Hah! Oh, if that isn’t the line to end all lines. If he catches up with me, I am going to slap him across his goddamn face so hard he goes cross-eyed. We’ll see if that bitch in my apartment likes him when he can’t see straight.
Adam’s phone is ringing for the second time without him picking up, but when I burst through the door, I see his car hasn’t even finished pulling out of the parking lot. His brake lights are on, and then they flash white as he throws his Camaro in reverse. I run to him as he speeds back to me, and then I’m tossing my suitcase into the open backseat and literally jumping over the passenger-side door to get in. Brady bursts out of the apartment building like a cannonball, my name sounding all wrong as he shouts it across the lot.
“What happened?” Adam growls, throwing his arm around my seat, watching Brady run toward the car. “What did he do to you?” He jerks the car into park and reaches for the door handle, and I grab onto the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Nothing! Just . . . he was with someone!” Brady is getting closer, and I’m full-on panicking. “Just get me out of here, okay?”
“Sorry,” Adam says with a resolute shake of his head, and then he opens the door and gets out of the car.
Brady barely has the time to shout “Who the hell are y—” before Adam’s fist punches him so hard that my ex flies backward and lands in a heap on the pavement. I gasp, and Adam shakes the sting from his hand.
“Peach, come here.”
I do what I’m told because I’m really just too shocked to do anything else. When I step up to Adam’s side, Brady is on the ground nursing his jaw, clearly too frightened to get up.
“Say what you want to say to this asshole,” Adam turns to me, his expression deadly serious, “because I’m taking you home with me, and I never want you seeing him again because you’re too fucking good for a cheating piece of shit.”
My eyes swim with tears, but I keep them directed at Adam so that Brady doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how much he hurt me. Again. “There’s nothing left to say.”
Adam tucks me under his chin and plants a kiss against the top of my head. I feel him turn his chin toward Brady, and then he says, “You hear that? You fucking blew it, and if you ever try talking to her again, I’m not the only guy you’ll have to fucking deal with.”
Chapter Twenty-One
IN FRONT OF Adam’s apartment building, I find myself in his arms again.
“It’s okay,” he says to calm me. “It’s okay. Just . . . take a deep breath or something.”
When we pulled up to his five-story apartment complex, I tried to pull my suitcase out of the backseat but ended up bursting into tears instead. Adam pressed up behind me, wrapping me tightly in his arms. Now, his chest is against my back, his cheek is against my temple, and his arms are laced around my stomach. He’s holding me together like I might fall apart.
I just might.
“That guy is a fucking douchebag. I mean, that hair? Come on.”
An airy laugh pushes its way out of my nose. Brady’s blond hair is cropped short and always perfectly gelled, parted on his left side and swooped to the back. It’s nothing like Adam’s shaggy brown rocker hair.
“See? You’re too good for an asshole like that,” Adam says, planting a chaste kiss against my cheek. “Now, I’m going to take you upstairs, and we’re going to get you a drink, and . . .”
And? What comes after “and”? Because the last time Brady made me feel like this, Adam took me to his bus, got me a drink, and then taught me all of the wonderful things he could do with his tongue.
“And?” I risk asking. If he doesn’t finish that sentence soon, I’m pretty sure I’ll need to sit down—right here in the middle of the parking lot while I wait for my head to stop swimming.
“And . . . we’ll do whatever it is friends do when shit like this happens.” Adam’s gentle hands urge me to turn around. “I’ve never really done this before.”
I imagine he hasn’t. He’s been on the other end though, I’m sure, making girls like me cry. They’ve probably called him every name under the sun. And maybe he deserved it . . . which is probably why he’s stuck here with me now, losing what’s left of his weekend. Karma’s a bitch.
“Have you ever cheated on anyone?” I ask impulsively. I suddenly need to know, because . . . because I just need to.
“Cheated?”
I nod, afraid of the answer.
Adam leans against the car door, drumming his fingers against the shiny black metal. “Cheated . . . no. You have to be in a relationship to cheat on someone, right?” When I nod, he says, “I don’t really do relationships. One crazy girl tried to accuse me of cheating, but she knew what she was getting into. They all know. It’s not like it’s a secret.”
He’s right, after all. Anyone who spends any time at all with Adam can see how he is. Flirty and reckless and noncommittal. But even though those qualities are what should warn girls to stay away, they’re the exact things that draw girls to him. Girls like me. Adam is a bad boy, damaged goods. He’s the boy that every girl in the world hopes she can fix.