I crawl under the covers and snuggle my cheek into Adam’s pillow, feeling mixed emotions over how cool he is with being my friend. “Okay.”
I roll toward the wall, expecting Adam to leave, but instead he takes off his jeans and crawls in next to me, wrapping his arms around me.
I don’t really want to point out what I say next, but I’m too curious about what his reply will be to stop myself. “Friends don’t do this, Adam.”
“Well we’re friends and we are doing this, so it looks like you’re wrong for once.”
I chuckle before snuggling even deeper into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
EACH NIGHT FOR the next week and a half, I fall asleep with Adam’s arms around me, and each morning, I fail the ultimate friend test. I usually wake up before the alarm, and with no reason to get out of bed, I don’t. I lie with Adam until real life calls, and then I spend the rest of the day trying to convince myself that my reluctance to leave his bed each morning means nothing.
He drives me to school, and sits with me in French class, and we spend our evenings together, and . . . this is a mess. I’m a freaking mess.
I know it, and yet I still don’t get out of bed on Friday morning. I lie in his arms until I fall back asleep. When I wake later, it’s because he’s crawled on top of the covers and laid his entire weight on me. He’s dressed, and his freshly washed hair is dripping on my forehead.
“Guess what,” he says, his eyes bright with excitement.
I try not to let a goofy smile consume my whole face. “What?”
“I got an A on that French test.”
My eyes open wide. We studied for that exam harder than I’ve ever studied for anything in my entire life, but I never expected Adam to ace it! “You did?”
“Yep,” he says, beaming down at me. “Ninety-two percent.”
Without thinking, I lock his face between my hands, and his smile gets even wider. “Adam! Oh my God, that’s awesome!”
“Grades got posted this morning,” he says, laughing as I pull him into a strangling hug. “You should check yours. I bet I beat you.”
He didn’t beat me, of course, but I’m still super proud of him, and Adam decides to throw a party to celebrate. Later that night, I’m sitting across from him in a big circle on the living room floor. Low music is playing from the speakers nearby, mingling with the faint sounds coming from the video game that Mike and Macy are immersed in at the other side of the room. The rest of us are playing the drinking game Kings.
I’m glad Dee was able to drag Macy along, but we’ve barely worked Macy up to being relaxed enough to come to a party—getting shit-faced with a bunch of rock stars isn’t exactly in her comfort zone. Mike seemed to pick up on her apprehension, asking if she’d like to play a video game with him instead. He said he was just happy to have the excuse to play, but I know it was more than that; he’s sweeter than he likes to let on.
“Okay,” Dee says, wiggling her fingers over the card pile since she enthusiastically volunteered to go first, “how do I play this game?”
She’s sitting to my right, and Leti is to my left. Joel, Shawn, and Adam are playing too, along with two skanks from the ground floor that Joel took the liberty of inviting. Kayla and Zoey. Kayla is by far the more outspoken of the two, with long black hair, deep blue eyes, and fake boobs for days. Zoey is a tiny little thing with choppy bleached-blonde hair and, judging by the looks of her, an entire pharmacy’s worth of diuretics.
Shawn hands Dee his phone, which displays a glossary of what each card means. “Pick a card and tell us what it is,” he instructs, and Dee flashes him a shamelessly flirtatious smile as she plucks her first card.
“Okay, a five,” she says, “so that means . . .”
The sound of six hands loudly slapping the hardwood floor surprises me into slapping mine down too, and all of the guys bust up laughing.
“What the hell?” Dee says, her nose scrunched with irritation.
“Last one to slap the ground has to drink!” Joel exclaims. He’s dressed in dark denim jeans and a neon-yellow band T-shirt that highlights the blond spikes forming a runway down his head.
“That’s no fair! I didn’t know the rules!” Dee looks to me for backup, but I just shrug. After an aggravated huff, she picks up her cup. “Fine, but you guys are assholes.”
All of the guys smile at her appreciatively, but with a body like Dee’s, I’m pretty sure she could say she’s a Satan-worshipper who eats babies for breakfast and they’d still smile at her the same way. Ever since she arrived wearing curve-hugging skinny jeans and a backless black top, Joel hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her.