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God, he looks fantastic in everything.
I shouldn’t be noticing. Yesterday was a clear declaration of what will never happen again. I can’t just turn off my hormones or do away with my eyes, though, and Cooking Adam or Plaid Adam—take your pick on that one—is every inch a beautiful god.
I should probably be pissed at him for saying that what happened was a mistake. Or kind of saying that, but I know what his reasons are. I know he’s just trying to protect me, thinking of me, and not himself, thinking of what’s best for me in the future, thinking of how strange and awkward it would be if we got into something, and it didn’t work out, thinking, as usual, of everyone but himself.
I have to go with that. A, because I know Adam, and B, because anything else would just be really, really painful to consider.
So no, I’m not mad. I tell myself I can’t actually be disappointed either, because that was never supposed to happen. I just have to get over it. We kissed, and it was good. We groped each other, and that was good too. But it can be forgotten. The universe was clearly telling us we shouldn’t go further. That what we did was the end of it and shall never be spoken of again.
What happens in the tent stays in the tent.
What happened in the tent shall never be repeated in the tent. Or anywhere else.
“Are you okay?” Adam sets the metal flipper back on the stove. His eyes crease with worry.
“Yeah. Sorry, it’s early.” That’s the best I can do to change the subject.
“Yeah. It’s six. Our schedules are all messed up—sleep schedules, that is.”
“Mmhmm.” I stand there lamely, for once not knowing what to say or what I should do with myself. It feels strange, him making breakfast.
I finally decide I can set the table, but that just takes a few seconds. Adam pours me a cup of coffee while I’m setting out the plates and forks, and I take it and sit down in front of my empty plate.
“I’d like to treat you,” Adam says as he scrapes the eggs across the pan, his back turned.
I inhale sharply. What the heck does that mean? Treat me? Treat me to what? The one and only thing I’d like to be treated to is his—Jesus. What is wrong with me? For the love of marshmallows, that’s just perverse.
Whatever. We all want what we can’t have.
Shut up, annoying internal, devil voice.
“Treat me?” I echo, partly to banish whatever evil urges I have inside, partly because I can’t believe I actually heard him right.
“Think of something fun to do. I think you’ve earned it.”
“If anyone’s earned it, it’s you. How’s your head wound today?”
“Better. Tender after the shower, but better. The burn is pretty much gone.”
“I see that.” It makes me sound like I checked him out, so I quickly try and rectify it, which probably only sounds worse. “I mean, I can see that. It looks good. And, uh, not so painful anymore.”
“The gel really helped. I got some rest, slept through the night, woke up super early this morning, went for a walk, bought some food stuff, had a shower, and decided to try and look up how to cook this online. It smells edible.”
“You’re doing a great job. The coffee tastes amazing.”
“That one isn’t hard. I know how to make coffee. I’m just out of practice with everything else.”
“You should take some classes.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. It’s a good idea. Start with the basics and then try something more gourmet. I might actually like it. I could use a few hobbies. Anyway, back to treating you, and yes, you’re always the one looking after me. At work, and out of it, too. And don’t say it’s your job even if it is, because that’s a shitty thing to say.”
“I…alright.” I sip my coffee. It’s dark, slightly spicy, and oh so good. With every swallow, I can literally feel myself reviving after a sleepless night and a night with too much sleep. Yay for caffeine! “I’m not sure what to pick. I don’t even know what there is to do here. I thought more about enduring it than actually enjoying it.”
“I know, which is why I thought of a few things. Things like boating, fishing, swimming, jet-skiing, horseback riding, kayaking, and mountain biking.”
Those all sound like terrible options to me. None of them is the spa, relaxing on a patio somewhere, kicking back with a drink, shopping, going to this market or that, taking some kind of class, doing something crafty, lounging in my back yard (we already tried that on the beach with obviously disastrous results), or working on my house. That’s pretty much the extent of my life at the moment.
Clearly, I don’t do outdoorsy things. Sure, I keep active, but in different ways, like fitness classes. Occasionally, I go to indoor gyms when I find one I can stand. Or yoga, pilates, and normal shit.
