“Let me get my shoes on,” I said.
“Okay. Don’t forget to grab the car keys. I already asked your dad.”
I nodded and shut the door in his face. Two minutes later, I wrote my dad a brief note to tell him we’d left, then grabbed the rental car keys. Adam leaned against the wall, his phone to his ear. He extended his hand for the keys and led the way through the hotel.
“So, it went okay?” he said into his cell phone, unlocking the car as we crossed the parking lot.
I glanced at his profile, caught sight of the frown on his face, and knew something was up.
“Just let me know,” he said, pulling open my door. “I can take you if I need to.”
I tried not to eavesdrop, but there was no way not to. When he ended the call with I love you, I glanced at him.
“Wanda?”
“Yep.”
“Everything okay?”
He looked at me, his eyes hard. “Not really,” he answered, “but I want to have a good night with you. Let’s have fun tonight and worry about everything else tomorrow. Deal?”
I nodded.
Neon for a Cause was held on the massive lawn beside the Student Center. We passed neon arches, music blaring around us as we continued across the grass through flocks of people. Everywhere I looked, people were decked in neon running gear with glow-in-the dark accessories. They buzzed with excitement, making me excited, too.
Adam grabbed my hand as we walked toward the registration desk. A staff member sat behind it. Her face was painted so that it glowed beneath the black-lighted, inflatable entrance.
“There’s neon paint each mile,” she said to the registrants. “You can pick up your shirts over there. Here’s your wristbands. You need these to access the after-party.” She looped a set of neon yellow bracelets around the students’ wrists, then looked at us. “Registration forms are over there.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Adam grabbed a set of clipboards and handed me one. My stomach knotted at the idea of running in front of people, but I filled it out anyway. Once the woman had both clipboards, she placed the forms in a folder and started to explain the race instructions. I tuned her out. I needed to find the willpower to run this race when my nerves screamed at me to run away.
“Hey,” Adam said, tilting his face into view. “You need your bracelet.”
“Oh. Right.”
I blinked and apologized to the woman. She slid a yellow bracelet beside my blue Auburn one already wrapped around my wrist. We passed the shirt table, not wanting to keep up with extra clothing, and found the starting line. People hovered there, consuming the space and crowding me in.
START was written on two inflatable structures that glowed white. I looked at them, glanced at the crowd again, and shook my head.
“I need to leave,” I said, backing away.
“Claire?” Adam caught me, and I shook my head as his hand loosely wrapped around my forearm. “What’s up? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” I answered, “but I can’t do this race.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” I swallowed, shifting the weight on my feet as I started, “I should’ve said something in the car, but I thought I could handle it. I can’t. Running in front of people makes me anxious. I had a bad experience when I was younger, got lapped in front of a stadium of people, and it stuck with me. Besides, I don’t even remember the last time I hit the track. I’d keel over before we made it past the first mile. You’d have to drag my lifeless corpse across the finish line, and I don’t think that’s the kind of photo finish you’d want.” I blew out a shaky breath, and his face softened. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. You’re more than welcome to run. I’ll wait for you here.”
“We’ll skip it,” Adam replied. “I’m only here for the after-party.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to.” He studied a tent in the distance and held up a finger. “Think you can wait here for a second? I have an idea.”
Confused, I followed his gaze. “What idea?”
“It’s a surprise.” He walked backward toward the tent. “Stay here for a minute. Try not to flirt with too many guys.”
“I’ll try,” I said, smiling.
I glanced at the massive silhouette of Jordan-Hare Stadium, then at the series of booths that lined the lawn beneath it. Tents were everywhere, with different sororities and fraternities passing out water or food or both. There was a bounce house on one side of the race, a foam pit on the other, and in the distance, a huge inflatable pool.
Something wet hit my back. I froze but my pulse quickened as neon saturated my black shirt and cascaded down my bare legs, leaving trails of paint in its wake.
“You look like someone threw paint on you,” Adam said. His mouth was beside my ear, and the hair on the back of my neck raised as more paint fell down my spine. “Tell me, who would go around spilling perfectly good paint?”
I turned and Adam stood there, a bucket of paint in one hand and illuminated fingers on the other.
“Did you really do that?” I asked, gawking at him as his smile glowed beneath the lights.
“Possibly.”
I hesitated. Then, before my face gave me away, I ran at him.
“I lied!” Adam cried, trying to run as paint sloshed everywhere. “It was that guy! He did it!”
“Come back and face me like a man!” I yelled.
Adam ran behind a tree and sat the bucket down. He raised his hands. “Okay,” he said. “Before we continue, please realize this bucket cost me twenty bucks. We’re wasting it.”
“You threw paint on me!”
I glared, and he smiled again. “You’re like a star,” he explained, “except you’re smaller and less gaseous. Kind of. Either way, I want to call a truce.”
“You want to call a truce?” I repeated. He nodded and I walked to him, my hands out. “Fine. Truce.”
We shook hands before he tilted mine upward and linked it with his. “It’s so much easier when I don’t have to convince you,” he said. “Why can’t you be this agreeable all the time? It’s nice. I like it.”
“Because ninety percent of the time you’re an asshole,” I replied. “It’s your default reaction for everything.”
“You think you know me so well, don’t you?”
“A little.” I shrugged. “I also happen to know you love surprises. Not the big ones. The small ones that come without warning.”
I dipped my free hand in the paint and smeared it across the planes of his face. His eyes widened, light green beneath vibrant neon.
“See,” I said. “You look happy already.”
His tongue ran across his teeth as he released my hand. He touched the paint on his face, and after one look at the neon on his fingers, he stared at me again. “Claire.”
“What?”
“You’d better run.”
I took off, and Adam sprinted after me, forgetting the twenty-dollar bucket of paint as he caught me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder.
“You think you’re real funny, Collins,” he said, laughing as he navigated the crowd, “but it’s time you got a real lesson on exactly who you’re dealing with.”
“Let me down!”
“No.”
Music pounded louder as we passed tents, the foam pit, and the bounce house. The smell of chlorine invaded my senses as we entered an area labeled POOL OF WONDERS. He wouldn’t. Surely, he wouldn’t.
“Adam, don’t you dare!”
“Don’t I dare what?” He paid the guy at the entrance and carried me to a set of cubbies positioned near the front.
“Adam!” I repeated, watching over his shoulder as he slid off his shoes, then grabbed mine. “Think about this for a second.”
“I did. I thought about it for one second.”
He tossed his phone in the cubby behind our shoes and dug into my pocket for mine. That earned him a har
d pinch to his hip. “Sorry,” he said, grinning. “I wasn’t copping a feel. I was saving your phone from death by water.”
He turned and descended metal steps. Panic set in.
“You’re being irrational,” I said.
“I’m getting payback,” he answered. “Sounds pretty rational to me.” I gripped the railing, but his hand pried mine away. “Hold your breath.”
“Adam—”
I was cut off, submerged into a pool of neon liquid. Adam Meade, asshole extraordinaire, had thrown me in a pool!
He was a dead man.
I pushed myself to the surface and rubbed water from my eyes. Adam’s arm encircled my waist from behind, pulling me flush against his chest.
“Glad to know you can swim,” he said, stubble grazing my neck.
When I turned, dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead. Neon droplets fell from the end, leaving streaks of paint down his face. I looped my arms around his neck, while his hands splayed across my lower back.
“Did you really do that?” I asked, his long legs stretching beneath me. When he nodded, I dunked him under. “Just making sure.”
I swam for the side, hoping I could get myself out of the pool before he caught me. The effort was in vain. Adam swam like a fish and latched on to my leg as soon as my hand touched the ladder.
“You had to get me back,” he said, dragging me underneath.
I held my breath and pushed myself upward. As soon as I hit the surface, he pulled me to him. He smiled through streaks of paint, while his eyes swept my face.
“You think you’re real funny,” I said.
“I think I’m a little funny,” he replied. One of his hands released me and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I also think I’m brilliant and a hell of a catch.”
“And arrogant.”
“And you like me anyway.”
“I do.”
His gaze held an intensity that pierced my caution and brought my resolve bubbling to the surface. His hand slid from my exposed lower back to midway up my spine. I shivered at his touch, and goose bumps sprawled across my skin.
“You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice soft. “I know you were mad at me earlier, but I still had a point. Neither of us knows where we’ll be at the end of the year. Why would we put ourselves in a situation we can’t win?”
“Because sometimes it’s easier to go with it,” I answered. “It’s scary, believe me, I know, but it’s better than pretending we’re just friends. We’re more than friends, Adam.”
“I know that, but it doesn’t mean it’s okay. I don’t want to be the guy who breaks your heart. Don’t make me be that guy, Claire.”
“You make your own choices,” I answered. “If you don’t want to break my heart, you won’t. The choice is yours, but I’m not begging you for a relationship. I’m not going to hope you’ll come around and realize what you’re missing. I deserve better than that. You know I deserve better than that, and I refuse to be an option if you’re—”
His lips grazed mine, barely making contact.
“—if you’re not sure what you want,” I whispered.
I stared at him, my eyes meeting his. Adam pushed my buttons every day. He tested me, confused me, and was everything I wanted but everything I knew to avoid. I understood his hesitation, better than he knew, but we were beyond the point of simple. We couldn’t switch back to friends, just like that.
My hands rested at the base of his neck, and I pulled him to me, taking his bottom lip between my teeth and tugging it gently. “If you’re going to kiss me,” I said, “do it like you mean it or don’t do it at all.”
His lips spread into a slow smile. “You sure about that, Collins?”
“I’m sure.”
He wedged me against the pool’s wall before his mouth slanted over mine. Calloused fingers found my cheeks, and Adam’s body pushed against me, hot and damp against my own soaked clothes. He was a wall of muscle, strong and large enough to block out the rest of the world. My hand slid over his shoulder blade and down his spine, fingernails digging into the wet fabric as he deepened the kiss.
Someone cleared a throat above us, and Adam peeled himself away. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as the event moderator scowled and motioned for us to get out of the pool.
I pulled myself over the pool’s edge and avoided eye contact with the people around us. Adam lingered, wiping water from his face as he watched me.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said.
I nodded and padded with wet socks across the grass. I was sitting beside our cubby, tugging on my shoes, when he approached. He’d taken off his shirt and was wringing it out. I let my attention drift to his abs, where the pale scar ran across the bottom of his abdomen.
“You got me in trouble,” I said.
“You got yourself in trouble.” He raked a hand through his hair, pushing it off his brow, and slid on his shoes. After he grabbed our phones and gave me mine, he smiled. “So, do I have to ask you to be my girlfriend or did you get the point?”
“I got the point, Meade. I got it loud and clear.”
14
Tell
“I’m not sleeping,” my dad said through the dark.
“It’s just me,” I answered, shutting the hotel door.
He blinked at me, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was pushed up on his forearms, but he was still half-asleep.
“Have fun?” he mumbled, flopping back into his pillows.
“Yes.”
He grumbled something inaudible as I tiptoed across the room. He was snoring before I managed to get a fresh change of clothes from the duffel. I sneaked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. I looked like a rainbow, with multihued paint dried in my hair, on my face, and coated to the black Pader High shirt.
While I stripped, steam coated the room like a thick fog and stole my reflection. I stepped beneath the hot water, and the paint dripped to the tiled floor, washing away the night.
Adam and I were a thing.
My heart pounded as a smile graced my face. He’d come out of nowhere, but it felt right. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place. My phone beeped, and I poked my head around the shower curtain. On the counter, the screen glowed with a text notification. I washed the rest of the paint off before getting out.
The floor was frigid against my feet, but it didn’t compare to the chill that racked through me when I saw:
Seth: Why are you at Auburn?
Confused, my fingers clenched around the phone. I scoured for any way he could’ve known, and an eerie feeling settled in my gut. When I went to Facebook, the proof was evident. Adam had tagged me in a picture of us covered in paint. He had also sent a relationship request, which I’d yet to accept.
The phone buzzed again.
Seth: Call me please
I sucked in a breath and turned off the screen. I would handle this in the morning, when I wasn’t exhausted and riding a high from the events of the night.
My hair soaked the collar of a clean tee, and I pulled a comb through it. After brushing my teeth and finishing the rest of my nightly routine, I collected my clothes. The blue Auburn bracelet I wore, the one that matched Seth’s, remained on the counter. I took it in my palm, let my fingers trace the letters one last time, then tossed it in the trash.
I reentered the main room and walked across the scratchy carpet. Tucked beneath the heavy blankets, I put the phone on my charger, then watched the red light of the smoke detector flicker on and off. It was my version of counting sheep, and it lullabied me to sleep when my brain refused to shut off.
“Claire,” my dad called through the pitch-black room.
I stirred.
“Claire,” he repeated.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, clanking against the metal lamp.
“Answer it or shut it off,” my dad continued.
Groggy, I flung my hand into the frigid air and searched for the source. The phone stopped ringi
ng as soon as I made contact.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello?” a guy’s voice repeated.
“Yeah,” I answered. “What do you need?”
“Claire.”
My name, said the way I’d heard it for two long years, heated me as if a fire was lit beneath the comforter. My chest grew heavy. My stomach curled. I shouldn’t have answered the phone.
“Claire,” Seth repeated.
I pulled the phone away from my face to confirm what I already knew. When I put it back to my ear, he released a sharp sigh.
“I can hear you breathing,” he said. His tone was deep, but his accent was gruff—like it was after football games. Like he’d been out with our friends, celebrating. “The least you can do is answer me.”
“I don’t have to answer you,” I replied. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”
“Claire,” my dad muttered. “My head is pounding. Go talk in the bathroom.”
“I have to go,” I relayed into the phone. “Have a good night.”
“Claire, wait—”
I ended the call and turned off the phone. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
* * *
The morning came quicker than I wanted. Dizzy from lack of sleep and filled with feelings that conflicted each other, I watched the sun through the sheer curtains and deleted Seth’s attempts at communication.
There were texts after I’d hung up, texts I didn’t want to read, and they blared at me from the phone like a harbinger of doom.
“You look like death warmed over,” Adam said.
I shut the door and forced a smile. We’d gotten back around one in the morning, but somehow Adam managed to look normal. He kept his stubble, but his hair was gelled away from his face, and he wore a white polo with dark blue jeans. Absent were the bags I wore. Absent was anything that resembled exhaustion. I was slumming it up in sweats, and he looked like a model. Whatever. At least I was comfortable.
“I need coffee,” I answered. “If you’re here this early, I demand coffee.”
“I can see you’re a morning person.”
“Coffee,” I snapped.
“Right! Coffee it is.”
We found the downstairs lobby, where the smell of bacon and eggs drifted from the back of the room. Adam headed straight for the food while I searched for coffee. I spotted two industrial-sized urns at the back of the room and navigated through the tables.
Surviving Adam Meade Page 13
