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.
He stares down at his phone, his fingers waiting patiently against the touch screen. And then I say the first thing that comes to my mind, which also happens to be the dumbest. “Why?”
His eyes swing up, his cocked eyebrow showing how highly amused he is by my train wreck of a question. “Uh, because I’m going to call you?”
“You’re going to call me?” I almost start laughing—I can’t even imagine how many girls he’s fed this line to.
But he just stares at me expectantly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I hold out my hand, and he gives me his phone. I hand him mine as an exchange. “You first,” I tell him, and he flashes me a smile before he starts typing his number into my phone.
“Alright, I’ll call you,” he says after I type in my number and hand him back his phone. He slides it into his pocket.
This time, I actually do let out a laugh. “Okay.”
“I’m going to call you, Peach.”
“I bet.”
Adam’s eyes narrow, but there’s a goofy grin on his face. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”
“My faith in you only goes so far, Adam Everest.”
He reaches forward, gripping my fingers and pulling me to him as he pushes away from the trunk. His arms wrap tightly around me, his chin resting on my head. It’s exactly what I wanted, and I smile against his soft-worn T-shirt, allowing myself to hug him just as tightly.
“You know,” he says, “I think I’ll call you tonight.”
Even though my heart is doing back-flips from being held by him like this, I can’t help giving him a hard time. “If you say so.”
We stand there like that for a long time. Way longer than friends would. I don’t want to let go. What I really want is to slide my fingers under his T-shirt to see what the contours of his sun-warmed back feel like against my fingertips. Heat spikes through me, and I close my eyes. He’s so tall, and he just feels so right. I sigh and pull away just enough to look up at him. “Hey, Adam?”
My eyes stare up, up, and his soft brown hair tumbles over his brow as he drops his chin to meet them. “Yeah, Peach?”
“I’m glad I met you.”
He smiles sweetly down at me, the corners of his mouth crinkling. Part of me—the part that can’t be trusted—wants to touch those crinkles. His lips. His cheeks. “So am I,” he says sincerely. His eyelashes look so soft, I want to touch those too.
Finally, I summon enough strength to step away from his embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He nods once, looking like he doesn’t want me to leave any more than I want to leave him.