anyway, directly in front of Adam’s face. Dee makes gagging noises the whole time, but I can’t even watch. I don’t want to see Adam’s reaction, so I stand up and walk back down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Leti calls.
“Bathroom!”
I take a minute to collect myself, rolling my eyes at myself in the mirror. What the hell is my problem? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything. We’re just freaking friends! Friends who sleep together and cuddle and spend almost every waking moment together . . . but still just freaking friends. Because that’s what I wanted—WANT—to be! I need to get a grip on whatever this is I’m feeling. And then I need to toss it on the ground and smash it, douse it in gasoline and light it on fire.
I open the door and begin walking back down the hallway, shrieking when strong arms lock around me from behind.
Adam laughs. “Not having fun?”
“Sure I am,” I lie as he penguin-walks me down the hallway.
“You didn’t look like it.”
I force a smile at him over my shoulder. “Maybe I’m just not as fun as some of the other girls here.” Sad, but probably true.