“And this is where the magic happens?” I leap onto it and tuck my knees under myself, bouncing up and down from the impact.
“Dangerous, Peach,” Adam says, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re right where I want you.”
I laugh until he takes a step forward, his knees pressing against the edge. I’m suddenly staring up at him. I swallow what’s left of my Red Bull. “How long until the show?”
Adam pulls a phone out of his back pocket and checks the time. “Not long enough.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Adam.”
“Yes, you do,” he says confidently. “But you won’t, for whatever lame reason. Anyway, not wanting to is an entirely different thing.”
Unable to argue, I repeat, “How long?”
“Seven minutes.” I scoot further back onto the bed, and he sits down on the edge, studying me.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
With a cavalier shrug, he says, “I told you, I do what I feel like. Don’t try to figure it out. I don’t.”
“Why didn’t you ditch me for that redhead? I’m sure she would’ve had you up here ten minutes ago.”
He chuckles, and then he reasons, “I wanted to take a chance on you instead.”
I frown and find myself telling him I’m sorry again, but he just smiles at me. It’s a smile that could turn knees to jello and hearts to mush, so when he holds his hand down to me, I don’t hesitate to take it.
“Don’t be,” he says, and then he lifts me to my feet and starts walking from the room. I’m in the doorway when I say, “Adam?”
He turns around.
“I’m not going to sleep with you, I’m not even going to come close, but . . . do you think you could make me forget what’s-his-name for the next seven minutes?”
Adam studies me, and then he fishes his phone out again. “Six minutes,” he corrects before tucking it back into his pocket. “Can you still count backward from ten?”
“Yes.”
“Then start counting.”
I count backward until I’m at five, and he steps in close. At four, his left hand is circling around my waist and pressing against the small of my back. At three, his right hand reaches up and cups my jaw, angling it up. At two, he leans in close, his lips a centimeter from mine. My breath hitches in my throat, and I suddenly can’t speak. He’s pressed flush against me, and I can feel all of him.
His mouth quirks into a smile. “What are you waiting for, Peach?”
“One.”
Chapter Three
WHEN ADAM’S PHONE beeps, he doesn’t stop kissing me. His body is molded against every inch of me, pressing me deep into the black satin comforter. With one of his legs squeezed between mine, his jeans rub against my bare thighs, and it’s like I can feel every single thread. One hand squeezes my skirted hip, and the other holds my neck in place as his lips explore mine. His kiss is agonizingly practiced—forget about what’s-his-name, I can’t even remember my own name.
His phone beeps again, and he groans.
I turn my head to the side, and his lips drop to my neck. Breathless as he licks his way down it, I say, “Shouldn’t you get that?”
His lips travel lower, kissing a trail across my collarbone. I close my eyes and thread my fingers through his soft brown hair. “Adam,” I say, but it’s like he’s refusing to hear me.
“Ignore it, Peach.”
His phone beeps a third time, and I use my hands to coax his face back to mine. I’m trying to tell him he needs to check his phone because I think he might be late, but he covers my mouth with his before I can, doing this thing with his tongue that makes me forget whatever it was I was going to say.
His phone beeps again, and I wiggle down and reach into his back pocket. I check the time on his phone and see that he’s five minutes late and has four missed texts from Shawn.
“You’re late,” I say between kisses.
“I’m always late.”
The door to the room suddenly swings open and Shawn is standing there rolling his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Adam, you’ve just been making out for twenty-five damn minutes?”
I can’t help laughing, too drunk by now to feel embarrassed. Adam smiles down at me. “She’s a really good kisser.”
Shawn walks over and grabs Adam by the back of his jeans, hauling him off of me. “Come on, man. You can see her after.” Looking down at me, he adds, “Sorry.”
I straighten my top and sit up, feeling all kinds of giggly inside. I just made out with Adam Everest, who was, hands down, the best kisser of my life.
“Shawn, this is Peach,” Adam says, and as soon as I stand up, Shawn reluctantly reaches forward to shake my hand.
“Hi Shawn.”
“Hi Peach.”
Adam shakes the zipper of his jeans as he adjusts himself, and a fierce blush heats my cheeks. “See,” he says, “we’re all friends now. Stop getting your panties in a bunch, Shawn.”