“Thank you,” she whispered back, much quieter.
He smiled bigger and his shoulders rose a little.
Wow—he was adorable when he grinned like that with a childlike innocence that was so authentic, it made her heart expand in her ribcage.
“Do you like me?” he asked. “It’s okay—you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone your answer.”
“Uhhh . . . Sure.”
She picked up her pencil and began tapping it. Her gaze went to the teacher, but for several minutes she was sure the boy next to her, seated on the right, was still focused entirely on her.
An electric current must have been moving over her arms, because they were breaking out in chills and the hair follicles were almost on end. But not in a scared way. More like . . . Well, she didn’t know what.
This was all new to her.
All she knew was that it was hard to take notes and concentrate with him doing that.
“You have nice eyes. They tell me you like me, so I know you’re telling the truth. Thanks for that,” he said.
Her breath barely leaked out of her. If she said something else, would that encourage him and this—whatever this exchange was?
“What’s your name?” he asked a few moments later, this time in a softer voice.
“Marissa Cole, but I go by Mari. What’s yours?” She kept her eyes on the teacher. Not because she was being a dutiful student, though she usually was, but because this guy was gorgeous and totally disarming.
“Adam. Adam Latham, and I like you. I know I already told you that, but I wanted to make sure you know I really mean it. You’re nice.” His folded hands landed with a soft thud on their table.
“You’re nice too, Adam.” She cleared her throat and tucked her head down, causing her long brown hair to fall forward.
She was relieved to have something between them. A barrier helped her breathe.
“Ms. Cole, answer please,” the teacher said in a gruff tone.
“It’s umm . . .” Had he called her name before now? How had she missed that?
“It’s pi, and the remainder is so tiny, it’s not worth looking at,” Adam answered for her.
“Well done, Mr. Latham,” the teacher said with a smile. His eyes twinkled at the the new student.
Mari’s eyes flashed over to her table-mate, expecting a grin. Instead, he was staring at her hands, and he looked as if he’d been doing it the entire time while he had answered the teacher’s question relating to the lecture.
“You have nice hands,” Adam said. This time he was quiet—she barely heard him. “They’re very graceful. Not long enough to play piano easily, but they’re still really pretty.”
“They are?” Her voice went up in pitch, and her brow furrowed.
“I like it when girls have short nails instead of long, fake ones. Samara always keeps hers nice and short. They’re neat and trim. Feels good when she scratches my back for me.”
She swallowed a grunt at the reminder that he had a girlfriend and they were most likely intimate.
He studied her hands further. Was he working something out in his head, because he kept narrowing his eyes and squinting. “Can I hold one of them? Would that bother you?” He extended his left hand.
“No, I don’t mind, but how will I take notes?” She realized after she blurted this dorky answer, that she did in fact mind. What was he doing asking this of her when he had a girlfriend?
“We can swap seats since I write with my left hand and then you can write with your dominant one.” He smiled in such a cheerful way, her mind was wiped clean of objections.
“A-a-all right—we can do that,” she stammered.
They quickly swapped, and he moved with a grace and fluidity that seemed odd for somebody as tall as he was. He had to be over six feet by a few inches.
“There. I’m seated. Give me your hand, please,” he said, his eyes filled with hope and expectancy.
Her fingers flexed, but she kept her hand steady as she extended it under the table toward him.
He took it with a greedy yank, tucking it into his side, under his arm. His bicep clamped down over their conjoined hands. Was she ever going to see that left hand of hers again, ‘cause he was gripping it awfully tight.
His unusual handholding was not as baffling as when he angled his body away from her like he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And his chair at some point was scooted farther away as well.
Did she smell bad? Did he think she was ugly to look at?
Or did she say something wrong?
Question after question flooded her brain through the remainder of the class. When the bell rang, he sprung up from his desk and tightened his hold on her hand.
“It’s lunch time,” he said.
“Not for me. I have lunch fifth period,” she said.
“I’ll go get that changed for you.” He tugged on her hand.
She managed to grab her backpack and then he started leading her down the large steps. There was no time to think—only keep pace with him so she didn’t trip and face-plant.
“I can’t change my schedule for you, Adam. Have you forgotten you have a girlfriend?”
He turned abruptly, swinging around in a wild way and faced her with their noses only two inches apart. “You could be my girlfriend. I’d like that.”
“I . . . I, um . . .” She had to look away from his piercing blue eyes. It was like looking into a mesmerizing, hypnotic gem that held her spellbound.
He marched her out the door and straight to the office.
Had he heard a word she’d said?
Adam bypassed the two students waiting in line to talk to the office secretary.
“I need to see my guidance counselor now. It’s an emergency,” Adam told her.
“Oh my . . . And you are?” The secretary straightened her glasses that were already straight.
Her too? He was having an effect on an old woman? Jesus, he was too good-looking to be walking around this place.
“I’m new here, and my name’s Adam Latham. I need to see Mr. Perez right away.” Adam tucked Mari’s hand that was almost knotted permanently with his back under his arm again. It was warm there, but they looked like a couple of nutballs.
The secretary did as he asked, and Mari’s jaw hung open. How did he do that?
Within moments they were in the guidance counselor’s office, and Mari was barely able to speak a word, let alone take a solid breath. Adam was like a tornado in the middle of the desert—whipping up a cloud of dust so thick nobody could see, and she was definitely disoriented.
“I’m sorry, young man, but I can’t change her lunch. She’s locked in based on her electives,” the counselor said.
“But we have to have lunch together. See!” Adam pulled her hand out, and when their entwined hands were in front of Mr. Perez’s face, Adam took a huge breath. Mari swore she could see his ribs almost reaching out for her hand, begging them to return.
“See what?” Mr. Perez stared and blinked—nothing more.
Yeah—she knew the feeling.
“I have to hold her hand. I feel safe when people I like hold my hand or touch me. I like her. My sister, Samara, she’s sick of doing that for me like I’m a baby. I need Mari to give her a break.”
Mari’s eyes went wide. Sister? And whoa! Who said anything about her giving his sister a break for anything? This almost sounded like a full-time position he was putting her in.
“I’m not—” she began.
Adam tucked her hand back in again. He’d make an excellent mother hen—enfolding his little chicks under his wings. But that was hardly the point . . .
“She’s naturally kind. She already helped me get through the last period. I couldn’t have done it without her. You’re supposed to guide and be a counselor and do what’s best for your students.” Adam stared him down. “So, you should allow this. It’s what’s best for me and for her. She likes me, too. She already told me she does.”
Uh . . . Were he
r words being twisted around and used against her? Her back heated, and her hands tried to ball up, but Adam wasn’t allowing it. He grabbed both of her hands. “We’re connected. And not in a sick way. In a wholesome, helping way. I’m nice to her. I won’t hurt her. Can’t you see how beneficial this is for everyone involved?”
Mr. Perez’s eyelashes fluttered, and he looked like his brain was going as fast as it could, trying to keep up with this boy.
“But I—”
“I need you,” Adam said, shutting her up. “Please, Mr. Perez. I’ve got a note in my file. It should be in the computer. I have a disorder. And this helps me get through the day here without an episode. No medications can do what she just did for me.”
Mr. Perez typed in a few things and then was instantly busy reading. Mari seized the opportunity.
She turned to Adam. “Samara’s your sister—not your girlfriend?” She released a pent-up breath. God, it felt good to breathe. She needed to figure out how to do that around him more often. He made it difficult sometimes.
Adam smiled and nodded like it was about time she caught on, but there something very child-like and sincere about it. His eyes shimmered with adoration, not condescension. He was being patient with her.
Yeah, she liked him. How could she not? He was incredibly sweet.
“It’s nice to be needed. You’ll like that I need you so much.” He pursed his lips a little bit.
Was he smirking?
And when did she become the lost one here? She had been attending this school for three years now. She was a senior, and as such, she knew how things went around here. So how did Adam make her feel lost within a few moments?
“Okay, that might be, but I need to know—you guys hold hands to help you out? Your sister normally does that for you in public?” She softened her voice so she wouldn’t sound judgmental. Really, she didn’t care if they did that. Not now that she knew they were related. She was honestly curious.
He nodded once more.
“How does it help you?”
“I get agitated and nervous. Skin-to-skin contact soothes the nervous system, quieting my responses so I feel safe and can concentrate. I tested your hand. It works really well. It’s a nice one. Soft and not too stiff. I’d like to hold it more. And lunch time would be good, because I get really jittery in large cafeterias filled with girls staring at me. It’ll be good practice for you, too.”
Mari shook her head. “I bet they stare. What about guys? It doesn’t bother you if they stare?”
“No. They don’t like me. They only give me nasty looks if their girlfriends are looking at me. I ignore those ones, though.” He angled himself toward Mr. Perez like he was done answering her questions.
Had her time expired?
And what was this disorder? It sounded almost made up.
“Oh, I see. Yeah, um . . . Let me just . . .” Mr. Perez said while typing away. A moment later his eyes rose to meet Adam’s. Then he continued on in a more coherent way. “I’m changing your schedule, not hers. You have more flexibility. Of course, it means you’ll be in less of your sister’s classes but in more of Mari’s.”
“Show me,” Adam said.
Mr. Perez seemed fine with Adam’s curt, demanding tone. He printed out the schedule, then placed it in Adam’s free hand.
Mari could barely make out some notes the counselor had added at the bottom of the schedule change for any teacher Adam gave this list to.
“These are a step down intellect-wise, but it’ll be good for me,” Adam said, nodding. “Thank you. My father might call you with a few words, but I’m sure I can convince him this is for the best. Lunch hour is the most important for me.” And a second later, Adam strung her out the door behind him and walked at a pace no mortal teenage girl could match.
She stumbled along behind him until they bumped into a crying Samara.
“Adam! Where were you? I was so worried. I was looking for you everywhere! I was about to call Dad!” Samara pulled him into a tight hug and seemed oblivious to Adam and Mari’s conjoined hands up against his side.
It seemed Mari was going to be chained to this boy whether she wanted to or not. Family get-togethers were bound to be interesting for him when they asked who the stray was he’d picked up from school.
Chapter 2
“I was being an adult, and I made a friend.” Adam stood tall. Or as tall as he could reach with Mari’s hand up against his ribs.
“This is not how adults behave!” Samara was tiny, but somehow her presence loomed over all of them. “They com-mu-ni-cate! Tell me when you’re going somewhere.”
He shook his head. “How could I text you? I had your phone you left with me. And besides—people were already staring at me. I don’t like it when that happens with girls, unless it’s this girl.” He jerked his head toward Mari.
“Who is she?” Samara’s eyes narrowed at Mari.
“I’m—”
“She’s gonna be my girlfriend someday, and her name is Mari. Isn’t that a pretty name? It’s short for Marissa. I think you’ll like her, too.” Adam grinned, but his eyes were tight.
“I don’t care if you think she’s girlfriend material. You’re here to graduate this time. No messing around. You have to get this done—it’s your last chance.” Samara stared at Mari’s hand—or where it would be under his arm.
“Sam! You’re not the boss of me. Quit doing this to me!” Adam stepped back, almost stumbling over Mari.
Mari set her palm on his back to keep him from tripping over her.
“Wait, I—” Mari wanted to explain, but where on earth should she begin?
“I’m going to class now,” Adam said. “We’re responsible. We don’t show up late to class, so you should leave now.”
“Where were you?” Samara asked again. “You still haven’t explained that part.”
“I was at the office. I changed my schedule so I could be at lunch with Mari. So right now, even though I’m really hungry, I’m not going to complain and I’m going with her to English class.” He held out the updated schedule to Samara.
“Why did you do this?” his sister cried. “We had it all worked out. Now you’ve gone and messed it all up. How am I supposed to look out for you if you’re not in any of my classes anymore? And what about Zach? Did you tell him what’s going on so he’s not trying to find you like I was—in a panic?”
“I still have two classes with you.” He took the paper back and tucked it in his pocket.
Mari was impressed with how he managed to do all sorts of things with her hand glued to his side. He almost acted like it was natural—as if it had always been there.
The really odd part? It felt normal to her, too.
“We’ll talk about this tonight at dinner.” Samara shook her blaming index finger in his face. “You see how it goes today, but if you need me, you have my number.” She shot Mari a nasty look.
Adam handed his sister her phone back, then she left.
Good thing, too. Mari was ready to tell the shrimpy bossy girl to leave before she made her. Adam was clearly worked up from his sister, based on the way the tendons stood out on his neck and how stiffly he held himself.
He turned to her, and shock clouded his eyes like he wasn’t expecting a body to be attached to the hand.
“Do you hate me already?” His shoulders rolled forward, and he hunched down. They were almost face-to-face. “Did she ruin this? Is this drama you don’t like? I don’t like it either. Just know that. But I still like you a lot. Please tell me if you hate me. I really need to know.”
“No, I . . .” She bit her bottom lip and swiped her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, that’s all.”
“I’m not good at explaining stuff. All you need to know is I need to touch a person I trust, then things are fine. If you’re okay with that, then we should get to class. I don’t like being late. It makes me see those numbers. People stare. All of that stuff stinks. Not like you.” He paus
ed. Was he trying to figure out how to backpedal? “You smell good. I can tell you shower often. That’s an intelligent thing to do.”
“What num—”
“Class?” he asked, cutting her off.
“Will you explain to me later?”
“Probably not. But you can ask Sam. She likes to talk—a lot. Especially about me to anybody who will listen.” His legs took off again, and she barely kept up once more. It would probably benefit her if she got some of those shoes with the wheels on the bottom of them—then he could drag her more easily since that had to be his goal.
She should have been incensed he was treating her like a dog on a leash, but she kind of found it endearing. Those lines in his brow, the scowl he gave people that got in his way, and the way he kind of surrounded her like a protective bubble made her heart race.
He was adorable, though a little too intense. She was used to calm, laid back, eccentric people. Not people with a way of aligning the planets to their specification because it made them more comfortable.
But damn if it didn’t turn her on for some inexplicable reason.
Adam was by far the most interesting person she’d ever met. If she could even call what happened in Calculus “meeting.” It was more of a quick nod, a grunting of words and then a whirlwind of activity she was kind of dragged into with no say.
He pulled her into their honors Senior English class, and without asking her where she normally sat, since the school was now into the second week of school, he picked a spot at the back that was as secluded as possible.
Hmm . . . Should she be alarmed by his choice of spot?
He pulled her chair out and tried to sit her in it. For one brief moment, he’d actually let go of her hand and placed his hands on her arms so he could manipulate her at will.
What the hell was this all about? She was not his puppet.
This was when her blood finally burst to full roiling, and it thrust her into action. “I don’t think so. I’m not sitting here, and you are not going to put me in my seat like we’re living in the Middle Ages. I’m not your little woman to command.” Her eyes went to slits, and her lips sealed shut as her fists landed on her hips.
Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) Page 2