“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I feel like I’m in a movie. You look like a movie star.” I reach out and touch his face. “You have facial hair and it feels so scratchy. I’m thirsty.” I reach for the glass of water in front of me, but it’s empty. “I’m so thirsty.”
“Aw, shit. You have a contact high. I think it’s time to get you home.” He stands up and nods toward the exit. “Come on. You need some fresh air.”
Senia and Eddie stay behind while Adam walks me home. The cool night air feels like heaven on my skin, but the sidewalk looks like a treadmill belt. I’m getting nowhere. By the time I arrive at my apartment, I’m feeling more clearheaded, though I have no memory of how we got there.
“Is Eddie staying over?” Adam asks as I dig inside my purse for my keys.
I laugh way harder at this than I should. “You want me to spend the night again.”
He shakes his head. “Just trying to save you from having to listen to Senia and Eddie doing all the things we should be doing.”
“I can’t see anything in this purse. It’s too dark.” Finally, I shove my purse into his chest and he grins. “All right, Adam, you want to have sex with me? You think you can handle this?” I giggle uncontrollably because I know I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t stop. “Bring it.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. “Oh, it’s already been broughten.”
I laugh as I climb the stairs behind him. “I love that you always get my movie references. You’re so funny… and hot.”
He chuckles as he climbs the last few stairs and reaches into his pocket for his keys. “I need to get you stoned more often.”
Chapter Eleven
Relentless Guilt
I OPEN MY EYES AND stare at the oscillating fan next to the bed. Even with the fan pointed straight at me, I’m still sweating and I quickly understand why. Adam’s chest is pressed against my back and I’m wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I have a vague memory of tearing off my tank top and shorts, but I can’t remember much else.
His arm is wrapped around my waist and his breath is hot against the back of my head. Our bodies are sticky everywhere our skin is touching. It’s unbearably hot and humid in here. On the bright side, he’s not suffering from morning wood syndrome.
I need to get out of here. I have a bad feeling we had forgettable sex and I don’t want to admit that I can’t remember it. I slowly attempt to scoot forward to peel my back off his chest and he grunts as he tightens his arm around my waist.
“Go back to sleep,” he groans, and now that I know he’s awake I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
“What time is it? I work at three.”
“It’s still morning. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t. It’s too hot in here.”
“Then take these off,” he says, hooking his thumb into the waistband of my panties. “I’d be happy to help you with that.”
I roll over to face him and he whips his head out of the way so I don’t elbow him in the face.
“Hey, Smokey the Bear,” I say. God, he looks so sexy when he’s groggy. “You think you’re so hot, but I don’t even remember what happened last night so it can’t be that good.”
He laughs in my face and I can still smell a hint of smoke on his breath. “That’s because nothing happened last night.”
“Nothing happened?”
“You walked into my room, stripped down to your underwear, made some comment about this being the most comfortable bed in the universe, and knocked out.”
“Oh…. Somehow, I find that a little disappointing.”
“You’re bummed we didn’t have forgettable sex? Or you’re bummed we didn’t have sex?”
The truth is, I’m a little disappointed we haven’t gotten the whole first time thing out of the way. It’s too much pressure. I haven’t been with anyone other than Chris and, like Senia said last night, he spoiled me. He waited more than two years before we had sex on my eighteenth birthday. I’ve only known Adam two weeks, but this need to get the sex over with tells me that we should probably wait.
“I guess I’m disappointed we didn’t have sex,” I reply, because I know that’s what he wants to hear.
“You guess you’re disappointed?” He brushes a lock of hair away from my face and lifts my chin so he can look me in the eye. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“What? No!” I don’t know why I’m so adamant with my response. “I am not a virgin.” Though part of me wishes I were.