When large hands land on my shoulders, making me jump, I look back to see Shawn’s big green eyes staring at me from under his messy black hair. He smiles and leaves his hands on my shoulders as he tells Adam, “I got us a table.”
Our drinks arrive with impeccable timing. I pick mine up and sip on it as we maneuver our way through the crowd to get to a back table where it’s a little quieter. The table is a massive corner booth. The seat is soft pink leather, and there’s a knee-high hot-pink circle table in the center. Mike, Joel, Joel’s twins, and an extra girl I saw flirting with Shawn back on the bus are already there. Shawn slides in next to her, followed by Michelle and Adam. I stay standing off to the side, wanting a quick exit strategy in case Adam and Michelle decide to start sucking face, like God knows he’s prone to doing. Adam tries to tug me in next to him, but I take his hand in mine and lower it back down. “I’m good,” I say.
He frowns up at me, but I smile to reassure him. I don’t want to ruin his last night on the road.
Ugh, the thought almost makes me teary-eyed. Is that why I’ve been feeling so crazy? Tonight is the last night I’ll have with him and the guys. After tonight, it’s back to my boring, depressing, Adamless life. Adamless and Shawnless and Mikeless. Joelless and Driverless. Hell, even Codyless.
Adam hands me one of the two shots he carried over, and I shake my head.
“Just take it,” he says. “No hidden attachments.”
“Can I have a lime and the salt?” I ask.
Adam hands it over, watching me curiously. Interested in seeing what a tequila shot tastes like when it’s taken the way it’s supposed to be, I lick the back of my hand, sprinkle some salt over top, lick it off, down the shot, and bite into the lime. I wipe my chin with the back of my clean hand and grin at the dazed look Adam is giving me.
“Thanks,” I finally say.
His tongue flicks out to trace his bottom lip, and I have to look anywhere else. This place really needs air-conditioning, and a better ventilation system, and . . . air to ventilate.
“So Rowan,” Michelle says, and I suck in a silent breath, welcoming the distraction. “How is Brady?”
Chapter Eighteen
THE TRUMPETS THAT should have accompanied the end of my world never sounded. I’m caught completely unprepared, staring at Michelle with shock stamped onto my face. I quickly mask my expression and hope no one else caught it, because my answer comes out sounding miraculously unfazed and flawless.
“I wouldn’t know. We’re not together anymore.”
“Oh,” she says. She’s trying to seem sympathetic, but I can see right through her bullshit. “That’s a shame. You two were so adorable together.”
“Who’s Brady?” Adam asks.
“No one,” I answer, but Michelle can’t keep her big mouth shut.
“You guys dated for like . . . how long? Like all of high school, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Are you seriously fucking asking me that?”
Whoa. I did not mean to snap like that.
Michelle’s eyes get huge, and I’m stumbling to apologize. “Sorry . . . I mean . . . I just really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well you could have just said so . . .”
I sigh and chew on my lip. I feel like everyone is staring at me—probably because they are. I sit down next to Adam mostly just to try to blend in so that I’m not so easy to gape at. I’m thankful when the conversation moves away from me and my horrendously failed love life, and even more thankful when a server pops by to take our drink orders. I order another shot and a Long Island iced tea.
“Going out with a bang?” Adam asks in my ear, reminding me again that this is our last night together.
With my cheek against his, I share a secret. “I’m going to miss you.”
WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT?!
Adam pulls away to look at me, and I’m terrified of what he’s going to say. I probably just freaked him the hell out. I’m going to miss you? He’s known me for all of two days! He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then he closes it. Finally, he leans back in and says, “No, you won’t.”
When he pulls away to read my expression, I’m frowning. Like hell I won’t miss him.
He leans in again. “You’ll see me twice a week in class, and probably on weekends when I kidnap you for tutoring.”
Okay, I seriously might cry. Instead, I laugh. “Promise?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t make promises. But I’ll show you.”