by A. J. Pine
“Jess, I’m saying this as your friend, okay?”
“So, to be totally clear, we’re still friends?”
She pushes me hard on the shoulder.
“Yes, you idiot. We’re still friends. You fucked up. I got mad. You apologized. I forgave. That’s how it works.”
This gets me to smile. “Okay.”
“Back to the part you probably don’t want to hear.”
I nod.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out with Adam, this platonic dating you guys are doing.”
“We’re not dating.” It doesn’t matter how I treated this evening at the outset. Adam Carson could have any girl he wanted, and there’s no way that girl would be me.
“Why not?”
I sigh, wanting to trust her, needing to trust someone. “Because dating leads to relationships, and relationships lead to expectations, and I can’t live up to expectations.”
Zoe groans. “Jesus, Jess. Not every relationship is an audition for marriage. You’re twenty-one. In college. What the hell is wrong with living a little?”
She doesn’t get it, couldn’t get it. Bryan is all there was before this, and it was supposed to be forever. What’s the point of hoping past one night when eventually it has to come down to forever or nothing at all? The answer will always be the latter, so I get there first, before it hurts too much.
“My point is,” she continues, reading my reluctance to reply, “he took a punch for you, and don’t think I didn’t notice his limp, and the boy has his first game in less than forty-eight hours. Whatever it is you two are doing, I know the way you feel about him, even if you won’t admit it. And, well, the second half of my argument is standing in our kitchen, hopefully doing the dishes.”
I sit up, brushing out invisible wrinkles from my jeans.
“I’m tired of being alone,” I admit matter-of-factly. “I went through months of pills and therapists and shitty choices. Ever since him—and you—things have been different, better.”
Zoe waits until I get to the door to offer her last words.
“But you’re lying to him, Jess. You’re giving him false hope if it can’t go any further than this.” She pauses, and I hold my breath for what will come next. Because she doesn’t have to say it, what I already know. “You’re lying to yourself as well. When you break his heart, you’re gonna break yours too. Where will you be then?”
I shrug, forcing a reluctant smile. “I’ll still have you, right? If I can keep the fuckups to a minimum?”
I don’t wait for her answer before walking out of her room. My choice is a selfish one. I’m not denying that. But I want what he’s offering too much to say no.
***
A glass of ice water perspires on the breakfast bar while Adam sits on the stool beside it, his finger tracing shapes in the moisture.
“What are you drawing?”
It’s dark save for the street lamps shining through the glass door of our balcony, lighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.
“You wouldn’t understand my art,” he says, feigning solemnity. “It’s too abstract.”
I punch him playfully in the shoulder, my hand connecting with solid muscle.
“Hey.” His eyes move from the glass to me. “I think I’ve been hit enough for one night.”
Reaching over the bar, I grab a paper towel from the roll next to the sink. I dip it in the ice water and bring it to the left corner of his mouth. His eyes flutter closed as he lets me dab away the dried blood.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”
We both know I’m not talking about his mouth. If we were at the PT lab and Tracy saw the way he was walking, she’d tear up the release she just signed.
“Thank you,” I say, “for standing up for me. For thinking I was better than I am.”
His hand clasps my wrist.
“The only person judging you is you, Jess.”
I take a jagged breath and collect myself the best I can.
It’s nearly eleven on a Thursday, which doesn’t matter much for me. But I don’t know what classes Adam takes, what time he gets up in the morning, when the team bus leaves for their game.
What I do know is we’re both still playing at small talk, still standing firmly rooted in a room that is not the bedroom. My hand goes to my mouth in an attempt to stifle a yawn, but the mere suggestion of sleep has me craving it.
“You’re tired.”
His voice is soft, as if I’m already sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake me. My stomach tightens at the sound of it, at the thought of him here, while I’m sleeping.
I nod, not able to come up with the right words on how we proceed from here.
“If you’re having second thoughts after talking to Zoe, it’s cool. I can catch the next bus.”
His voice stays even, and he wears an easy smile.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
He lifts the glass of water to his lips and drinks, his sips long and slow. After draining half of it, he sets it back on the counter.
“I actually poured this for you, but I got thirsty waiting.”
I groan, needing him to answer me now.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Are you having second thoughts?”
His stalling makes my insides twist tighter, like the leg of a balloon animal. One more twist, and I might pop.
“No. I’m not having second thoughts. Just offering you the final chance to opt out.”
I finish the water.
“I’m not opting out,” I admit. “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never had this kind of, you know, sleepover. Kind of on new ground here.”
His brows knit together.
“Can we not talk about other kinds of sleepovers you’ve had? Kind of kills the friendship vibe.”
His smile falters for a brief moment but then rights itself.
“Okay,” I say. “Wait here for a minute.”
I dart into my room, closing the door behind me. When I get a look at my surroundings, I freak. It looks like my closet threw up on the floor, the bed, my desk. I round up the scattered army of loose garments and stuff them into my closet, sliding the doors shut.
Pajama-type garments—shit. A cami and underwear won’t cut it tonight. I rifle through a drawer until I produce a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, hastily throwing both on.
I pop back out and hurry into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Teeth, check. Face washed, check. Before-bed pee, check. And I’m fast enough that it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard.
Come to think of it, I can’t believe I was worried about what to wear to the bar tonight, because the look I am rocking now is one to be reckoned with. I’m about to step out there looking like I’m dressed for a ninth-grade sleepover rather than whatever this is.
Hand gripping the knob, I tell myself one more time we’re just friends, that this isn’t crossing any sort of line, but when I pull open the door and let go, I wonder what else I’m letting fall through my grasp and if I even want to keep holding on anymore.
Adam’s back is still to the door, but only for a second. He turns at the sound of my exit, and where I expect the same tentative expression I wear, I see amused confusion in his pursed lips and wrinkled brow.
He crosses his arms and gives me a once-over, and I suddenly feel as naked as I was that night with Jake, only this time I care about the person who’s looking.
“I never pegged you for a sorority girl,” Adam says, bemused.
I look down at the shirt I so hurriedly pulled on, and there, plastered over my left breast are three Greek letters, remnants of an old life, a path I’m no longer on thanks to the detour that brought me here.
“I’m not,” I say sharply. “I mean, not anymore.”
“It’s okay, Jess.”
No. It’s not. I will always have one foot rooted in that other life, l
etters of another alphabet one of the few visible scars.
“Jess.”
There he goes again, turning my name into a weapon, leaving me defenseless.
“I’m tired. Do you need to use the bathroom or wash up before bed? I have an extra toothbrush, if you want.”
I don’t tell him I have a few extra toothbrushes. They should come in a kit with my to-go coffee cups.
“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”
I grab one from under the sink and hand it to him. When he’s behind the closed door of the bathroom, I make one last trip to the kitchen before heading to my room, where I dive under the covers and open up the first book I can find on my Kindle.
A few minutes later I look up to his lean frame in the doorway. The hall light darkens him to nothing but shadow, and I hate that I can’t see his eyes.
“You can come in,” I say, surprised by the surety of my words.
He steps through, and I see them now, his deep, brown irises taking me in. The crinkled lines fanning out toward his temples complement his roguish smirk.
“Well, Ms. Elliott, I believe I’m ready to sleep with you.”
My gaze searches the length of his body and stops short below his T-shirt. Where his jeans once hugged his hips just right—and yes, I noticed—he now wears his green basketball shorts.
“Do you always travel prepared to spend the night out?”
“No . . .”
The way his voice raises in pitch evokes an eager curiosity.
He rounds the bed slowly and sits on the side opposite me, as close to the edge as possible. He laughs.
“I’m not that kind of guy. I’m more of the superstitious type.”
I smile back at him while my heart hammers at his nearness. He may be across the bed, but he’s here, in my room, asking nothing of me other than a bed to sleep in.
“Enlighten me,” I say.
“I wear the shorts, under my jeans, the night before a game,” he starts. “And if it’s an away game, the night before travel too.”
“Because winning has nothing to do with skill and strategy, only whether or not you’re wearing the shorts?”
He chucks a pillow at me, and I realize how far away he is even though he’s a few feet from me. I reach over to my nightstand, where the product of my kitchen visit lies, tossing it across the bed to him. He picks it up and eyes the package of frozen peas.
“For your knee,” I say, and there’s a small silence as he positions the bag over the visible swelling.
“Thank you.” He says nothing more to give away what we both know, that Jake’s cheap shot did more than draw blood. Adam absorbed the shock of the blow with his whole body.
I turn off my lamp and slide down until my head rests on my pillow. Moonlight trickles in through the edges of my window shade. In the dim light, his brown eyes look almost black, and they train directly on me.
He slides down too, so he’s on his back, the bag of peas molded over his knee, his head turned to face me.
“You’re miles away,” I say. But that’s not true. He’s closer than I’ve let anyone get since sophomore year.
He reaches his arm across the space between us, his hand finding mine where it lies on my pillow. He doesn’t grab it but instead snakes his pinky around mine.
I stifle a sharp breath, shocked not so much at the gesture itself but at the jolt of the touch of his skin.
“I’m right here,” he says. “Just being a gentleman. Friends or not, I don’t have much control over what can happen . . .” His eyes dip to his shorts, and I giggle. “. . . if I get too close to a gorgeous girl in bed.”
Heat floods my neck, my cheeks, and I cross my fingers the room is dark enough that he doesn’t notice. The thought of Adam’s body pressed against mine—of him being aroused by me—threatens my last shred of resolve. Because I want him in so many ways, this gentleman who keeps his distance. But I want even more not to lose him as my friend.
“You need to stop saying stuff like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, feigning innocence.
I chuck the pillow back at him.
“I’m just asking for some clarification,” he says. “I mean, I say a lot of things.”
I purse my lips and glare.
“Fine. Okay. I won’t call you gorgeous anymore. I don’t need to. You already know I think it.”
How does he do that? Unabashedly say things threatening to unravel me. With the few others who have shared this bed with me, all I ever wanted was to get to the sleeping part so I could close my eyes and forget, fool myself into a night free from dreams pretending the arms around me belonged to Bryan. When the dreams stayed hidden, sleep was the one thing that could transport me back to where I used to be.
But tonight I fight the fatigue. I don’t want the evening to end, don’t want to pretend I’m with anyone else. Still, my eyes grow heavy, blink, blink, blinking me off to sleep. With each flutter of my lids, I watch my pinky, still laced with his. Our hands are the last thing I see before I lose the battle and sleep takes me.
In the early morning, I don’t have to search for a warm body that finds more comfort in the art of spooning a pillow. Because Adam is still here, his finger still tangled with mine. But we failed at maintaining the bed-border relationship.
His arm no longer has to reach to find me. It’s bent at the elbow, pulled tight to his chest and along with it, my hand. And his head, tilted slightly in my direction, rests dreamily on my pillow. I watch him, this beautiful boy with an equally beautiful, forgiving, nonjudgmental heart. And for a minute, I imagine giving my heart to him and his accepting it without question. I imagine a future with him in it, but only for a moment, before I let his soft exhales lull me back to sleep. Reality can wait a few more hours.
But Adam in my bed doesn’t keep the dream at bay. Instead it brings it back with the force of a tidal wave. Me, reliving the ambulance ride, my mother stroking my hair as life pours out of me. Me, watching, as the door closes and he walks away, my past and my future. Me, growing up in a way I never should have had to do, wanting now what I know I’ll never have. With each incarnation of the dream, I wait for Bryan to look back, but he never does.
“It’s okay,” a voice whispers in my ear. “I’m right here, Jess. It’s okay.”
They aren’t Bryan’s words, only the ones I wish he’d said. The words continue like a mantra, but I don’t open my eyes, too scared to admit what I know, that I don’t want them to be Bryan’s words anymore. So I squeeze my eyes shut and feign sleep until, somehow, I do fall back under. All the while he whispers against my cheek, “It’s okay. I’m here.”
11
I wake with a start to a harsh grinding sound followed by the best smell known to morning—coffee. For a few seconds it feels like any other day, but when I roll over and look to the other side of the bed, I find the imprint of a body and a not-so-frozen bag of peas. Sweat beads on my forehead as my chest heaves. The smell of fresh coffee and the memory of my pinky linked with his can’t erase the knot in my stomach or the recollection of a dream that taunts me along with what Zoe said last night: You’re lying to yourself. When you break his heart, you’re gonna break yours too.
With a sinking feeling I curl back up, throwing the blanket over my head to block out the sun intruding through the window as well as the memory of Adam’s whispered words.
It’s after ten, my body spent from a night of restless sleep. It’s good he’s gone. I don’t have to watch him leave, to wonder what this all means when I know it can’t mean anything more than saying good-bye to Adam. But my phone vibrates with a text, and when I look at who it’s from, I’m too caught off guard to suppress my laughter. The sender is Sexy Vampire, and the message says: Get out here before everyone starts looking at the asshole sitting alone with two cups of coffee.
He programmed himself into my phone, as Sexy Vampire. And I smile like an idiot because he’s here.
I leap from my bed but give myself a moment’s
pause for my cheeks to relax. Pulling the door open a crack, I peek toward the kitchen. Adam’s in what seems to be his usual spot, on a stool at the bar, his back to my room. I dash for the bathroom and close the door quickly behind me. It shouldn’t matter, but I can’t go out there without brushing my teeth. It’s bad enough he’s going to see me in broad daylight as I am. I can at least tidy up my mouth and splash some water on my face. For good measure I pull my bed head back into a messy bun and decide it’s time to brave a type of morning after I’m not used to.
When I open the door, Adam has moved to the couch, the remote poised and ready, two mugs in front of him on the coffee table.
“I saw you had some to-go cups, but we missed the show last night. Thought we could hang for a bit before I have to head home to grab my stuff for the bus. Sound okay?”
I walk gingerly toward him, afraid the riot of butterflies in my stomach might toss me off balance.
He’s still here. There’s no way he could have known, but he ignored the to-go cups, and he’s still here. I offer my dream a mental flipping off because maybe it wasn’t the sign I took it for. Maybe it wasn’t a reminder of Zoe’s words but a hint of some sort of possibility.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say, sitting down on the center cushion rather than the corner opposite him. I’m feeling bold. “No classes today?”
“I’m pretty sure the coffee brewed itself. I just poured it. Seemed better than drinking straight from the pot. And no classes. No one on the team takes Friday classes since it’s usually the day we travel.”
“Got it. Thanks, then, for pouring the coffee but not making it. Wouldn’t want to burn ourselves.”
I take a gentle sip and lean back with my eyes closed, stretching my legs out in front of me. Hope stirs inside of me, making me want what I shouldn’t.
“Definitely not,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to see any harm come to your lips.”
My eyes fly open. I can see him in my peripheral vision, looking at me. I hear a flirtatious smile in his voice, and I’m startled by how much I’m affected by one little four-letter word. Lips.
The mere mention of my lips trickling off of his has my insides doing things they’re not supposed to do when such a word is uttered by a friend.
