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And trust—he said that like he had experience with it. Like he’d either been hurt, or someone hadn’t trusted him.
The sad thing was I doubted Adam would ever be a person to break trust.
It would be women around him.
Let’s face it. I didn’t trust women. Women were bitches. And, since I was a woman, I had that fact on very good authority.
“Do you ever get lonely?” I asked him, sitting up and turning to face him.
“Lonely-lonely or…”
“Like, feelings. Relationship lonely.”
“Sometimes. Some of the other guys are married, or their girlfriends or whatever fly out to see them. If we have a break where we can go home, it sucks sometimes knowing I’m going home to an empty house.”
“Do you wish you could change it?”
“Sure. I wish there was someone who liked me for who I am and could deal with me being away as much as I am.” His eyes met mine. “But that’s harder to find than you’d think.”
I swallowed, glancing away quickly. “I bet.”
“It’s not so bad. I tend to meet someone every now and then, but it never goes anywhere. I think of them like diamonds in the rough. Of course, I’m still looking for the diamond this summer, but…”
I smacked his leg, laughing. “You’re a dick. Seriously.”
He lay down flat on the sand and motioned for me to lie down with him. I did, resting my head on his chest. I could feel the beating of his heart beneath my cheek, and I briefly closed my eyes.
“Is it crazy,” he said softly, “If I said that a part of me wished we didn’t agree this was only for this weekend?”
“Absolutely,” I said in a voice that was stronger than my own conviction.
No. It wasn’t crazy.
A part of me damn well wished it, too.
“You think?”
“Yeah. It’s all perfect here, isn’t it? When there’s structure to the days and things to do. Honestly, in real life, I’d probably bore you. My life is terribly unexciting.”
“You. Poppy Dunn. Boring? I don’t believe you.”
“Seriously. I’d frustrate the crap out of you,” I insisted. “I’m awful at going to bed at a decent hour thanks to a minor addiction to murder shows on Netflix. I have a long-standing battle with Avery’s asshole cat whenever he decides to show up. I’m late for just about everything, including work, which is why I’m scheduled to start fifteen minutes before my actual shift does.”
His upper body shook as he laughed quietly.
“I have a standing order to pay the rent to Avery the day after I get paid or I’d forget. I’m not allowed to touch the vacuum because I break them all the time. I don’t even think I know how to use the dishwasher correctly. I just kind of jab at buttons and hope for the best.”
More laughter.
“So, really, I’m a dreadful adult. That’s why I’m single. I’m not the put-together girl everyone wants to take home to their mom. Suzy Homemaker I am not.”
He tightened his arm around my waist, still laughing. “See, now it begs the question how I can be so damn attracted to someone who is, literally, my total opposite.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Perfect.”
“Hey, I have my faults, too. They just don’t make me look anywhere near as cute as yours do.”
“My faults don’t make me cute.”
“No, but the way you list them off as reasons not to like you makes you cute.”
“Ugh. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “What are your faults?”
“All right.” He moved his hand and played with my hair. “I have to pay someone to do my laundry because I can never do it correctly. I can’t remember anyone’s birthdays, ever. My mom set up a Google calendar for me, so I’ll get a notification three days before any birthday or anniversary.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. That was cute.
“I work too much. I’m the first one in the gym and the last one out, even if it’s supposed to be a day off. I worry too much about the other guys on my team. I don’t know how to switch my brain off. I’m determined to be the best, even though one day it could cost me.”
“See, the calendar thing? That’s cute. I’d pay someone to do my laundry if I could.” I tilted my head back. “And working hard isn’t exactly a bad thing. Maybe you do need to slow down, but you’ll do that when you’re ready. You’re determined, and that’s not really a fault.”
“Depends how you look at it. I wouldn’t say having a long-standing feud with your roommate’s cat is a fault, because, let’s face it, cats are fucking assholes.”
“And Spike is the biggest asshole of them all,” I agreed. “I guess you’re right. I don’t see you being determined as a fault. I really don’t. And you will slow down one day. You’ll have to.”
