Chapter 11 Adam
Chapter eleven
Adam
Ifeel a few bones pop as I do a full body stretch in bed.
The sheets are that perfect warm from sleep and I rub my legs against them, not quite ready to get up this morning.
Then I smile to myself remembering that Maya definitely likes me.
Nothing else could explain her mad dash to the car when I was clearly working up the nerve to kiss her.
It's probably for the best that she ran away.
After all that verbal foreplay, I doubt I would've been able to stop at just a kiss.
At least I got to watch her cute little ass shake as she practically bolted to the car.
Maya is different from the women I usually go for in so many ways.
For one, she is hardly a size four, but if my almost constant erection on the drive home is any indication, her size isn't a problem.
I've also never dated a Black woman before, though there has been attraction in the past. When they showed "Love Jones" at the student union, my crush on Nia Long was instantaneous.
Lastly, she seemed almost surprised I was interested.
Once a woman knows I want her, she's usually grabbing for my belt buckle or inviting herself up for the night. Running away is a first.
I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower, the whole time thinking about how to engineer more time with her.
Ordering a bunch of things from her store is probably coming on too strong, and I think Emily would kill me if I hired Maya again after what she called “the flute fiasco”.
Can’t I just text her at this point? Do I really need a reason?
I look at the clock over my dresser and realize I’d better save this for later or I’m gonna be late.
At lunch, Eric almost chokes on his sandwich after hearing about my eventful weekend.
"The Emily situation is getting out of hand. Women think 'no means no' only applies to them."
I moodily chew my sandwich, annoyed he's right.
"Her drunken proposition was after the car ride up where she kept 'accidentally' putting her hand on my leg instead of the gearshift. She supposedly needed my help to change when we got to the hotel too, and then kept offering me booze from the minibar." Eric looks sympathetic.
"I always thought I'd like an aggressive woman, but it sounds terrible the way you tell it. What about the shy one? Mia?"
"Maya," I correct him. "And what about her?"
“Well, since when are you scared to make a move? You had an opening for some 'nighttime fun',"—he emphasizes "nighttime fun" with an obscene hand gesture—"and you missed it."
"My timing was just off. She's different from my usual hookup. I couldn't just drag her into my apartment and send her home in an Uber. I think I might ask her out on a real date." Eric pretends to have a heart attack, clutching his chest, and I feel even more embarrassed.
"Adam Park?! Go on a date?!" OK, wiseass. "But I’m supposed to be living the single life vicariously through you!”
Once again, Eric is right. This has been our arrangement since we both started at CloudTech three years ago.
I amaze him with tales of NYC nightlife, and, in exchange, he bores me to death with seemingly endless pictures of soccer games, cello recitals, gymnastics competitions, and Disney vacations.
It’s like the guy looked up “family man” in the dictionary and said, “I’ll take one of each, please!
” He's even got the dad bod to match, courtesy of elementary school bake sales, World's Finest Chocolate fundraisers, and a wife who prefers home cooking over GrubHub.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m still single. I’m just talking about a date,” I say. I should’ve known Eric would get ahead of himself. As much as he likes my stories, I think he secretly would love to have someone else going through the same family stuff.
“Adam, as long as I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a real date. Do you even know what a date is?” I put my drink down and pretend to take notes. This asshole is loving having something to hold over my head.
“A date,” he says in the most patronizing voice possible, “is when a man and a woman meet at an arranged place and time to do something fun. Most people do dinner, some people do drinks, and some people do something more original."
I roll my eyes and pretend to turn an imaginary page when he continues.
"If the date goes well, you might get a chance for a kiss at the end, or a second date.” I close my fake notebook and throw a piece of bread at him to wipe the sarcastic grin off his face.
“Alrighty then.” I get up to clear my tray, smiling the whole time. “Back to the salt mines for me. Thanks for being no help whatsoever.”
Eric tips an invisible hat at me and I chuckle on the way back to my desk.
In the privacy of my office, I pull out my phone to check out Maya's socials. I know I'm stalling, but I'm also legitimately curious about her.
It's_Personal on Instagram is just a bunch of pics of her products.
She's got everything from jewelry, to t-shirts, to canvas bags, to mugs.
She even partners with a distillery for personalized spirits.
It's_Personal on Facebook and LinkedIn are more of the same.
Maybe her personal socials have more details.
There is no "Maya Davis" on Facebook or TikTok.
I didn't see her snapping selfies or regularly checking her notifications, so that doesn't surprise me.
She has a Pinterest board, but it's just inspiration for her crafts (art supplies, clothing patterns), dessert recipes (I knew she could cook), and cute animal pictures.
So far, she doesn't have anything revealing online.
I hit the jackpot with Instagram. MDavis_98 follows It's_Personal and an account for Pratt alums. Her feed features shots of her cooking and eating food, plus reels of her making pottery or snuggling with Khan.
There are no pictures of her with a guy since February, so it looks like she really is single.
She's never in a swimsuit or arching her back for a thirst trap (unfortunately), but she looks genuinely happy and fun to hang out with.
I open the message app and start texting. I won't miss an opportunity with her again.