I sit up and look at her, my mouth opening and closing without words coming out, with all the words scrambling through my brain too quickly to come out.
I always thought that person was Deo. Because Deo is so damn sweet and hilarious. So handsome. So smart and adventurous. He loves his mom and his adorable grandfather. I wanted to be part of his life. I wanted him to look at me and feel the sunshine of his perfect, strong love.
The thing is, Deo is still the guy I grew up admiring and loving.
But he doesn’t look at me like I’m the center of his world. That look is for Whit.
And, for the first time, I’m okay with that.
Because there actually is someone in my life who looks at me like I’m kind of amazing. Someone who pushes me to do better. Someone who looks over at me when he thinks I’m not looking, and his eyes burn up and down my body like he wants to devour every inch of me.
The one person who believes in me even when I put on my best ‘I don’t care’ act?
The one person who sees through my every attempt to slack off and fail?
The one person who insists I’m more than I tell him I am?
Adam. Adam. Adam.
He’s been right in front of my face this whole entire time. I’ve been baking him cupcakes and joking with him and poring over every note set he sends me so I can impress him at the next tutoring session. But he’s always been—Adam. Just Adam.
He’s always been Adam. Cute Adam. Serious Adam. Adam who sees who I am and who I try to hide. He sees that all and roots for me anyway.
“You look like you just realized something,” Marigold says, cupping my shoulder with her hand. “Your face looks so happy.”
“I think…I really think I know. For the first time in so long, I feel sure.” I laugh, a stupid loose laugh, and wonder for a second if Marigold doped my tea, because there’s this assured power emanating through me.
She hops up, her eyes dancing with excitement, and asks, “Do you want me to do a reading, Genevieve? The energy right now is incredible. I can feel it rolling off of you.” She holds still, eyes closed, hands out.
“I’d love a reading.” I watch as she bounds over to the small wooden box that holds her packs, picking one tied in a deep green square of silk. Marigold has read my Tarot cards for years. I always secretly hoped at least one of the readings would include the knight of cups, the card Deo always chose as his own for Celtic cross readings.
But I never got that one, not even once.
Tonight I’m afraid I’ll finally get my wish too late. Not that a Tarot reading will sway my decision. I just…I want all the stars to align for me tonight. I want this reading to matter, to solidify everything that’s been percolating in the back of my mind for so long. Everything that is now so clear.
“You’re giving me a very distinct vibe tonight.” Marigold squints at me as she clutches the pack to her chest. “I’m going to do a simple three card read. Past, present, future. Okay? I want to channel your energy, but I don’t want to muddy what you already know to be true.”
I swear, Marigold is like a freaking mind reader.
She hands me the pack, but I don’t need her to tell me to think about what my heart wants most. I cut the pack with my left hand, like I’ve done a thousand times before, and Marigold flips my cards.
My stomach knots at the first card.
Death, reversed.
“Your past,” she intones.
I feel pukey after the next.
The Devil, reversed.
“Your present,” she murmurs.
And I hold my breath for my future.
The page of swords.
“Your future.” Marigold looks at these cards, the ones that make me want to vomit, and her smile is pure sunshine.
“Marigold, maybe we need to reshuffle,” I beg. “Maybe I didn’t concentrate the way I should have. This looks really bad. Like, super bad.”
“This is wonderful,” she says, laughing softly. “I’ve been reading your cards for years, Genevieve, and I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hopeful reading.” She draws a finger over the Death card. “Don’t feel nervous. This is, first of all, in your past. Secondly, Death is so misinterpreted. Death is the sign of rebirth. New life. In your reading, this means that there was something in your life that is gone. A hope, a dream, a path you were going to pursue. But you can’t be sad it’s gone, because it’s all about renewal. A door closed for you, Genevieve. It closed very firmly. And a new one is opening wide.” Marigold’s face is shining with happiness in the flickering firelight.
“That’s great, Marigold,” I say, tracing a finger over the angry, bloated face of the devil on the middle card. “But what is this all about? The devil? How can that possibly be good?”
“Don’t let the ugliness of this card fool you.” She puts her finger on the card and slides it until it meets mine. “You are bound by something, held back by something, and that’s all about to change. Everything that had you shackled and kept you down is all about to be washed clean. You’re about to embark on a powerful journey, and it’s going to lead you in directions you never even imagined. Your entire world is about to break wide open in the best way, Genevieve.”
My heart is pounding. The blood hisses and pumps through me, filling me with an intense adrenaline. “This one?” I ask. “It’s a dark haired man, right? Younger? Maybe college aged?”
Marigold picks the card up and studies it for a few long beats. When she finally speaks, her voice is strong and sure. “The page of swords is a dark haired young person. A person who’s about to face some challenges and conflicts that will take a great deal of strength and endurance to overcome. A person who’s about to realize his—or her—true worth.”
I wonder what challenges Adam is about to face. I wonder how I can help him. Because that’s what I’m about to do. I’m about to revive my life, let go of my past, and break away from everything that’s held me back for so long. I’m about to be brave and pursue my path fearlessly.
I’m about to ask Adam Abramowitz on a real date.
***
Tuesday at one fifteen, I’m sitting in the In-N-Out, suddenly nervous as hell about everything. I tap the toe of my adorably high heel, tug on my tiny shirt, and check my makeup in my phone. I look good. Really good. Adam said I should have some confidence, and here I am, being all confident.
Right?
I watch as his car pulls up and he gets out, wearing his usual TA uniform of khakis, random sci-fi t-shirt with a button-down over it, and hiking boots. I guess they’re hiking boots. I don’t wear shoes that don’t make me six inches taller and three times sexier. Preferably while they glitter.
“Hey.” He waves when he sees me and walks over.
It’s like I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands or what to say or how to stop smoothing my skirt and touching my hair.
“Hey.” I try to smile, but I feel stiff and unsure. “So, um, are you hungry?”
“Starving. Why don’t I order? You can find us a seat?” He squints at me like he’s wondering why I’ve suddenly become an idiotic mute.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll find us a seat.” I start to walk to the tables, and he catches my hand and draws me to his side. My skin heats up and my lips tremble. The way he dresses is all neat and nerdy professor, but the way he smells? It’s this wild mix of cologne and something I can’t put my finger on. Something that smells like leaning too far over the side of a bridge feels. Or the way the ocean sounds when it crashes during a storm. He smells the way I want to live, and I can’t inhale him fast enough.
“What do you want me to order you?” His eyes are clear green under dark eyebrows that lift a little bit. Because he’s laughing at me.
“Whatever you’re having,” I say.
“Double-double? Extra onion?” One side of his mouth quirks up at the side.
I don’t like raw onions. “Perfect.” Because I want to kiss him, so it’s a rule your breath should match. Right?
I’ve done this dozens of times with guy’s way more intimidating and out of my league than Adam. Why does this feel so specifically strange?
He lets go of my hand and waits for me to walk away before he orders. I sit at the tiny red table and wait for Adam to come back. He does, bringing two Cokes and fries with the burgers. I’m glad we don’t have to stumble through talking, since I’ve been making such a mess of that lately. I take a big bite of burger and cringe when the acidic snap of onion fills my mouth with its pungent flavor. A white ring falls onto the wax paper my burger was wrapped in, and I glare at it.
“Genevieve?” Adam puts his burger down and I do the same with mine. He points to my burger. “Why would you order onions if you don’t like onions?”
“I…” I want to kiss you. On the mouth. With my tongue. Because the way you sucked icing off my finger and the way you look at me and the way you never stop fighting for me make me think we’d be awesome together if we were brave enough to take a chance. “I didn’t realize how much I don’t like them, I guess,” I say instead.
“May I?” He points to my burger and I just nod. He lifts the bun, looks at me, and says, “I washed them. Promise.” He hooks a finger through the onions and pulls them off my burger, deposits them on his, and smiles at me. “Better, right?”
I pick up the burger and bite into it. Now it’s all savory and crunchy minus the acidic onion punch. “Perfect.”
“Good. As an added bonus, there won’t be any annoying undergrads hanging around asking me a million questions after lecture. So there’s one plus to onion breath, anyway.” He takes a huge bite, and I feel a little sting of jealousy. Who exactly are these undergrads who hang around to ask Adam questions?
As soon as I ask myself the question, the answer presents itself, clear as a freshly wiped window pane. Just because it took me weeks to see just how amazing Adam is doesn’t mean my classmates have been so dense.
“How have your classes been?” I ask, even though it feels weird because we never talk about his classes or work. Not that it makes any sense to feel guilty: the time I spend with him is specifically about my calculus work. But, still. I could have at least asked at some point. What kind of self-centered monster am I?
“Classes? I’m, like, two weeks behind on grading, but that’s not too weird. I like to think I help them build character by making them wait to get grades back. Or maybe they just think I’m a huge dick. Probably that.” He meets my eyes when I laugh, and for some reason, the laugh sticks hard in my throat. “Um, speaking of classes, I had a chance to stop by Eidelberg’s office. I did a summer workshop with him. Anyway, I pulled a few strings on behalf of my very favorite tutee, and he offered to let you do this.”
Adam wipes his hands on a napkin and pulls a thick stack of stapled papers out of his bag, then slides them across the table to me.
I barely have time to look at them before my eyes start swimming. “What are they?”
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you, Genevieve. These are differential equations that you really need to apply multiple techniques to if you have any hope of solving any of them. And, seriously, they’re not worth much credit. He’s not handing you free points here. But, if you complete this packet and it’s done well, that last C will be pushed up to a B-.” He leans back, arms crossed, and waits for my answer.
“You did this all for me?” I ask. My gut feeling about him was so damn right. And Marigold’s reading? It’s all making so much sense now. How could I have been so stupid for so long? Why did I waste so much time?
“Well, Eidelberg did this for you,” Adam says, picking his burger back up. “And, actually, no one did anything for you yet. You’ll wind up doing this for yourself. And, no lie, these are going to be torture. They actually scare me a little. But if anyone can do them, you can.”
“What if I need some help?” I ask, batting my lashes just enough so he almost chokes on the enormous bite he just took.
He swallows and clears his throat. “Help. Right. Part of the deal is that I only offer you very minimal tutoring on this. Which is fair, really. You don’t need a ton of help from me. And this is extra credit, so it’s supposed to make you sweat a little.”
Not the response I was looking for.
I wanted him to say, Help you? I’ll do anything you need, Genevieve. Anything.
He’s raising an eyebrow my way from across the table. “Problem?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No.” We’re quietly chewing for a few seconds before I finally say, “You know what. Kind of yes. I mean, you’re my tutor, Adam. I’m not asking for you to do the work for me, but you could have offered to give me a hand. You’re just throwing me to the wolves here.” I flip some of the pages up and the most excruciatingly scary differentials flutter in front of my eyes.
I’m more than a little freaked.
“Throwing you to the wolves?” He shakes his head, those eyes all deep and green and fixed right on me. “You are one of the wolves, Genevieve. I believe in you. Don’t you get that? I believe you’re going to work your ass off, and, when this packet is done, you’ll have mastered some of the skills you’re already pretty decent at. And, pretty soon, you’ll realize you don’t even need a tutor.”
“That’s very unlikely, Adam,” I say, taking a long sip of soda to cool the furious flush I know is igniting my cheeks. But I suck too many bubbles down my throat and wind up gasping and choking.
Adam comes around to pound his hand between my shoulder blades as I hack and choke, wishing this had all gone down very differently.
In a parallel universe, Adam offered tons of late night tutoring sessions to get me through these merciless differential sets, we wound up meeting at his dorm (where he’d ordered in delicious food and lit candles everywhere…also, he maybe wasn’t wearing a shirt with Yoda on it), things started out strictly business, but, before we knew it, we were kissing. And then kissing turned into something more, and then it was only a matter of time before I was bringing home to meet my parents.
The fantasy ends there, because I’ve stopped choking and Adam is back in his seat, looking worried. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” I sigh. “So I really have to do these all on my own?” I lean forward, letting my low-cut shirt do the work for me.
Adam’s gaze dips and his eyes widen, but he snaps his focus back to my face. “Yes. And it’s for your own good. I’d never tell you to do this alone if I didn’t think you could. Ready for class?”
I sigh again and help him pick up the wrappers and empty cups. He drives me right up to my lecture hall and we make it in plenty of time, since he has a faculty parking permit.
“Thanks for lunch.” I smile and tuck my insane Calc extra credit packet safely into the depths of my folder, where I don’t have to look at it.
“No problem at all. So, are we on for Thursday?” He hooks his thumbs along the bottom of the steering wheel and stares at the gauges.
“Sure. Do you eat In-N-Out twice a week?” I look over at him. He doesn’t have a single extra ounce of fat on his entire body. Or, at least, it seems that way. I haven’t seen him undressed.
Yet.
“No.” He moves the steering wheel back and forth a few times like a little boy playing driving. “I’d say it’s more like five or six times.”
“Five or six?” I gasp. “Burgers are delicious, but you’re going to die.” I know it’s not remotely coy, but I don’t care at all. Adam goes out of his way to take care of my academic health. Cooking for him is the least I can do. “You need a meal. Like a real meal with ingredients other than beef patties and fried starches.”
“You’re making some very appetizing points.” He squints at me. “Does Ramen count?”
“Ugh! No!” I laugh.
“SpaghettiO’s?”
“You’re just making me sad now. Listen, what are you doing after class?” I watch as his fingers tighten over the steering wheel.
“After this class?
” he asks, looking at me with eyes that are a little wild. I nod and he stutters. “Uh, one more class. At four. It’s over by quarter after five.”
“Perfect. Almost dinnertime.” That will give me exactly enough time to make and pack a meal that will save him from death by fast foods. “Can you pick me up? We can go back to your place.”
“Oh.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks nervous. “My place? Right. It’s a little…antiseptic.” He leans my way and explains, “Not even because I’m a scientist. They just have this insane asylum vibe going, and, you know, there’s so many amazing places to go around here. Why don’t we go up to Griffith Observatory? Or is that too much like a date?” he rushes to add.
What’s wrong with this being ‘too much like a date’?
“No. Griffith is great. I haven’t been since I was just a kid. This will be fun.” I check my phone. “Okay, I’m going to be to class five minutes early today. But I’ll text you my address. Give me your number?”
Adam stutters through the ten digits like he’s lost his mind. I tilt my head to one side and really look at him. His sort of messy dark hair, the green eyes that feel warm on my skin when he looks my way, the jaw that’s kind of shockingly male.
He’s kind of shockingly male.
Maybe it’s just because I always tended to date guys who prided themselves on being rough around the edges, blaring their masculinity like a raw badge of honor, that I didn’t immediately realize how much more of a man Adam is.
He’s quiet, but that’s because listens. To everyone, from his advisors to his lowly tutoring student.
He has a little bit of a dorky mad-scientist vibe going on, but he swept me in his arms like I weighed nothing when I tripped on my heels and growled at me like a testosterone-crazed wild man.
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