Surviving Adam Meade

by Shannon Klare

  “Where did you learn to hit like that?” he asked.

  “My dad.” I shifted my palm against the ice and shrugged. “He figured I should know how to defend myself. Since I’m always around guys, I thought he was probably right. Never know when one of you might do something stupid.”

  “Fair enough,” Adam said. He let his thumb run across the top of my hand. His fingers left a trail of nerves in their wake. “You always been around football?”

  “For the most part.” I pulled my hand from beneath his and let him hold the ice. “My dad started coaching when I was in kindergarten.”

  “Have you moved around a lot?”

  “Six times.”

  “Is this your favorite school?”

  “Is this twenty questions?”

  “Answer the question, Collins,” he said, smiling. “It’s the least you can do for hitting me.”

  “Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It isn’t my favorite school.”

  “Didn’t think so,” he replied. “Not that I blame you. Had to be pretty shitty, moving here your senior year.”

  “It was.”

  He nodded and let out a slow exhale. “And that was what you were looking at on the bus, wasn’t it? Your old friends? Old boyfriend?”

  Emotions knotted in my throat. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  I shook my head and pivoted.

  “Just trying to get to know you,” he said.

  “Save yourself the trouble.”

  “Hey.” He tossed the bag on the counter and caught me beside the ice machine. “You seemed upset on the bus, so I figured it was a pretty good guess. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

  “If you don’t want to upset me, don’t bring it up. Ask me my favorite color. Ask me my favorite food.” I swallowed a lump in my throat and shook my head. “Ask me whatever you want, but don’t ask about my old school. It’s personal.”

  “I was just trying to get to know you,” he repeated, his tone soft.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to.”

  An invisible weight settled on my chest. Adam continued to stare, his expression the same unreadable one he’d worn all day. He looked caught between words and silence. I decided the route instead.

  “Quit looking at me like that,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “That.” I pointed at his face. “You get this look, like you’re torn between what to do and what not to do, and it makes your brow squish together.”

  “Well, if you were easier to read, I wouldn’t have to make that face. Blame yourself.” He poked me in the middle of the forehead, and I batted him away. “Don’t like my looks? Don’t bring them upon yourself.”

  “I don’t bring them upon myself,” I said.

  “Yeah, you do,” he said, eyes narrowing as he scanned my face. “You’re the only girl I know who can be around me and not care who I am or what I look like. I don’t like it. It’s a blow to my ego and confusing as hell.”

  “Good.”

  “Not good,” he argued. “I like knowing where I stand. You give me nothing but sarcasm and snarky remarks. What’s a guy supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to figure out if you despise me or like me or both?”

  “You’re the same,” I said. “Sometimes you’re an asshole. Other times you’re decent. I don’t know how to read you, either.”

  “Then quit trying to read me,” he said. “If you want to know something, ask. It’s not like I’m an ass all the time. There’s a small margin when I’m fairly likeable and genuine.”

  “And when is that margin? When you’re sleeping?”

  “Plus government class,” he said. “Occasionally lunch, but it depends on the food being served.”

  A smile found its way to my face. Adam smiled back.

  “I’ll make a mental note,” I answered.

  “You do that.”

  He towered over me, a shield of heat against the cold. His body was close to mine. The buttons of his shirt pressed against my T-shirt’s thin fabric. His presence encompassed my senses, made my nerves stand on end, and shut off all reasonable thought to my brain. I was useless, lost to Adam’s tall frame and the smell of men’s deodorant that rose off him.

  My cheeks burned as strands of his hair brushed my forehead, subdued only by the chill that tingled up my spine as Adam’s hand pressed against my lower back.

  He had that stupid look again. My heart sped.

  “Next time you want to know what I’m thinking, ask me,” he said, his voice low. “If I like you enough, I might tell you what it is.”

  “What are you thinking now?” I answered.

  “Something I shouldn’t.”

  His breathing slowed as he leaned closer, closing the distance between us. The training room’s door flew open.

  “There you are! I thought you—” My dad froze, his brow furrowed as he looked from me to Adam. Slowly, his lips spread into a thin line. “Meade,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Thought you went home. Everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adam shifted his weight and grabbed the ice from the counter. “I … uh … I was leaving. I needed this. Claire hit on me.”

  My eyes widened. Adam’s face paled.

  “I mean, she hit me,” he corrected. “She punched me in the jaw.”

  My dad nodded. “Yep. That’s definitely how it looked.”

  Adam placed the bag to his jaw and moved through the room. “Okay,” he said, reaching the door. “The two of you have a nice night.”

  “Bye,” my dad answered.

  Adam exited the room as if it were on fire, but my cheeks were the only thing that burned. Thank everything in the world my dad waited until the door closed before he spoke.

  “Something you want to tell me, Claire?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I hit him and was getting him ice.”

  “Hit on him, you mean?”

  I used my hand to shield my dad from view. He was still laughing when we exited the field house. Humidity clung to my skin as I crossed the gravel toward his large white truck.

  “It’s fine,” he said, unlocking the doors. “My rules for dating are simple. No drinking, no drugs, no wrecking the car, and no getting anyone pregnant.”

  “It was only ice,” I repeated, my hand curling around the handle before I pulled the door open.

  “Sure it was,” he answered, “but we’ll get your mom’s take on the matter.”

  I was standing on the running board when his words soaked in. “You’re going to tell Mom,” I groaned.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “Right down to the time and place of the incident.” I hung my head, and he grinned. “Don’t worry. Adam’s a heck of a football player and a pretty stand-up guy. Much better than your last boyfriend.”

  I flinched at the mention of Seth and caught sight of the Auburn bracelet around my wrist. Feelings, conflicted by everything the night brought, tore their way through me and buried themselves in my gut.

  “It would be better if she didn’t know,” I replied, letting my fingers trace the bracelet’s rubber facing. “It was nothing. Really.”

  “When she’s pestering you, she isn’t pestering me,” my dad answered. “Besides, it’ll provide hours of entertainment, and I’ll be spared the consequences of not telling her. It’s for the best.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” He put the key in the ignition, and the soft strum of classic country drifted through the speakers. “Now buckle up. We have a story to tell.”

  “I don’t want to,” I whined.

  “Great! I’ll do the honors.”

  8

  Keep It Simple

  “Your dad was seeing things?”

  “Yes. He made the whole thing up.” I clipped the stems on a batch of roses and shoved them in an iridescent vase. My mom’s skeptical side-eye didn’t go unnoticed. “I blame his old age,” I continue
d. “Short-term memory is the first to go.”

  “He’s only a year older than me,” she replied.

  “Then I guess you’re up next.”

  I carried the vase across the room and sat it next to the others. My mom’s blue eyes followed me as I walked.

  “Sure your memory isn’t the problem?” she asked, occupying herself with ribbon.

  “It was an ice pack and a have a good night,” I answered. “Pretty hard to mix that up.”

  “Then why were you standing by the ice machine with your faces pushed together?”

  “They weren’t pushed together!” I threw my hands up and scowled. “You know what? Never mind. I need to head out before I’m late.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “Go join Adam at the lake. Try not to kiss him again.”

  “Mom.” I rubbed my temples and willed her nosiness away. “Can I borrow some money?”

  She leaned across the counter, amused. “First you refuse to give me the details. Then you use me for money?”

  “No one said parenting would be easy.”

  She grinned and motioned to her brown leather bag. “Fine, go enjoy your day in the sun. I’ll be here, trying to practice on these without losing all feeling in my fingers. I’ve stabbed myself so many times I’ve lost count.”

  I glanced at the ribbons sprawled across the counter. A few were pinned together, but none of it looked organized. “What are those?” I asked, grabbing her purse.

  “Ribbons,” she answered. “I started getting preorder calls for Homecoming. Had no clue what they were talking about, so I asked around. There’s this tradition called pinning. Big deal, from what I’m told.”

  “Interesting,” I said, retrieving a twenty.

  “Yep.” She snipped the end of a ribbon, watching me as I returned her purse. “You should ask Adam if he wants me to make you one. I’ll give him the family discount.”

  “Bye now.”

  “We can do customized!”

  “Bye!” I repeated.

  The blue Cruze Case and I shared was parked in the lot. When I opened its door, heat fled from inside. A vanilla air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, faded by the sun that hammered it each day. It whipped in the air-conditioning as I put the car in drive.

  Halfway to the lake, my phone rang. I hit a button on the steering wheel and glanced at the clock. Riley echoed what I already knew.

  “You’re late.”

  “I know,” I answered. “Driving there as we speak.” Music played in the background and mixed with Adam’s and Tate’s deep drawls. “Are you already on the boat?”

  “The guys just got it unloaded,” she replied. “No biggie. We’ll wait until you get here.”

  “It is a biggie,” Adam argued. “By the time we get to our spot, all the good fish will be gone!” I heard a substantial smack. “I’m kidding!” he said. “Hands to yourself, or I’ll toss you overboard.”

  “Toss her overboard, and you’ll be sitting on the dock, watching us sail away,” Tate answered.

  “Traitor.”

  “The map says ten minutes,” I said, passing Steele Creek. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  I hit the END CALL button and changed lanes. Twelve minutes later, I passed the blue WELCOME TO SOUTH CAROLINA sign. The marina wasn’t far. Adam’s black truck stuck out like a sore thumb in a mostly empty parking lot. I parked beside it, shrugged a tote over my shoulder, and closed the door.

  Sitting at the dock, rocking against murky blue waves that moved with the wind, was a medium-sized pontoon boat. Riley stood behind its radio, waving at me as I closed the distance.

  “Glad you found it,” she said, extending a hand for my bag.

  “Same.”

  I handed her the tote as Tate leaned across the side and pulled the boat flush against the dock. My hand wrapped around the metal siding, and I stepped on board, wobbling momentarily before I adjusted to the water.

  The scent of sunblock combined with the smell of the lake, carrying summertime memories that I quickly pushed away. Today would be a good one, no matter what.

  “Look who finally showed up,” Adam said, earning my attention.

  He wore sunglasses and a black cap. His biceps glistened in the sun, tan with undertones of pink. Lean muscles rippled over his abdomen. Scars littered his chest like nicks in armor—pale slices that marred his skin. The largest scar carved a jagged line above his swim trunks and extended to his left hip.

  He snapped his fingers in my face. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

  I cleared my throat and tried to cover my embarrassment by busying myself with my bag. It didn’t matter. Adam caught me red-handed, and he knew it.

  He chuckled and adjusted his hat before plopping into a chair at the front. “Can we go?” he asked. “Or is someone else running fifteen minutes late?”

  “You hush,” Riley scolded.

  She sashayed over to me, her head bobbing with the pop music that played through the speakers. Her pink-and-white bikini was a stark contrast from my black two-piece. She was Beach Barbie, and I was Wednesday Addams.

  She pulled a large sun hat from the seat and dropped beside me. “I’m ready for the water,” she commented. “Bring on the tan.”

  “Have fun,” I answered. I pulled a pocket folder from my tote and flashed it her way. “I’m working on scholarship essays. Yay, college.”

  “We have a whole afternoon on the lake,” she said. “Wait until we get back, and I’ll help you fill them out.”

  “Can’t. They have to be completed by me.”

  “They have to be dictated by you,” she corrected. “Think of me as your personal scribe.” She motioned for the folder, but I clung to it. “It’s for your own good. Give me the folder.”

  “No.”

  “Give her the folder,” Adam said.

  I glared at him. He was sprawled across his chair, the sun beating down on his bare chest and his long legs extended so his ankles rested on the side of the boat. He looked so hot, he put the sun to shame.

  “Not everyone has football to rely on,” I answered.

  He tilted his face from its upward position and stared at me. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you might have a football scholarship waiting on you, but I don’t. I have to get these done, and I have to get them done today. The folder stays with me.”

  “Downer.”

  “Meathead.”

  He chuckled and looked at the sky. “Fine. Fill out your papers. Riley, go bug Tate instead.”

  “Don’t tell her to bug me!” Tate said.

  Adam only laughed louder.

  We passed miles of pebbled beach, but Tate didn’t stop the boat until we entered a secluded cove. Trees skimmed the banks, and their leaves rippled murky water where turtles bobbed through the surface. For the day, this was our own little slice of the world. It grew quiet as Tate and Adam anchored the boat and busied themselves with fishing rods.

  “Tate,” Riley said, opening the door to a compartment in the back. “Do you know where the rafts are?”

  “They’re in the other one,” he replied.

  She padded barefoot across the boat’s gray floor and returned to Tate with a pair of deflated inner tubes. Tate looked at her, pouted at his fishing reel, and handed it to Adam. Ten minutes later, both tubes were inflated and tied to the boat. They floated on the water like two neon doughnuts in a pool of muddy blue.

  “You coming?” she asked me, arching an eyebrow as she moved toward the boat’s metal steps.

  “Scholarships,” I answered, waving the folder back and forth.

  She frowned and pointed at the floats. I frowned and pointed at the folder.

  “Make Tate go,” Adam said, tugging his cap lower on his brow. Tate looked at him wide-eyed, and he grinned. “You heard me. Go spend quality time with your girlfriend. You can fish after.”

  “Yeah, Tate!” Riley said. “Come with me!”

  “There’s no way
I’m getting in that water,” Tate answered.

  “Wuss,” Adam replied.

  Tate scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “We won’t be back at the lake until next year,” Riley said. “Even then, it won’t be often. Come on. Come float with me while you still can.”

  “I don’t want to,” he said.

  “Please, Tate.”

  He sighed and nodded. “I’ll float with you for ten minutes, but if one turtle bites my butt, I’m done.”

  “Yes!”

  The boat shook as they moved toward the stern. I waited for things to mellow, then rested the folder against my lap and sifted through various Auburn scholarship applications. Adam took one from the stack and wore a neutral expression as he scanned the words.

  “Between this, the magnets in your locker, and that bracelet around your wrist, I assume you want to go to Alabama.”

  “Give it back,” I answered. “It’s rude to take other people’s stuff.”

  “Sorry, manners police.” He handed me the paper and crossed his arms. “Why do you want to go to Alabama? Family alma mater?”

  “It isn’t Alabama, it’s Auburn, and it’s none of your business.”

  “Auburn is in Alabama. Therefore, you want to go to Alabama.” He shifted his weight. “Also, do you remember the conversation we had last night? The one where I said I was trying to get to know you? That’s what this is. Answer. Please.”

  “Remember when I told you I don’t want to talk about personal things? This falls under that category.” I resumed my attention to the application, but he took a seat beside me and put his hand over the form. “If I can’t see the words, I can’t write a response,” I groaned. “Move your hand.”

  “Talk to me and I will.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and he smiled. “At least let me address you almost kissing me last night. I feel like we left on an awkward note, and it’s bugging the hell out of me.”

  I knocked his hand out of the way but maintained my stare. “It was an almost kiss,” I answered. “Had it been more than that, a conversation would be needed.”

  “Good. Glad we’re in agreement.”

  He relaxed into the seat and played with his cap. I couldn’t see his eyes, but they burned holes in my face.

  “Anything else you need?” I asked. “I can’t work on these when you’re looking at me like that.”