Chapter 3. The Tension
It’s fifteen minutes later, and Adam and I are already driving back to Millie’s house. The big box holding her birthday cake sits carefully on my knees, and I’ve got both hands gripping it tightly, terrified that one sudden bump in the road might send it flying. Destroying my best friend’s cake would be the ultimate cherry on top of this incredibly miserable day.
The tension in the car feels even heavier than it did on the way to the bakery. My attempt to clear the air with Adam has obviously backfired—whatever I said must have stirred up memories of that night. Adam stares straight ahead through the windshield, completely still, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a hard, thin line, and his jaw tightly clenched.
To be honest, his reaction only fuels my paranoia. What the hell could I have done to make him act like this? He looks almost haunted—as if he’s reliving some awful memory. God, I really need to talk to Emilia. If anyone can help me decode the enigma that is Adam Payne, it’s her. But that’ll have to wait. I’m not about to derail her birthday with this ridiculous drama.
When Adam pulls into the driveway, he unbuckles his seatbelt and says, “Don’t move, I’ll help you,” before stepping out of the car. He comes around to my side, opens the door, and carefully takes the cake from my hands.
This time, I manage to unbuckle my seatbelt without incident, giving it a firm tug to make sure it doesn’t betray me again.
The front door is already open, and as we step inside, Chara and Tina peek out from the living room. Tina immediately rushes over to grab the cake from Adam, announcing, “Pete went to pick up Millie. They’ll be here in half an hour.”
“And we need your lungs for blowing up the balloons,” Chara adds. “The delivery was late, so we’ve only just started.”
“I’ve got a car pump we could use,” Adam says, shrugging off his jacket.
“Can you even use that for balloons?” Tina asks, frowning—until her eyes land on Adam’s ripped shirt. She freezes, eyebrows shooting up. “What happened to your shirt?” She turns to me next, taking in my muddy pants and jacket. “And you? What’s going on?”
Chara does a double-take, glancing between the two of us. “Did you get into a bear fight or something?”
I feel heat creeping up my cheeks as I steal a glance at Adam, unsure if he’s going to explain or if I should. To my surprise, Adam beats me to it, his expression completely deadpan as he says, “It was a fight, but no bears were involved.” Then he opens the front door and heads toward his car to grab the pump.
Tina and Chara turn to me, looking utterly puzzled.
“What really happened?” Tina asks, furrowing her brow.
But since Adam freaking Payne has already covered for me, I’m not about to sabotage myself.
I force a casual shrug, kicking off my boots. “Would you believe me if I said ‘a series of unfortunate events’?”
They watch me as I take off my jacket, but I ignore them and walk past toward the bathroom to wash my hands. Once inside, I turn on the tap and try to scrub the streaks of dirt from my jeans, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bathtub. Rubbing water into denim doesn’t do much good, and I sigh, thinking, Fuck it, I’ll just go change.
So I stand, shut off the tap, and reach for the door handle, but just as I turn it, the door opens, and I bump chest-first into someone.
“Oops,” I breathe out, nearly jumping back in surprise.
“Hi,” Adam says, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder.
His touch sends a jolt through me—my shoulder burns like plastic under hot iron. I meet his gaze, and suddenly the bathroom feels impossibly small, the air between us taut. My whole body hums with his proximity—he’s static electricity and I’m a live wire about to spark.
“How’s your back?” Adam asks carefully. His hand stays firm on my shoulder, steady, as if he’s holding me in place. We’re still standing there in the bathroom doorway, his frame blocking the hallway behind him, making the moment feel way more intimate than it should.
The way he asks that, combined with his calm demeanor, makes it clear he’s not angry with me anymore—at least not like he was in the car. It gives me a sliver of courage.
“My back ?” I echo, lacing my voice with sarcasm.
His mouth twitches as though he’s trying not to smile, and the sight sends a flutter through my chest.
“You know what I mean,” Adam says, the smirk finally breaking through.
“Do you mean my butt?” I ask innocently.
Adam rolls his eyes—but he’s fully smiling now, and oh, my poor heart—it’s pounding so hard like I’m a drum, and he’s the one holding the sticks.
“It’s seen better days,” I say with a straight face, barely holding back my own smile.
“Let me know if you need my help,” Adam replies.
The moment the words leave his mouth, my brows shoot up, and his expression shifts as the meaning hits him. To my utter delight, I watch him flush all the way up to his impossible cheekbones.
I can’t help but grin. “Your…help?” I say, blinking with mock indignation.
“I meant if you need to go to urgent care,” Adam says, briefly closing his eyes as if caught between embarrassment and frustration.
I swear, if you’d asked me five minutes ago, I’d have bet my life that Adam Payne doesn’t blush—but now, seeing him turn this red, I feel an exhilarating, almost wicked sense of power.
“I will,” I say firmly, stepping aside to let him into the bathroom. Then I head down the corridor. Behind me, I hear Adam let out a loud sigh, but I’m way too smug about how flustered I made him to care. I can barely resist the urge to skip down the hall.
In the living room, Tina and Amira are busy blowing up balloons—red and heart-shaped—while Chara ties them to chairs and other pieces of furniture. The table is already packed with snacks and appetizers, so the catering must have arrived while Adam and I were out.
“What’s with the Valentine’s balloons?” I ask, gesturing toward the bunch as I raise an eyebrow.
“The shop where Peter ordered them had a mix-up,” Chara says, pursing her lips. “They assumed he wanted heart-shaped ones because it’s February 14th, and he didn’t specify otherwise.”
“Whatever, it works,” Tina says, inflating another balloon with the car pump. “We love Millie, and her birthday is on Valentine’s, so let’s just call it a themed celebration.”
“Right,” I say, sensing it’s best not to push it further—especially since the girls seem a little on edge. I settle onto the sofa next to Amira, grab one of the balloons, and start blowing it up. Fifteen minutes later, we’re done with all of them, and I grab my backpack to go change before Emilia and Peter arrive.
I’ve been to this house plenty of times, but as I make my way up the stairs to the second floor, it hits me that I have no idea which room I’m staying in. The house has five bedrooms, all lined up along the second-floor hallway, each with identical white doors. I take out my phone and quickly text Peter—if anyone’s already prepped a room for me, it’s him. He’s nothing if not organized, the golden retriever of a man that he is.
His reply comes almost immediately: “The last room to the right.”
“Thanks,” I type back before slipping my phone into my pocket and heading down the long corridor. My footsteps echo faintly against the hardwood floors. When I reach the door at the end of the hall, I push the handle, swinging the door open in one swift motion.
And then I stop dead in my tracks.
Because standing there, rummaging through a sports bag on the bed, is Adam Payne. Completely naked.
But it’s not his muscled chest or sculpted legs—or even his flawless six-pack—that I notice first.
It’s his very big, very hard cock.
Startled, Adam turns to me, and the sheer horror on his face sets off my fight-or-flight instinct. Unfortunately, my frazzled brain chooses a third, far worse option: slapping my hand over my eyes in an overly dramatic gesture.
“Oh my God!” I blurt out, my face heating up like I’ve been tossed into a furnace. “Sorry, I thought this was my room!”
I hear a muffled curse and the frantic rustle of clothes, presumably as Adam scrambles to get dressed.
“Sorry,” I stammer again, my hand still plastered over my eyes. “Shit! Why are you naked?”
“Because this is my room,” Adam replies, clearly frustrated.
“Right—sorry!” I mutter for the third time, my voice barely audible as my brain finally reconnects with my body. I spin on my heels and stumble backward into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind me.
I just stand there, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Then I hear Adam’s footsteps inside the room, and panic surges through me.
Without thinking, I bolt down the corridor like my life depends on it.
I dash into the bathroom at the start of the corridor, locking the door behind me. My chest heaves as I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, catching my breath. The adrenaline surges through me, making my hands tremble.
It takes a full five minutes—five long, agonizing minutes—for my heart to slow and my thoughts to stop spinning. But the deep embarrassment—that awful, sinking pit in my stomach—refuses to go away.
It’s so overwhelming that, for a moment, I genuinely consider hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the evening—maybe forever. My mind spirals somewhere ridiculous—I picture myself transforming into some sewer-dwelling cryptid, slithering through the pipes like Tooms from The X-Files , surviving off soggy pizza crusts and the occasional sewer rat, all so I never have to look Adam Payne in the eye again.
Then, as if venting will somehow make this better, I grab my phone and furiously type to Peter: “THAT WAS ADAM’S ROOM!”
Blaming him for this mess makes me feel marginally better. I pull out the change of clothes from my backpack—of course, they’re crumpled to hell, like they’ve been sat on by a hippo—and start changing. The entire time, my ears are tuned to the hallway, bracing for any sound that might signal Adam coming to ambush me and finish me off.
Yeah, finish me off probably isn’t the best choice of words, given the circumstances. And speaking of that—why the hell was he completely naked? Why didn’t he lock the door? And, seriously, why on Earth was he hard?
That last thought jolts back the memory of what I saw, and before I can stop it, heat floods through me, blood rushing straight to my own cock. Nope. Nope. I can’t think about Adam Payne and his cock. For one, this is Millie’s birthday. For another, there’s the unresolved weirdness of that blackout night and Adam’s reaction when I brought it up. The whole situation is way too complicated and unsettling for me to be getting turned on by him.
After changing and stuffing my dirty clothes into my backpack, I splash cold water on my face. It helps—just a little. I take a deep breath and listen. Voices drift up from the first floor, and I realize Emilia and Peter must be back.
Leaving my backpack in the bathroom, I crack the door open and peek out. Coast clear. I slip out and head down the stairs, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
Millie is already in the hallway, hugging Tina, while Chara and Amira wait their turn. Peter notices me as I step off the last stair.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his gaze curious—probably because of my panicked text.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Did you find your room?” he asks.
“Nope,” I reply quickly, then add, “You can show me later.”
The last thing I want is to rehash what just happened—especially since Adam could appear at any moment. And, of course, right on cue, I hear footsteps descending. A flash of movement enters my peripheral vision, and I know it’s him. I focus all my willpower on not looking at him and beeline straight for Millie, who’s finally free for a hug.
“Sammy!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around me. “My button!”
“Happy birthday, buttercup,” I say, lifting her off the ground in a tight hug. Since high school, we’ve been calling each other ridiculous pet names—a running joke to mock a girl she hated who used to cling to Peter and call him syrupy nicknames.
“How are you?” Emilia asks as she steps back, a hint of concern etched into her face. It’s a simple question on the surface, but we both know what she really means: How are you with Adam here?
A small pang of hurt flickers in my chest. She didn’t warn me she invited him. But knowing Millie, there’s probably a reason—one she thinks is solid enough that I’ll forgive her later.
“Great,” I say, forcing a casual tone. But it doesn’t sound convincing, because Emilia’s eyes widen just slightly, her gaze sharpening. It’s the look she gives when she decides something needs addressing now , birthday or not. God, I love this girl. She’s not just like a sister—she’s like my twin. A more capable, get-shit-done version of me who somehow loves me no matter what.
“Happy birthday, Emilia,” Adam says, and I instinctively step back as he leans in to hug her.
“Thanks, Adam,” she replies, her smile bright and warm. “It’s great to see you.”
But I can tell—she’s already observing him, reading him in that quiet, subtle way of hers that most people miss entirely. I wouldn’t notice either if I didn’t know her so well.
Turning to Chara and Tina, Emilia announces, “I’m going to get changed, and then let’s get this party started!” But before she leaves, she throws me a quick look. “Sam, can you help me with my stuff?”
“Sure,” I reply, fully aware it’s just a ploy to get me alone for a talk.
I grab her bags—and nearly topple over. “What’s in here? Bricks?”
She shrugs. “I went shopping. Peter kicked me out of the house at nine this morning, and I had nothing to do after the movies.”
“Nice,” I say, adjusting my grip as we head upstairs.
We walk in silence until we reach her and Peter’s room. The second the door closes behind us, Emilia doesn’t waste a second—she spins around, alert, like me and Adam being under the same roof is the real reason we’re all here today.
For ten minutes straight, I unload everything—every single disaster from today, culminating in the part where I saw Adam naked. The entire time, Emilia stands frozen, her hands covering her mouth and nose as she mumbles, “Oh my God,” on a ten-second loop.
I leave out the part about Adam being hard—I don’t even want to let my mind go there. If I start overthinking it, my imagination will spiral, and dealing with reality when it turns out to be nothing would be unbearable.
“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?” I finally ask, desperate to shove the thought out of my head.
“You think I knew?” Emilia snorts, finally lowering her hands. “Peter just told me on the way here.”
“He didn’t say why?” I ask, still bewildered.
“Nope,” Emilia says, shaking her head. “I asked, but he just brushed it off. But I know he’s hiding something. Peter only keeps secrets for Adam, and he’s annoyingly good at it.”
“I hate him for that,” I sigh. “And respect him too, but mostly hate.”
Emilia laughs, then smiles at me with determination. “I swear, by the end of tonight, we’re going to figure out what happened that night.”
I laugh at her over-the-top confidence. “Oh, really?” I raise an eyebrow. “And what’s your genius plan for that?”
Emilia waggles her eyebrows. “Cringy party games. And alcohol.”
Laughter bubbles out of me again, and I shake my head in disbelief. “I love you, Millie, but your level of delusion sometimes makes mine look like a shy little schoolboy.”
Millie grins, clearly amused. “We’ll see, pumpkin. We’ll see.”