“Oh, sure. No problem. Then you can tell me all about how it goes with Dempsey!”
“Yeah. I will. Enjoy the rest of the retreat.” I lick my lips. Adam’s smile grows wider. With my eyes locked on his and a tremble in my voice, I say: “Love you. Bye.”
I hang up the phone with one hand, and for the span of a breath, Adam and I remain locked in place. His eyes lose their teasing edge, become more earnest. He’s no longer wearing the cocky grin that always winds me up. The way he looks at me now is without pretense. It’s raw, and unfiltered, and has something warm unspooling inside of me.
“That was my sister.” My voice comes out hoarse, and I swallow hard. “She wants me to be her dog’s date to the wedding. It’s a whole thing.”
Adam doesn’t reply. Just keeps on staring at me, hungry. Belatedly, I come to my senses and shift back to give Adam space. But the moment I pull my hand away from his mouth, Adam catches my wrist and holds me in place.
He moves slowly, giving me every chance to stop him as he leans in. I don’t. I let him kiss me, and do nothing except close my eyes. It starts soft, a brush of his lips across mine.My next exhale comes out shaky, and Adam releases my wrist so he can gently cup my jaw instead. His thumb sweeps across my cheek, soothing, and I find myself melting into his touch. My hands land on his ribs, fingers latching on to the fabric of his shirt. I keep waiting for him to take control and turn the kiss into something deeper or more demanding, but that never happens. Each time we break apart, it’s only so his nose can skim mine, or so he can sweetly press his lips to my cheek before catching my mouth with his once more. I lose track of how much time has passed. Of everything except the way Adam feels and tastes.
After one last, lingering kiss, Adam’s forehead rests against mine. Our breaths mingle, and I feel lightheaded in a way that’s very different from every other hangover-induced moment of the afternoon.
“I really had been thinking about it all day,” he says. I nod helplessly against him.
My eyes open, and I don’t know what to do with the vulnerability I see written all over his face, or the fact that I suspect it mirrors my own expression.
I step back, and this time Adam lets me. My thumb swipes across my bottom lip, as if to erase the sensation of Adam’s kiss. Doesn’t work. I don’t know where to look. I am not usually this frazzled after a kiss, but that was, like… a lot of kisses, and all of them very intimate, and highly enjoyable, and I kind of want to still be doing it? But that is out of the question, because we’re standing in the middle of a parking lot outside of an establishment called Kinky Boots, and I amthiscloseto becoming unemployed, and I did not come to Vegas to make out with Adam Shaw.
“We should…” I cast a gaze around the parking lot in anattempt to get my bearings. “We can walk the rest of the way from here, don’t you think?”
Adam doesn’t answer right away, seems reluctant to move on from the moment we shared. Not that I can blame him. I feel unmoored in the aftermath, teeming with a buzzing energy that no longer has any outlet. But when I turn back to Adam, he swallows hard and nods once. Takes out his phone and pulls up directions.
“Few minutes away,” he confirms.
We walk side by side, and I can’t stop myself from wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand. The backs of our knuckles brush together, and my stomach pitches, and I tell myself it wouldn’t be a big thing, or all that out of the blue considering we kissed moments ago. My fingers twitch and I am about to go for it, but Adam’s hands slip into his pockets.
Never mind, then.
We wait at the corner for the Walk sign to come on, and Adam huffs a laugh.
“Just remembered, I got you this.” His hand comes out of his pocket holding something.
He tosses it to me and I catch the small object against my chest reflexively. It turns out to be a stress ball shaped like Elvis.
“I figured you can’t leave Las Vegas without a souvenir.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be leaving with plenty of baggage,” I quip. I give Elvis a few squeezes and meet his gaze with a grin. “Thank you. It’s cute.”
“You’re welcome.”
I don’t overthink it this time. As we step onto the crosswalk, I let my hand do what it wants—reaching out and slipping into his, our fingers lacing together easily. I feel Adam’sgaze on the side of my face but keep my own dead ahead. Out of my peripheral vision, I think I see his lips curve into a smile.
He holds my hand until the brewery comes into view, our steps instinctively slowing to a stop. We stand still for a long moment, and when I finally allow myself to look up at Adam, it’s to find him watching me with an expression that I struggle to describe as anything other thansoft. Adam looks down at our entwined hands and shifts his hold so the pad of his thumb can trace gently over my knuckles. The ghost of his touch seems to linger on my ring finger after he gives my hand a squeeze and lets go.
Immediately upon entering the brewery, it becomes clear that this is not a casual hang. Or, itwas, but stops being one the second I enter the equation. Sheridan and Curtis exchange a look when they spot me, and there might as well be a goddamn record scratch underscoring the awkwardness. I want to melt into a puddle, or at least stomp on Adam’s foot for putting me in this situation.
If this were happening a few hours ago, I would’ve assumed he’d done it on purpose—invited me along only to make me look like a desperate hanger-on. But I know him better now, and his body language is enough to chase away any lingering doubts. He’s gone stiff beside me and lifts his hand to the small of my back, only to quickly abort the motion when he seems to remember that we’re in front of people we know now, and such gestures are no longer appropriate.
Turning tail isn’t an option. I can’t dodge Josie much longer, and this may be my last chance to garner some goodnews to share with her. I am no stranger to the fake-it-’til-you-make-it mentality, so I pretend it’s not excruciating to follow Adam to the bar and watch as he does the bro-y handshake with Freddie.
“Hey, guys,” Sheridan says. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”
“Yeah,” I say with a bright smile. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing.”
“No, not at all,” she replies, shooting a pointed look at Freddie. “The more the merrier.”
Though Freddie ignores her less-than-subtle glares, I zero in on the way Sheridan’s knuckles go white around her pint glass. It occurs to me it might not just be my presence that came as a surprise—I’m beginning to think Freddie neglected to tell her he’d invited Adam too. Fiona isn’t even here, for one thing. I can’t imagine she’d be pleased to know the band was talking to either one of us without her.
