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When we both slide into his car, the tension and silence are nearly unbearable. I’m tempted to lean forward and turn on music, but there are a million buttons on this stupid dashboard and for all I know, I could press one that expels me from my seat like I’m in a cartoon. I sigh and lean back, crossing my arms so I’m not tempted to touch anything.
My sigh doesn’t get to him like I hoped it would, so I have no choice but to lose the silent game we’ve both been secretly playing.
“This is ridiculous.” I turn and work up just enough courage to glance at his fists clutching the car’s steering wheel. “If you’re angry with me about something, just tell me so we can move on.”
“I’m not angry with you.”
I snort. “You could have fooled me.”
His fists tighten on the steering wheel and I look away.
“I’m annoyed that Carter made his way into our date, that’s all.”
“Well, he’s gone now and the only person ruining this date is you.”
He lets out a heavy sigh and then pulls the car onto the first dusty dirt road we pass. We’re only a few minutes away from my apartment, but now we’re headed into the middle of nowhere. I want to ask him what he’s doing, but I’m scared to hear his answer.
We make another few turns and end up parked beside the old water tower. It was originally painted sky blue to match the colors of Hamilton High, but most of the paint near the bottom has worn off. There’s a perimeter fence blocking trespassers from reaching the ladder, but that never stopped me in the past. In high school, we all went to the top at least once as a rite of passage.
“I’m not doing a good job at this,” Adam admits quietly, and his soft tone catches me off guard.
I was prepared for a fight, not a surrender.
I turn and take in his profile. His eyes aren’t on the water tower—they’re focused straight ahead. Tonight, here, they seem more like two raw emeralds than anything else, hard and unyielding. His jaw is locked, his mouth is pulled into a harsh line. His hands are still clutching the steering wheel even though the engine is off.
“I guess I’m not either,” I admit.
He nods and looks out the window then, finally, at me.
“I was never jealous with Olivia.” Apparently my expression betrays how shocked that statement makes me because he shakes his head and turns away. “I’ve never been that type of guy, the kind that needs to stake his claim and beat his chest. With Olivia, we had a really easy relationship and I was confident in what we had together. I never thought to be jealous of another man. We were together for eight years, and then she fucked my best friend. I don’t know, maybe if I’d been a bit more suspicious, more aware of other men, I wouldn’t have been so shocked to find them in bed together.”
Suddenly, I get it. His whole macho-man routine makes sense. He feels like he didn’t do enough to protect his last relationship, so he’s trying to overcompensate this time around.
I lean my head back against the headrest and smile. “I don’t mind the jealousy, it’s the accusations and the lack of trust that infuriate me.” He opens his mouth to respond, but I continue. “I know it’s going to take time for us to build trust with one another, but right now, at the very least, you have to give me the benefit of the doubt. I’m not Olivia. I would never sleep with your best friend, not even if he happened to be Chris Pratt.” His fists loosen on the steering wheel. “He’s not Chris Pratt, right?”
He smiles and shakes his head, finally turning to face me.
“You were screwed over royally, Foxe. I’d expect there to be some collateral damage.”
He nods. “When I left Chicago, I thought I was leaving all of that behind as well, but I guess I brought some baggage with me.”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much baggage did you bring with you? I’d rather know now. The jealousy and the machismo act I can handle, but I’m wondering if there are other things too.”
He looks out the window, past my shoulder, as if trying to bring to mind any other faults.
“I guess I have a short fuse lately as well.”
I smile. “Yeah, I’ve seen that a little bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“What about you?” he asks, reaching out for my hand. He laces his fingers through mine, and I like the way it feels. He has big, masculine hands; mine look puny by comparison.
“No baggage.” I shrug. “Perfectly well-adjusted adult over here.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
“Adam…I stack food precariously in my refrigerator and I store my winter sweaters in my dishwasher. Believe me, there’s a whoooole lot of baggage that comes with dating me. Fortunately, though, I haven’t had any horrific relationships in the past. There aren’t any old wounds that have yet to heal or angry ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows. In fact, I haven’t really dated anyone serious in a long time.”
