by L. A. Witt
I opened my mouth to say something to Adam, but three women in their mid-twenties did double takes so hard, I was surprised their necks didn’t snap. Their eyes widened, and one put a hand to her mouth. The other was fumbling with her phone. My stomach dropped.
Beside me, Adam casually turned, ostensibly to look at some of the black and white photos on the wall. “So, this bar’s been around for a long time?”
I cut my eyes toward the women, who were still very much interested in him, then, after a slow breath to release the cold dread, followed his lead. “Yeah. Doc Maynard was one of the founders of the city. I can’t remember if this was actually his place or if someone just named it after him.”
He looked closer at one of the faded photos. “That’s going to happen sometimes. Wish I could do something about it, but…”
“I know.” I kept my gaze fixed on one of the photos too. I’d known, and I’d dreaded it. Now that it was actually happening—someone in public had recognized him while we were together—my stomach roiled. I didn’t like cameras or attention, not even from a couple of girls who’d probably just text a photo of Adam to their friends without giving me a second look. Except what if they did notice me? What if they noticed us? I hadn’t realized until just now how much it would truly bother me to have strangers even potentially wondering how Adam and I knew each other. Judging us. Judging me.
What am I getting myself into?
I watched Adam out of the corner of my eye. Okay, so the attention—imagined or otherwise—was gross, but the tradeoff wasn’t so bad. I was with Adam, after all. I could weather some stares and gossip in exchange for being the one he was hanging out with. Or doing more than hanging out with.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Adam sighed. He sounded tired. Maybe frustrated or annoyed. Less than happy, anyway.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You still want to do this? We can always—”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” He glanced at me and smiled, though not as brightly as he usually did. “I’m more worried about you than me.”
“You’re in this too, though.” I fought the urge to take his hand. “I’ll be all right.”
“So will I. If you’re not, just say so.”
“I will. You too.”
A moment later, our tour guide—a petite woman named Bethany with a huge voice and a long blonde ponytail—announced that we’d be getting moving shortly. She gave us a brief overview of the history of Seattle, in particular the part where after the fire in 1889, the city’s founders decided to raise the city in order to mitigate flooding.
“And that left us with the Underground,” she concluded. “You’ll be walking through tunnels that used to be Seattle’s sidewalks. They were used for everything from opium dens to bootlegging during Prohibition. Also, since we are going to be underground and these tunnels are only used for tours, you’re going to want to watch out for things like uneven ground, pieces of wood, metal, and concrete, and the occasional rat. Oh, and sometimes roaches. And I think there’s still some methane leaks. So, with that in mind, if you’ll follow me…” Bethany gestured for us to follow her, and as she led us out of the room, she started chirping, “Methane and roaches and rats, oh my!”
Adam snorted. “I like her already.”
I smothered a laugh. “Me too.”
Bethany was an awesome tour guide. I’d been on this tour before, and the guides could be hit or miss. Sometimes the jokes were a bit too cheesy, or the history lessons got a bit too long and dry, but Bethany was good at what she did. Historical trivia peppered with bad puns and jokes that were racy enough to make the adults chuckle while flying over the kids’ heads. She was definitely getting a tip at the end.
The tour wasn’t all underground. Sometimes we had to come up to the street, cross over, and go down again via another entrance. While the group waited to cross the street, I glanced at a restaurant a few doors down, and realized I’d been there before.
Bethany was explaining something to the crowd, so I turned to Adam and leaned in close enough to whisper, “If you’re hungry after this, that place has amazing food.”
He looked in the direction I was pointing, and nodded. “Cool. Let’s keep it in mind.”
We exchanged smiles, and a moment later, the crosswalk light turned green. We followed our group across and down into another section of the Underground.
At Bethany’s direction, the group stopped. A few stragglers were still catching up, so she didn’t start talking quite yet.
And that was when one of the women who’d spotted Adam decided to make her move.
She appeared beside him, clutching her phone to her chest and smiling. “I’m sorry, I just have to ask—are you Adam Jacobsen?”
The instant she said his name, heads started turning. Other people’s eyes widened with recognition, and I heard someone murmur, “I told you it was him!”
Adam smiled apologetically and shook his head. “Nah. I get that all the time.” He laughed as he added, “I wish I had that guy’s bank account.”
That sent a ripple of amusement through the group, and most people lost interest in him. The woman didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“Sorry,” he said with what sounded like total sincerity.
I elbowed him. “Dude, you really need to do one of those lookalike contests.”
Without missing a beat, Adam groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. No, thank you.”
The woman frowned and inched back. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just thought…”
“It’s okay,” Adam said. “Like I said—happens all the time.”
We all exchanged looks, as if no one quite knew what to say.
Bethany either had perfect timing, or she’d caught on that there was an awkward moment in progress, because she called everyone’s attention back to her. “Okay, so let’s talk about why the police didn’t intervene with all the bootlegging going on down here…”
As our guide went on about how the Seattle police were actually doing most of the bootlegging, the woman who’d approached Adam slipped back into the group, and Adam and I both exhaled.
“Think she bought it?” I asked.
“I hope so.” It came out as a sigh more than anything.
The tour continued, and Adam seemed on edge. Or maybe that was me. Other people in the group were being a bit less subtle now about stealing glances at him. Though some had apparently taken him at his word that he was just an Adam Jacobsen doppelgänger, others didn’t seem so sure. They kept eyeballing me too, but I did my level best to ignore it, if only so Adam didn’t catch on.
It was kind of a relief when the tour was over. The group dispersed into the gift shop, though Adam and I hung back for a few minutes to let everyone else move on. By the time we started browsing the shop, only a few stragglers remained, and I didn’t think any of them gave us a second look.
Adam bought a tacky shot glass and a book on Seattle’s history. Once he’d finished, we headed out, and ran into Bethany by the exit.
“I hope you both enjoyed the tour,” she said.
“Definitely.” Adam dropped a couple of twenties into the tip jar, and her eyes widened.
“Wow. Thank you.” She blinked. “That’s really generous.”
“Good tour guides are hard to come by,” he said.
I added a ten to the jar, and we continued out of the bar. Now we were back where we started—standing in Pioneer Square—but I didn’t feel nearly as relaxed as I had when we’d arrived. Adam still seemed tense too.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He exhaled and lowered his gaze. “Just… I can usually deal with that stuff when I’m alone. When I have someone with me…” He looked at me through his lashes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I nodded toward the other end of the square “Let’s go grab some lunch and chill. Then maybe we can check out Pike Place Market.”
Adam studied me for a second, and finally some of the tension in his shoulders and features eased. “Yo
u sure it doesn’t bug you? Having people do that?”
“It’s fine. I promise.”
He released another breath. As we started walking toward the restaurant I’d pointed out to him earlier, he said, “Better than the paparazzi, I guess.”
I shuddered but tried not to let it show.
Chapter 19
Adam
It took a good hour or two for me to stop feeling edgy over the woman who’d approached us. Usually that kind of thing didn’t bother me much. I was grateful for fans, and most were polite and maybe a bit starstruck. The only time it made me uncomfortable was when I was out with someone. Particularly someone who wasn’t used to it. If I was out and about in Hollywood with a friend whose face regularly showed up on billboards, I didn’t have to worry. They got it. But Brian…
He’d taken it in stride, at least. I had to give him credit for that. He’d even helped me with the illusion that I was just someone who was often mistaken for me. A lookalike contest? Nice touch. But he’d been twitchy after that, and he’d stayed that way until after we’d had lunch and gone down to Pike Place Market. It wasn’t until we’d been wandering through the shops and stalls for a while that he seemed to shake it off.
I didn’t blame him at all for being unnerved. I just hoped it wasn’t enough to send him running in the other direction once he realized this was a regular thing.
For the most part, though, we moved on and continued enjoying our day. The restaurant he’d picked was as good as he’d said it would be. They’d had a million local microbrews to choose from, and we’d each sampled each other’s. Both were amazing, as were the little slices of baguette smothered in cranberry sauce and brie. Not something I’d expected at a bar-and-grill type of place, but after so many years in LA, nothing really surprised me anymore.
At Pike Place Market, I nearly lost my mind in one of the glass shops. I loved glasswork anyway, and the artist made the most gorgeous blown glass vases, plates, and suncatchers.
“This stuff is amazing,” I said as I stared at a shelf of colorful glass birds.
Brian chuckled. “Careful—you drool on it, you buy it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll end up buying something anyway.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. The odds of me walking out of here without buying something are about even with the odds of you walking past a dog without stopping to pet it.” I shot him a playfully pointed look.
“Hey. I resemble that remark.”
“Don’t I know it.” I elbowed him gently and winked. “It’s adorable, by the way.”
“What? That I have to stop and pet every dog?”
“Yes. Exactly. It’s fucking cute, so keep doing it.”
He laughed, a hint of a blush in his cheeks. Neither of us was exaggerating, either—he’d stopped to make friends with like four dogs since we’d left Pioneer Square. The only reason he hadn’t approached the fifth was it was wearing a service dog vest, so of course he left it alone.
After another twenty minutes or so in the shop, I’d fallen in love with a beautiful blue and green vase, and decided it absolutely had to go in my dining room. While the artist carefully took the vase out of its display case, Brian smirked.
“What?” I asked. “A dude can’t love vases?”
“No, it’s not that.” Brian gestured at it. “You just happened to pick one that is my football team’s colors.”
I glanced at the vase. “I did?”
“Yep. Go Seahawks.”
I chuckled and shrugged. “Well, your team has good taste, so I’ll take it.”
He followed me up to the counter. As the artist started carefully wrapping my Seahawks vase in bubble wrap, Brian said, “Is that going to fit in your luggage without breaking?”
“Hmm. Probably not.”
The artist glanced up through his bushy gray eyebrows. “We can ship anywhere in the world.”
“Oh. Well. Let’s do that, then.”
In minutes, the vase was boxed up and paid for, and Brian and I left the shop. He glanced over his shoulder. “Do people ever look at your name on stuff like that and realize it’s you?”
“Not when I pay cash and address it to my assistant.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that would throw someone off the scent.” He seemed relieved.
I glanced at him and let our fingers brush as we walked. “Hey. It really bugs you, doesn’t it? That people recognize me?”
Brian shrugged. “I just worry about you. Seems like it would be stressful.”
“It is.” I shrugged too. “You kind of get used to it.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
I stopped, and when he did too, we faced each other. It took a lot of restraint, but I didn’t reach for him. “It really isn’t a big deal for me anymore, but I know it might be for you. If it’s too much, just say so.”
“It’s not.” Brian shook his head. “I’m not used to it, but I mean, you’re the one they’re focusing on. If you can roll with it, so can I.”
I searched his eyes. “Are you sure?”
He nodded again, and one of those adorably shy smiles came to life. “If it means spending time with you? Definitely.”
Goddamn, it was hard not to reach for him and plant a kiss right on those lips. Not out in public, though. Not yet.
“Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
“I will. Promise.”
~*~
The rest of the afternoon was pleasant and uneventful. If anyone recognized me or even noticed us, I didn’t notice them, and I didn’t care. Between wandering through quirky shops and hanging out with Brian, I genuinely didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought. I was much more interested in snickering with him as we read snarky T-shirts and bumper stickers, or debating where in the world someone would put the eight-foot statue of Lenin made out of old bicycle parts. If someone saw us, then they’d just see me hanging out with this amazingly cute man who couldn’t walk past a dog without saying hello and who totally let his nerd side show when we walked into the comic book shop.
“I have crates of comics in my storage unit,” he said, thumbing through a box of vintage Marvel. “I even have a complete set of the X-Files comics.”
“No shit? There was a comic?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t half bad, either.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. The show was awesome.”
Brian turned to me. “You watched it?”
“Fuck yeah, I watched it. Skinner was one of my first crushes.”
“Skinner? Not Mulder?”
“Eh.” I shrugged. “Mulder’s cute and all, and even Krycek was hot, but there was something about Skinner.”
His lips quirked as he seemed to give it some thought. “Can’t really argue with that, I guess. I was more of a Mulder guy.” He turned toward me completely, resting his elbow on the box he’d been going through. Voice so soft only I could hear him, he asked, “How does that work for you now? If you get a crush on an actor?”
I laughed. “I simultaneously hope we never work together and hope we do.”
“You ever had to work with someone you were into?”
“Are you kidding?” I dropped my voice to barely a whisper. “Half the reason I took the part for Shots Fired was because there was a two-minute scene where I’m naked in a hot tub with Hazen Colby.”
Brian visibly shivered. “Oh God. I remember that.”
I chuckled. “Shame it was miserable to film.”
“Yeah? How so?”
We started walking up the aisle toward the store’s exit. “It was a pretty cold night, and the steam was pissing off the cinematographer.” I groaned. “So they replaced the hot water with lukewarm water, and added the steam in post.”
“Seriously? They did CGI steam?”
“Yep. That way, it didn’t fog up the cameras and they had total control over where it went, how thick it was…” I waved a hand. “Wasn’t my decision, so I didn’t argue with it. But oh my God
, after about ten minutes, that lukewarm water was fucking cold.”
Brian laughed. “Oh wow, I didn’t even think of that.”
“Neither did I until our teeth started chattering. Just as well it wasn’t a sex scene or something, or we’d have bitten each other’s tongues.”
“Ow!” He chuckled again. “Man, the things you don’t think of when you’re watching a movie.”
“Oh, I could tell you all kinds of stories, believe me.”
“Do tell.” He slid his hands into his pockets as we strolled into a long hallway lined with more shops. “Is it true that sex scenes are way more awkward to film than they look?”
A laugh burst out of me. “Sex scenes are so awkward. Especially if the director wants to show some skin. If we’re under the covers or something, at least we can both wear shorts and put something between us. Cuts down on the accidentally rubbing a boner against your costar thing.”
“Do you… you get turned on?” He glanced at me, forehead creased. “Even when you’re with—wait, are you gay or bi?”
“I’m gay, but yeah, even when I’m working with a woman, it’s easy to get a hard-on.” I shrugged as heat rushed into my cheeks. “Actually I’m not sure which is more awkward—when I do get one, or when I don’t.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess I could see that.”
“Especially because, I mean, I don’t want to make an actress uncomfortable, you know?” I sighed. “The women in my industry put up with enough shit already. So I usually just apologize in advance and promise her I’m just trying to film the scene. Most of them know I’m gay by that point anyway, so it helps.”
Brian nodded. “I can see that.” He paused, then softly added, “You and your costars sure make it look like you’re into it, though. You’d never know it was weird to film it.”
“That’s what we get paid for,” I said with a laugh. “I think some of mine are less nervous with me since they know I’m not going to try to cop a feel or whatever, so they relax more than they do with the straight guys.” I half-shrugged. “Maybe that shows. I don’t know.”
