Adam's List(44)
I’ll do whatever it takes to appease him, because at this point, I can’t stand the thought of letting him go.
The next week we finalize plans for our trip whenever I’m not in class, at work, or studying for finals, which doesn’t leave a whole lot of extra time. Still, we manage to map our route, create a loose schedule, and prepare a list of the supplies we’ll need.
Things are light and playful between us amid our building excitement. Most of the time we meet in the library after my shift, other times we hang at the dining hall on campus.
Even though I get the feeling Adam could afford for us to stay in hotels the entire summer, we agree to camp out in the back of his cousin’s pickup for a few nights here and there, an idea I got from Pinterest when researching how to save money traveling.
I’ve never really been the outdoorsy kind, and the thought of camping out on the actual ground makes me squeamish.
The promise of maintaining a strict friendship feels like a third person at times. After knowing what it feels like to kiss Adam, I have all I can do to remind myself not to touch him, not to let him see the ache in my gaze. I purposely avoid sitting too close, or letting my eyes stay on him for long. Kelly sees me struggling and volunteers to join us a few times, hoping to alleviate the sexual tension.
I steer him far away from my dorm room, knowing I probably can’t trust myself to be alone with him unless Kelly happens to be around. One night we stop by the rundown house his buddy lives in so Adam can grab something from his belongings. I stand in the living room, careful not to touch the visibly dirty walls or cross the uneven floorboards. The sight of pathetic, worn-out couch he’s been sleeping on makes me glad I let him crash in my bed after I was drugged. After I meet the owner of the house, a little guy with a bad complexion who laughs at everything, I develop a whole new level of sympathy for Adam. If his parents have so much money, why is he crashing with a friend and not renting an apartment?
All the time we spend learning about each other’s lives—regrets, mannerisms, likes and dislikes—I’m positive I made the right choice in agreeing to this trip. Even the silence that sometimes passes between us is a thing of comfort. By the time the next weekend rolls around, however, I’m convinced I won’t be able to continue on much longer without letting things go too far.
Friday night we grab pizza at Kate’s. While waiting for our order, I tap my foot anxiously against my chair, twisting a straw rapper around my fingers.
“Hey.” Adam touches my arm across the round table, electrifying me. It only proves how difficult it’s going to be for us to sleep so close together every night. Alone. “You sure you don’t want me to come along tomorrow?”
“My mom may have been charmed by you, but you haven’t met my dad.” I stop fidgeting to meet his gaze. “He’s going to be a much harder sell.” Going home to ask my parents to let me take this trip in person seems the only way to go. I should’ve asked weeks ago, considering classes will be over soon, but I’ve spent all this time working up the courage.
My dad thinks it’s too soon for serious dating, and my mom most likely won’t like the last minute notice that I’m not going to be working for her this summer. I don’t think either of them will understand that Adam and I are doing this as friends. Especially when I’m not behind the idea myself.
“At least let me give you a ride. You just seem really...stressed.”
It would come as a great relief to tell Adam exactly why I’m so stressed, that I feel like an alcoholic with a drink hanging over my head every time I see him. But as close as we are to leaving, I’m not ready to risk it. Having him drive me there sounds kind of nice, so I nod. “Okay, fine. But I get to control the radio.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
If he only knew how wild it drives me every time he flashes his radiant smile, or stares back at me in a way that’s so sexy it makes my toes curl. As our eyes meet, I shudder.
Adam parks by the curb, staring at the two-story monstrosity I called home for seven years. The light yellow house with stone accents and a sloped red roof suddenly looks cold and empty from outside. Maybe it’s because I know despite having four bedrooms, only two people occupy it now. My mom was the brains behind the intricate Spanish design. For years she invested all her time and effort into the place, making meetings with the builders and subcontract workers a priority over my school events and family time. A part of me has always hated the house, mostly because it took up so much of her time that she could’ve spent with me.