Now, here he was, holding onto a piece of paper, proof of what he’d actually earned, wishing for something he hadn’t worked for: her forgiveness.
He stuffed the check back into the envelope, spreading it flat on the wood grain beneath his palms. College, he’d worked for. He’d grown up in a shithole industrial neighborhood in the shadow of an Ohio steel mill, watching his dad drink himself to a slow death after they lost his mom to a sudden one. Pretty much like living a John Cougar Mellencamp song. So Adam aced every test, grabbed every honor, and won a scholarship to a state school just so he could get the fuck out of that house, that town.
And he had. He’d made it work somehow.
He’d taught himself how to play the electric bass after playing the stand-up for orchestra in high school. He’d played for a bunch of cover bands until he found Graham and Jamie leading what would turn into the Squad. They’d wanted to grow. He’d wanted to grow with them, and he’d brought JR with him. Through it all, he kept up with classes and studied till his eyeballs were as blistered as his fingertips. And this gig at McAllister’s…it was all about stocking away cash so he could hit the books again in a year or two. Girls weren’t part of the plan—hadn’t been for months, because he was supposed to keep his eye on the ball. He’d worked it all out. He’d balanced it like his pathetic checkbook.
But this thing with Johnny Ray and Saroj being all over each other, it upset the order. It didn’t make sense. Sure, they had a lot in common. JR came from old money—the very definition, at least on paper, of a fine Southern gentleman—and he was doing the artsy thing and driving his parents crazy before signing on to a lifetime of galas and gallantry. I’ll be damned if a silver spoon is the only thing I put in my mouth, bro. It was a world Saroj probably understood way better than Adam did. But they’d never been interested in each other before. Their hanging out had never bugged him before.
Now…?
JR could, conceivably, ask Saroj out. She could, even more conceivably, say yes. There was nothing stopping them. Unless he punched JR in the face…and broke both of his legs. Of course, Saroj would probably go visit him in the hospital, and they’d start seeing each other by default and probably be married next summer. And Adam would not be on the guest list.
“Shit.” He slumped and rubbed his face with his palms. This was not good. This was so far from good. His neatly ordered—if crazy-busy—life had taken a serious turn for the bizarre.
“Hey. Man. You all right?” Dave, the day-shift bartender, stopped running a rag across the bar, frowning at him in concern.
“Yeah. Just beat.” Adam was quick to assure, to lie. And then he reached for his cell and typed out a few simple words.
JR, touch her again and u die.
Two minutes later, his pocket vibrated.
Touch her where? I like specifics.
He gripped the phone’s casing so tight that his thumb smudged the glass faceplate. He didn’t text back. Anything he had to say was probably too profane. Johnny Ray didn’t know Saroj like he did. First day of their first year, he’d run into her in the bathroom on their floor—this tiny girl with waist-length, dark braids who looked about fourteen…except for the three piercings in each ear. A little show of rebellion. She was horrified to smack into him, sputtering about her parents not realizing boys lived just down the hall. Clearly her parents weren’t the only ones.
He’d waited for her just outside the door, walking her back to her room and straight up introducing himself to her mom and dad. I’ll take care of her, Mr. Shah, he’d promised. Or something similarly noble. Whatever a dumbass eighteen-year-old guy said when he was trying to be a man.
Her dad hadn’t believed him. Looked at Adam like he’d already left giant handprints all over her cute little body. Like he was no good. But he’d tried to take care of her. To be a friend through school and after. Somewhere along the way, he’d figured out the music thing and she’d figured out the journalism thing and they grew up. Together. She’d always been there. Adam could count on that. Her showing up at shows, swinging by whatever bar he was working at, calling him to walk her home if it was three in the morning and she was a little too drunk to wander around by herself. Maybe it wasn’t going to last forever, but in the here and now, she was a big part of his life.
One he’d taken for granted.
It hurts, and I need to get over it. I need to get over you, she’d said.
How could she do that just when he was figuring out he needed her?
Chapter Five
Saroj lingered on McAllister’s front steps, wishing she had backup. But going out on a Tuesday, a “school night,” had its perils. Anu was pulling a nightmare shift at the hospital and meeting up with Vince at some point after it. Meanwhile, Becca’s advice on “the Johnny-and-Adam clusterfuck” was really only useful for what to do with both of them in the sack. Kinky.
Suffice it to say, Sunday’s four-Bloody-Mary brunch hadn’t given her much perspective—just a headache. Now, she had other symptoms: sweaty palms, dry mouth, and a bundle of neuroses. But, tough luck, she had to lay down some boundaries before this got completely out of control.
Just on the other side of that door, Adam was working one of his regular shifts. It wasn’t really fair to drop in on him while he was on the clock but, after Saturday, fairness was kind of off the table. And work gave them a semblance of propriety. Propriety. Ha. Something she could’ve remembered while giving The Brute Squad rave reviews in the Gazette’s Arts section alongside legitimate big-name acts that came to town. The guys at the office called Saroj on her bias all the time, and Jenna, their webmaster, loved to slip “Harper” into her byline just before any given piece went live on the site. “If you’re going to do it, then at least hyphenate for God’s sake,” was her standard retort. “Saroj Shah-Harper.”
But the question of bias was real. The Gazette gang was right. She was way too preoccupied with all things Adam, and it had to stop. She had to put him back into a safe little box and get her shit together. She could laugh, or she could cry. Or she could force herself through the McAllister’s doors. All wood grain and polished brass fixtures, it had the makings of an old-time Irish pub. Complete with a hunky Irish bartender—albeit third generation. Adam wore black, the unspoken uniform of bar personnel, and looked ungodly gorgeous while doing so. His gaze instantly found her in the doorway, like he’d targeted her with the scope of a rifle.
Saroj pulled down the zipper of her jacket with shaking fingers, walking up like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Hey, Adam,” she murmured, sliding onto the corner barstool.
He finally blinked, like he’d momentarily forgotten how. “Hey.” The hand that was resting on the draft taps clenched into a fist. “I didn’t think I’d see you. Like…ever.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? Even for me?” She tried to keep her voice light. Her fellow barflies shifted uncomfortably, already picking up on what both of them were trying to pretend wasn’t a big cloud of awkward.
Adam moved away from his patrons, toward her, pitching his voice low. “I don’t know…avoiding my calls for three days is pretty extreme in my book.”
“I had a hangover, and then I had to work.” Saroj shrugged, hoping it conveyed the proper amount of casual. “And in my book, ‘extreme’ is kissing me just because your best friend did,” she said, before bending to hang her purse on a hook beneath the bar. When she was upright again, Adam was still standing there. Pale. Mouth a tight line. God, he even managed to look good when he was angry.
“That’s not fair. You didn’t stick around long enough for me to explain,” he accused.
“Could you explain? I don’t think even you know why you did it.” It was like hitting someone and then looking at your fist in awe, like it acted on its own. She shook her head. “Just get me a pint. Help your real customers.”
“You’re real.”
Oh, thank you for validating my existence. She clasped her hands tightly to keep fro
m digging her nails into the bar. Or slamming her head into it. “Not to you, I’m not, and that’s okay. So, the sooner you go back to remembering it, the better it is for the both of us. I just want us to be friends again. Back to the way things were.” As much as it hurt to erase that amazing kiss, to pretend it never happened, she had to. It was the only mature thing to do.
Adam leaned forward, eyes flashing with challenge. “What if I don’t want to go back?”
There he went again, speaking from pure male instinct. Saying things he never would’ve thought of before seeing her in Johnny Ray’s arms. “That’s a big ‘if,’” Saroj said. “And I’m not risking anything else. I’ve already given you too much.”
He huffed a breath of disbelief. Of confusion. “What is that supposed to mean? What have you ‘given’ me? What have you risked?” Adam’s voice rose, and any chance of the other people at the bar not hearing them was officially gone. “You’ve never even told me how you feel, Saroj. You just assume I know. And I don’t. I have no idea what’s going on in your head. All I know is that, all of a sudden, out of the blue, you and JR are sucking face like a Dyson infomercial.”
“Classy. Really classy.” She scowled. “You do know what’s going on in my head, even if you want to deny it. I told you three years ago.” Saroj didn’t have to reach too far for the memory. It was always close when Adam was around. The specter of one of her biggest moments of stupidity where he was concerned. “We were at the Subtle Knife, doing shots after a show and playing darts. Believe me, I made myself completely clear.” There’d been tears involved. She hated drunk crying more than she hated drunk texting. “And it didn’t matter one bit.”
Adam had pretended it never happened. Now, his gaze was still blank—with a side of bartenderly disapproval. “Oh, come on. You know how you get when you do shots. Half the time you’re declaring your love for some soap actor, and the other half you want to make out with Becca. I never take anything you say seriously when you’re that hammered.”
He never took anything she said seriously, regardless of whether shots were involved or not. Saroj almost pushed back from the bar and grabbed her purse. It took everything she had to stay put and look him in the eye. “Adam, I just wanted to come here and let things get back to normal. So go grab me a beer and do your job.”
Whatever he might’ve said next was replaced by a short, sharp nod. He pivoted and moved swiftly down the long bar to the draft taps, saying soothing things to the other customers like they were chickens with ruffled feathers. It was only when he had his back to her that Saroj let herself exhale. Safely hidden beneath the bar, her knees knocked together like bowling pins. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been way worse.
Maybe they’d be okay now. Maybe that was all we really needed to say, she thought as relief seeped into her bones.
And then the little bell over the McAllister’s door jingled, and Johnny walked in.
Chapter Six
“Hey, y’all. How’s tricks?” JR’s voice echoed across the bar. Hell, they could probably hear him in the kitchen. Adam whipped around so fast he almost let the perfect Guinness he’d just poured spill right into the wells.
Great. Like this night needed to be more awkward. The perverse grin on Johnny Ray’s face and the challenge in his eyes was blatant. He was spoiling for something. That text to stay away from Saroj had been like tossing down a gauntlet. He probably saw her do an online checkin to the bar and decided to drop in. Or he just had the world’s worst timing. Either way, this had “disaster” written all over it.
Adam struggled to stay neutral—luckily, he had years of practice keeping a handle on his temper—as he returned a, “Hey!” and gave the Guinness to the guy waiting for it. He just had to ignore JR plopping down next to Saroj like it was no big thing. Pretend them putting their heads together and laughing didn’t annoy him something fierce. He had to be professional. He could do that, right?
He filled orders, checked on the kitchen, made small talk with a couple of businesswomen in town for a conference, and almost convinced himself that giving the sexy brunette one his number was a good idea. And he took his sweet time coming back to Johnny Ray and Saroj. “What’s the occasion, JR? You don’t usually roll in here until ten minutes before close.”
“Like I need an excuse to see my two most favorite people in the world?” JR’s two favorite people in the world were Carlos Santana and Jim Beam, and not necessarily in that order. And the angelic expression on his face set Adam’s teeth on edge.
This was emotional blackmail, plain and simple, just like that night at the club. JR thinking he could orchestrate a scene and get results. No. No way. This time, Adam wasn’t going to follow the script. He kept his smile—just barely. And then he brought up the latest Marvel superhero movie, knowing it would send JR and Saroj off into a discussion that had nothing to do with the three of them. Even better, waxing poetic about the relative hotness of Iron Man and Black Widow made it almost impossible for them to flirt.
It got them through about an hour’s worth of Adam’s shift and another round of drinks. Halfway through her second pint, Saroj’s eyes had the telltale glassy shine of someone on their way to being drunk. She’d had that look in her eyes when he kissed her: a little dangerous, a lot vulnerable. It was not a look she needed to have while JR’s arm was slung around her shoulders.
Adam came back to them after making a tray full of Cosmos for a party in the back. “So. What are we talking about now?”
Johnny Ray waggled his eyebrows. “How hot Saroj looks. Doesn’t she look hot, Adam?”
Yes. No. Maybe. Hell if Adam was going to answer that out loud. “Don’t be a jerk, man.” He sounded like somebody’s father. No, he sounded like his father, God rest his tired old soul.
“What, now there’s something wrong with thinking I’m hot?” Saroj’s eyebrows rose. Her voice had the same note as when she’d told him to go make drinks. Tight. Cold. Tipping an ice bucket down the back of his shirt.
“Of course not,” he said, quickly…but not fast enough. “Why would there be anything wrong with that? I’m a twenty-first century man. I can have hot friends.” Because friends was what she wanted them to be, right?
“Oh, you are such a loser.” Johnny Ray cracked up and then finished off the rest of his beer in one noisy gulp. “It is no wonder you are high and dry in the lady department these days, my friend.”
The more Adam tried to disconnect, to ignore that JR was baiting him—because this was all just one big fat joke to him, wasn’t it?—the more his grip on his temper slipped. He slammed down pint glasses and worked so hard on the cork of a bottle of Pinot that half of it came away on the screw. Shit. Shit. So much for being the easygoing one, mild-mannered like Clark goddamn Kent. And the whole time, he could feel Saroj watching him. She always watched him, that wasn’t new, but this…this was different. It was an uncomfortable combination of mad and…distant. Like all she wanted was to push him away.
It sucked. What sucked even more was how JR kept whispering in Saroj’s ear. Her hair fell around her face as she shook with giggles, and when she turned to reply, their lips were close enough to brush.
“No.” Adam came around the bar on autopilot. The same mode as when he’d practically yanked JR off Saroj and thrown him across the room. No thinking, just doing, following that ridiculous caveman instinct to tell them to, “Knock it the hell off!”
They sprang apart like he’d turned on the hose, and so did the people who packed the barstools on either side. JR was genuinely shocked…for all of two seconds. Despite the little shit acting like he’d forgotten Adam was even in the same goddamn room, there was nothing sincere about his, “What the hell, man? What is wrong with you?”
“Yeah, Adam.” Saroj was instantly on the defensive. Because he’d put her there. “Why should we ‘knock it off’? Calm down. We’re just having a good time.”
A good time? How good of a time was she planning to have, exactly? And how many goo
d times had she had with other people when Adam wasn’t paying attention? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her, when his common sense kicked back into gear. I sound like a crazy person.
Normal. She wanted things to get back to normal. He could do that, right? He dragged his hands through his hair, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said on his second or third calming breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
“I know, Adam.” Saroj reached into her purse for a handful of bills and put them down on the bar uncounted, trusting him to do the relevant math. She always trusted him to do the math…didn’t she? “You never know where you’re coming from. That’s precisely the problem. I’m beginning to think it’ll always be the problem.”
After pressing a quick kiss to Johnny Ray’s cheek, she swiftly slid off her stool and slipped past them both. And Adam couldn’t help but feel like something bigger than all of them vanished right along with her.
“You’re an idiot, man,” JR said with an eloquent sigh.
Yeah, he was. And he didn’t know how to fix it.
Chapter Seven
It was hard to strive for the status quo when everything—everyone—you held as normal decided to drink the crazy Kool-Aid. Saroj had obviously been mistaken in assuming she and Adam could go back to the way things were before. And thanks to his unique brand of “help,” even Johnny Ray had shifted into some new category…one where he could murmur funny filth in her ear and make her pulse leap while she laughed.
I bet you the next round, that us talking is drivin’ Adam crazier than a rat in a brick shithouse.
You’re deluded. And you’re on.
He was either the world’s best relationship aid or the world’s worst.
For two straight nights, she was plagued by a lurid assortment of visions. Kissing Johnny at the bar, only to turn and be pulled into Adam’s arms. Being caught between two bodies in the darkness. Swallowing Johnny’s irreverence and Adam’s gravitas in turns. They didn’t pull her between them like a toy; no, they shared her. It was insanely hot and completely inappropriate.
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