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“But you don’t.”
I wave my hand in front of me so it encompasses our wine glasses, pizza, and fuzzy-socked feet. “What do you call this?”
“A friendship with unhealthy, codependent tendencies.”
I smile. “Well to me it seems like the start of something really, really special.”
“You have issues, and sorry, I can only watch one more episode. I’m ovulating and Lucas and I need to—”
“STOP. Jesus. That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“Our fertility specialist said we need to go at it like rabbits.”
My fingers are stuffed in my ears. “La la la la la.”
“And if we don’t conceive this month, then we have to start to talk about other options.”
I drop my fingers and peer over at her. She’s staring down at her hands and nibbling on her bottom lip, clearly distraught. She and Lucas have been trying to have a baby for over a year. I’ve sat with Daisy and watched her read pregnancy test after pregnancy test—always negative, always a disappointment.
I nudge her with my elbow. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. I mean, we haven’t even scratched the surface. We still have a lot of options.”
“Yeah…I just know how hard the last year has been for you. Remember, I can connect you to Adam’s sister-in-law, Kathy, if you want me to. She took Clomid and that’s how she conceived her twins.”
She doesn’t meet my gaze; I think she’ll cry if she does. Instead, she reaches over and squeezes my hand. We sit like that for a while, watching The Office and pretending like everything’s okay.
…
By the time I head home, I’m sleepy from wine and ready to crawl into bed. It was hard enough to put my dress back on; I didn’t even attempt the heels. They’re sitting in the passenger seat when I pull into my apartment complex.
Sitting in the parking spot beside mine is a familiar black Audi.
What the hell.
I throw my car into park.
Why is he still here?
An optimistic part of me assumes his car crapped out and he left it here and headed home. I know that’s not the case though. Nice cars like that don’t crap out—just mine—which means Adam is still inside my apartment and I’m pissed as hell. Can’t a girl pretend to go on a date and come home in peace? Why is he so insistent on making my life a living hell? The fact that I’ve been ignoring his calls and emails should make it pretty clear that I want to be left alone.
I groan and flip down my visor, checking my reflection. The situation isn’t as dire as I would have assumed. Thanks to the amount of pizza I devoured at Daisy’s house, I look thoroughly ravished. Good. Let him think my date couldn’t take his hands off me.
Then I look over and see my heels mocking me from the passenger seat. I have to take off my cloudlike fuzzy socks and put my heels back on, all because Adam doesn’t know how to give me space. I groan and reach over for the offensive footwear. I take my time strapping them on, hoping Adam will stroll out and leave at this precise moment. I’ll wave from my perch in my car and we’ll be nothing more than two ships passing in the night.
No such luck. A few minutes later, I finally have to face the music. I march up the path to my apartment and stick my key in the door, but Adam unlocks it before I can. How thoughtful.
He stands on the other side, holding the door open for me. His hair is damp from a shower and he’s changed into clean clothes: jeans and a soft t-shirt. Oh, by all means, make yourself at home.
“What are you still doing here?”
He flashes me a small smile. “Mouse didn’t want me to leave.”
Mouse is snuggled up in a ball on the couch, too comfortable to get up and greet me—his mother.
“Okay, well, I’m tired…” Hint. Hint.
“You’re back pretty early,” Adam assesses, completely ignoring my implied suggestion for him to leave my apartment. Has he never had to take social cues before? Do social cues even apply to hot people? The probability is low.
I roll my eyes as I step past him. “Gotta leave them wanting more, Foxe. You of all people should know that.”
“Yeah? Tell me about your date. Was he nice?”
Something in his tone sounds off.
I yank off my heels and derive just a little too much pleasure from flinging them into my closet.
“He was a perfect gentleman, thank you for asking,” I reply as I make my way back out into the living room.
Adam is sitting on my couch looking like he owns the place. I bet if I sit there after he leaves, it’ll smell like him. How disturbing. He can’t just come into my life and change the scent of my furniture.
