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“Giving me a ride home.”
Oh.
Nick felt like he was stumbling through his evening, and every step was wrong. When Courtney-Carrie-Whatever handed them their cups, he could barely get it together to thank her.
She’d written her number on the cardboard sleeve. Along with her name—Courtnie—with a big heart over the I.
“Ready to go?” said Adam.
“Yeah. I—” Nick hesitated, not even sure what he was going to say. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Their breaths fogged when they stepped outside. After the warmth and bustle of the Starbucks, the sudden silence closed in around Nick.
“I’m not chasing you off,” said Adam. “I just knew we couldn’t talk in there.”
“Okay.” Nick thought he should apologize, but he couldn’t quite nail down why. The truck rumbled to life, and he reached out to twirl the dials to get the heat going again. Cinnamon and vanilla wafted from the paper cups to filter through the cab, warm scents that pulled some of the tension from his shoulders.
“So what’s it feel like?” said Adam.
“What’s what feel like?”
“The back wall of that closet you’ve buried yourself inside.”
His voice wasn’t unkind, but Nick heard an echo of what he’d felt inside the coffee shop. Not quite judgment. But almost.
Nick wrapped his hands around his cup and inhaled the steam. “It sucks.” He paused. “Sorry—in there—”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to apologize.” A hesitation.
“Your family still doesn’t know?”
Nick shook his head.
“But you came to the studio.”
“Yeah.”
Adam took a drink of his coffee and stared out the windshield, a musing smile on his face. “When I saw you walk in with Quinn, I almost forgot what I was teaching.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
As soon as he said the words, Nick wished he could kick himself. He sounded sulky, for god’s sake. Sulky.
Adam didn’t let it go, either. His smile widened. “Don’t you worry. I noticed.”
Nick busied himself with backing out of the parking space, grateful for the darkness, because he was sure heat sat on his cheeks again. But then he got to the edge of the lot and sat there, wondering where to go.
If Adam invited him back to his apartment, he had no idea what he’d say. An invitation equaled an opportunity to say no.
A choice. Making one decision led to more complicated ones.
Worse, he felt Adam watching him, probably deliberating over the same thing.
But Adam didn’t offer an invitation. “My place,” he said firmly. “Drive.”
CHAPTER 4
Adam’s place looked exactly like Nick remembered. A simple one-bedroom walkout in the basement of an apartment building. No television, but three packed bookcases and an impressive stereo took up the main wall. Nothing else was note-worthy: a small kitchen with a two-seater table tucked in the corner, a tiny bathroom, and a bedroom dwarfed by the queen bed crammed in there. But the living room was huge and open, especially with the wide sliding door leading to the outside.
