by A. J. Pine
26
I check the clock before banging on Zoe’s door. She should have been out of here a half hour ago.
When the door opens, I jump back as she walks out, topless, nipple piercings standing at attention and staring me down.
“Zoe!” I know I’m whining, but I don’t care.
She holds up a shirt in each hand.
“Sorry. I’m running a little late. First-date jitters. Which one should I wear?” She rubs a finger under her eye, wiping away a smudge of eyeliner she must know is there.
I push her back in her room. “I liked it better when you were faux dating Spock.”
“Yeah, well, I like it better when I’m not fooling myself that something’s going to happen when it’s not. So . . . date! Which one?”
She holds the tops up again, and I slap at the one on my right.
“And you don’t mind crashing at Zach’s tonight?”
Zoe taps my nose like I’m an adorable four-year-old. “No, sweetie. How else are you going to rip Adam’s clothes off after I leave?”
I smack her hand away from my face, and she yelps with laughter. Even with home-court advantage for our first official date, my pulse races. It doesn’t matter how much time we’ve spent together in the past few months. Tonight I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been.
“I’m going! I’m going!” Zoe yells, pulling the top I didn’t pick over her head.
“Wait,” I start. “Don’t you have an overnight bag or something?”
Zoe holds up her purse. “Toothbrush, toothpaste, condoms, and clean panties. I’ve got all the basic necessities. If all goes well tonight, I may not need to crash with my brother.”
“I thought you don’t do casual sex,” I say, and she shrugs.
“I didn’t, but shit. I like sex, and I haven’t had it . . .”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know where it’s going. Since she’s been hanging out with Spock. I get it. I tried so hard not to let things get physical with Adam because I knew how I felt about him, even if I wouldn’t admit it out loud. Zoe confessed her feelings for Spock to me on Thanksgiving, but getting physical would have meant getting attached.
“I deserve a little fun, right?” She puts on her best nothing-fazes-me smile, and I nod. Just in case I’m not convinced, she pulls out a string of condoms from her purse—far more than anyone should use in one night—and I yelp with laughter. Of course this is the moment we hear the knock on the door, and Zoe pulls it open to reveal Adam standing there, or rather leaning there on his crutches, a brown bag hanging from his hand.
“Big plans tonight, Adler?” he asks, raising his brows as Zoe slips the condoms back in her purse.
She winks at him. “Hope so. See ya, Sexy Vampire.”
Then she kisses me on the cheek and darts out the door. Adam’s still healing pre-surgery, but he insisted we have our first date before he’s hospital bound for at least a week and then in rehab for months. It was my idea to stay in so he wouldn’t have to worry about managing any pain if we were out. There’s also the little detail that we haven’t seen each other since Monday. Four days. I’ve been catching up on missed coursework, and Adam’s parents were here until yesterday, making sure he could get around without them. I’m grateful for the teammate who offered to drop him here tonight and am hoping not to drive him home before morning.
“Wow,” he says, still waiting in the doorway. “You look amazing.”
Staying in also has its wardrobe perks. Not having to brave the early December snow, I opted for a dress, the only dress I own. A simple, black cotton halter, it’s nothing too special, but my skin warms at his reaction.
I take the brown bag from his hand and deposit it on the counter, urging him into the apartment and closing the door behind him. With him bent over his crutches, I can almost reach my arms around his neck. He bends the last inch or so and kisses me, slow and deep, my stomach contracting as the smallest whimper escapes my lips. We’re close enough for his hand to find my back without him losing his balance. I smile as I hear his sharp inhale, his fingers resting on my bare skin.
Sliding to my waist, his hand finds the place where the dress begins to cover me again. My lips part in a smile against him.
“God I’ve missed you,” he says, his fingers tickling up and down my back. “Four days is too long.”
He kisses me again, his tongue grazing my teeth and teasing my lips. If I don’t pull away, I will lose any and all restraint.
“You mean two weeks and four days,” I say, easing out of his grasp and heading into the kitchen. Adam makes his way to one of the stools and sits across from me at the bar. “What’s in the bag?” I ask, starting to unfold it.
He reaches for my hand before I open it.
“Let’s wait. We don’t need that yet.”
I narrow my eyes. “Keeping secrets from me, Mr. Carson?”
“No secrets. It’s just not time yet.”
I walk around to where he sits, still wearing his coat.
“You are staying for a bit, aren’t you?”
I pull one of his arms free, only now noticing what he’s wearing. The brace is still on, covering the right leg of his charcoal pants. A thin crewneck sweater, navy blue, hugs his shoulders and biceps, and a plaid collar peeks out from underneath. I smile when I see the ever-present green Chucks, quintessential Adam. We never discussed attire for the evening, and I love that we both dressed up for each other.
As I pull his other arm free, I fold his coat over the back of the chair. Adam’s head dips down as I reach behind him, and his lips skate across my shoulder.
“Food,” I say, shivering at his touch. “We need to eat the food.”
He pulls away, and I back up, my eyes resting on his.
“You look really good too.” I can’t help running my fingers through his hair. Now that he’s here, that we’re here together, I don’t want there to be any space between us, not after how far we’ve traveled to get to this place. “Think you can make it to the couch?”
I turn to what will be our dining area for tonight. The hurricane candle in the center of the coffee table flickers with amber light, and it’s surrounded by a dozen cartons from Yu’s. Adam grins and stands up, leaving the crutches perched against the bar.
“Absolutely,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “If you’ll help me.”
My arm circles his midsection, and we limp to the couch together. Adam lowers himself into the far corner, and I back away.
“You can stretch out, and I’ll eat in the chair.”
He grabs my wrist. “Uh-uh. I’d rather not eat if it means you all the way over there.” He turns so his legs extend off the couch and pulls me down next to him.
“You’re not going to be uncomfortable?”
“I don’t care.” He kisses me. “And I don’t think you get it.”
His grin fades.
“Hey,” I start, worried at what could change his playful mood so quickly. “What’s wrong?”
He breathes out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“Four days. Two weeks. For me it’s been three months. Three months of getting to know you, of falling in love with you, but always this distance.”
He pulls me down so I’m leaning against his chest.
“I don’t want the distance anymore.”
Chest to chest, I feel the hammering of my heart matched with his.
“No more distance,” I say. “Got it.”
I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in the crook of his neck as I squeeze.
“No more distance.” I say it again, still unable to believe that this is my reality now.
His hands press against my back, and any space left between us, however finite, disintegrates.
“Say it again,” I tell him. “The part about falling in love with me.”
He gives me a quiet laugh.
“I’m in love with you, Jess Elliott. I’ve been in love with you, and I will still be i
n love with you anytime you ask me.”
I lean up, resting my hands on his chest, my chin on my hands.
“How about now?”
“Still in love with you.”
“Now?”
“Still love you.”
“Five years from now?”
“Annoyed, maybe, if you’ve been asking the whole time, but still in love with you.”
I grab a throw pillow from behind me and aim for his face, but he catches it before impact.
“Hey,” he says. “Can we not beat on the injured guy?”
“Sorry.” I kiss him to show him I mean it. “But you should probably know I react with violence when called annoying. Pillow violence instead of boxing gloves, but violence nonetheless.”
“Hmmm . . .” he says. “I will take that under advisement. Though, when all of this surgery stuff is over and I’m fully mobile, I might enjoy some pillow violence.”
His eyes glint with the wicked charm I’ve never been able to resist.
“I bet you would,” I tease. “Will you settle for an egg roll for now?”
“Is that some sort of euphemism?”
“No!” I laugh, threatening again with a raised pillow. “It’s dinner. Wait!” I spring up from the couch and run to my room. “I thought of something to help.”
“Are you planning on feeding me egg rolls while you’re naked?” he yells from the couch. “Because I’d be okay with that!”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me, gathering up as much as my arms can hold. When I get back to the living room, I can’t see him over the stack in my hands.
“Okay,” I hear him say. “I think you’re taking this pillow violence thing to a whole new level. But I’m an open-minded guy, and I’d like to see where this goes.”
I drop the pile of pillows to the floor in front of him, all six from my overcrowded bed.
“For your leg,” I groan in mock irritation, and then I fashion the pillows into a makeshift ottoman. “I’ll be careful,” I say, removing his shoes and placing one hand under his ankle and the other behind the brace at his knee. He lifts with me, wincing slightly, but he sighs with visible relief once his leg is elevated.
“Thank you.”
He smiles as I inch toward him, still on my knees.
“You know.” I rest my hands on his chest, standing to reposition myself on the arm of the couch. “If you think you might be spending more time over here second semester, I could get a real ottoman.”
He pulls me onto his lap. “A real one? Are you sure? That’s a big commitment. I don’t know if you’re ready.”
I think of the coming weeks and the coming months of intense rehab mixed with the reality of him no longer being on the court. It would be tough regardless, but all of this on top of a new relationship. Things will get messy before they get stable.
“Hey. Jess. Where’d you go?”
Adam waves a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.” But I stop myself, my still-present fear taking over.
“Tell me.” His gentle voice encourages me to continue.
“I’m ready. For the ottoman or commitment, whatever you want to call it.” I slide over him so I’m next to him on the couch. “But your life is changing quickly, before you intended it to happen. The next six months will be rough, with or without this.” I motion between us with my hand. “You’re still internalizing what happened to you, and you haven’t gotten to the pain and frustration of what will come after the surgery. Maybe this is too much for you right now.”
I do a crap job of keeping my voice even because it’s only now, as I say all of this, that I understand I’m right. I slide to the other end of the couch. My eyes focus on the pillow between us, too scared to see the look in his.
“It’s time,” Adam says.
“What?” My voice cracks when I look up.
“The brown bag. You can open it now.”
His face is serious, unreadable, so I retrieve the bag from the kitchen. When I get back to the couch, I place it, unopened, on the small bit of room left on the coffee table.
He nods. “Go ahead. Open it.”
His jaw tightens, and at first I think he’s angry. But when his teeth graze his top lip, I think No. He’s nervous?
It’s a grocery bag, and though it’s heavy, whatever waits inside does not take up much space.
First I pull out a freezer-sized Ziploc bag. Inside it are large, prefilled coffee filters. Confused, I dig deeper and pull out what gave the bag its weight. Two mounds of tissue paper, when unwrapped, reveal two ceramic coffee mugs. Mugs that aren’t pretty. In fact, they are downright plain. Both are an eggshell white and not even that big. I turn one over in my hand and gasp when I recognize the weight and feel of it.
“Shitty coffee!” I yell, looking at him, and the beautiful grin returns. “You took these? From the hospital?”
“Shhhh! They’re still investigating the disappearance of said mugs . . . and the stockpile of coffee.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, holding tight to my stolen treasure.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I had Zoe trash your to-go cups. These are our mugs, and we’re going to drink shitty coffee from them every morning I’m here. Consequently, we’re going to need to steal more coffee because I plan on being here a lot. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m in love with this beautiful girl who’s going to be a brilliant PT someday, and I’m counting on her to help me through the next six months. Because yes, I’m probably going to be a mess. And I’m sure I’ll frustrate the hell out of her and piss her off. But I need her help. I need her.”
He takes the mug from my hand and sets it on the table.
“I need you,” he says, “to slide back over here and close the distance.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
***
After a decent helping of Yu’s and a couple of hours catching up on sexy vampires, I can tell Adam’s energy wanes.
“You tired?” I ask from where I lie nestled against his midsection, my finger tracing circles on his wrist.
His hand mirrors the motion on my back. “Yeah. That obvious?”
I lean up and kiss him—long, slow, gentle—but I can’t hide the hint of desire. The quiet moan coming from his lips tells me he can’t either.
“There is nothing I want more than to show you how much I love you.” He laughs, a sound tinted with a hint of bitterness. “But I’m kind of limited.”
My fingers trace his lips, the square line of his jaw, down his neck. He inhales a ragged breath.
“Are you, um, not permitted to do certain physical activities?” I hadn’t considered the possibility of this.
His hand runs through my hair.
“Aside from the obvious no basketball rule, the only thing I’m technically not permitted to do is drive, but I do admit my range of motion for other things is restricted. Wait, is there going to be driving involved?”
His joking is all the encouragement I need.
I let my fingers continue to dance down his torso, reaching the hem of his sweater. I slide my hand underneath and untuck his button down from his pants. My palm meets the hard muscles of his stomach, and he breathes in deep at the contact of my skin on his.
“No driving,” I say, bending down to kiss his exposed skin. With each kiss, I move up his stomach, to his ribs, his chest, and his collarbone, all the while unbuttoning his shirt, intimately feeling each intake of his breath. Once at his neck, I lift the sweater over his head, and with it the button-down comes off too. I pepper his neck with soft kisses and stop to rest my cheek on his chest.
Adam’s fingers trace the outline of my dress, and I close my eyes, taking in his touch.
“Are you okay?” he asks, no doubt feeling the tears dampen his skin.
I nod but don’t lift my head. “I know we’ve already done this, but it’s so different now. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whispers, and I
know how much he feels it too.
“Thank you, for not giving up on me,” I say.
“Hey.”
I sit up next to him, wondering when I’ll be able to look at him without being so overwhelmed. Three months of holding back has turned me into a fountain of emotion.
“Giving up was never an option. I should be the one to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me with you that night. For trusting me with you now and all the nows to come.”
He leans up, pulling me to the edge of the couch.
“Help me up?” he asks with a grin.
I stand first, letting him use me and the arm of the couch for support as he rises. His hands go behind my neck, and he brings me in for the tenderest of kisses, one that tells me I can always trust him, and he’ll always trust me. I feel his lips part in a smile as his fingers untangle from my hair and untie the halter around my neck. I step away, enough to let the top of the dress fall, for once grateful I don’t always need a bra.
He wraps his arms around me, pressing his skin to mine, and the sound that comes from him makes it impossible not to smile too.
“Jess . . .” He takes one small step away, steadying himself with his hands on my shoulders.
“Adam?”
He stares at me, his eyes drinking me in. And for the first time I don’t feel the urge to hide myself away. Everything between us is stripped away, and letting him see me—really see me—couldn’t feel more right.
His hands skim down my shoulders and then cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over pebbled nipples. My knees buckle and I grip his wrists.
“Can you walk?” I ask. “To my room? Because if you do that again, I can’t guarantee I’ll stay standing, and I don’t want anything that happens tonight to give your doctor reason to add more restrictions.”
I unzip the back of the dress, the part keeping it snug on my hips, and let it pool at my ankles.
“Incentive?” I ask, standing there in nothing but my black lace boy short panties.
Adam growls under his breath. “Jesus, Jess. You are incentive enough. But you like that?” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “I’m willing to risk violating my restrictions.”
