Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
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When I enter the living room a few minutes later, Lovie is perched in a different spot from the one I’ve seen her in my entire life. Since I can remember, whenever we’d curl up, whether it be for movies or sports games or the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, she’d sit directly in the middle of the couch. She claimed it has the coziest cushion. I can’t verify, since I’ve never been allowed to sit there.
But she’s on the left side now, and Adam is on the other end. I’m about to be an Elle sandwich.
“Lovie, why don’t you scoot to the middle?” I say, giving her a wooden smile as I set my drink down on a coaster—always on a coaster. Lovie’s Hard Love Rule Twenty-Two.
She rolls her eyes, waving me off as the theme song for Wheel of Fortune begins. “Why would I do that? He’s not my husband.”
The sound that flies from my lips is half choke, half laugh.
But Adam’s foot shifts just so , connecting with my shin where it’s already tender, and even though he’s smiling up at me, I see the dare written behind those indigo eyes.
Adam pats the seat beside him before slinging his arm across the back of the couch. “Come here, honey.” His chin cocks sideways, and it makes him look … younger. Playful. Someone who has a secret but is really bad at keeping it.
I guess that kind of is what we’re doing.
And there’s an energy to Lovie right now, one I haven’t witnessed from her since her last visit to the city. She’s the woman I remember, mercurial in the best ways and sharp as a tack. My forced smile turns genuine.
Because of the coffee table, I have to step over Adam’s legs to reach the middle seat. His hand comes up to my hip when I tip sideways, but a quick glare has it falling away, his mouth pinching to fight a smirk. He is not very good at that either.
Sitting down gingerly, I try tucking in on myself so as not to touch any of my body parts to any of Adam’s body parts. Even this middle cushion, which is noticeably more comfortable than the others, isn’t enough to relax my defenses.
Adam’s heat is a wall at my right as I get situated, and there is so much of him, it makes me wish I’d done the counterintuitive thing and put my sweater back on. Less surface area to touch him.
For his part, he’s shifting too, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Unfortunately, every time he moves, I get a whiff of his scent. It’s not as toxically masculine as I first feared, which makes me fear it all the more. It’s warm, smoky—I think I described it as summer before. Warm skin and good memories.
I sit stoically through the first puzzle on Wheel of Fortune —solution: night and day difference —and straight through a commercial break.
At one point, Adam’s hand dips down and the band of his watch brushes my shoulder. I shiver from the cold.
He swallows thickly. “Sorry.”
“Sure,” I grit out. It’s all I can manage.
When Lovie comes back from a bathroom break, she snorts when she sees us. “And here I thought you two were in love. I’ve seen more chemistry from a pair of dead fish. You don’t have to be polite on my account, Bobby. I’m not a prude.”
Now it’s Adam’s turn to sound like he’s dying. It’s nice of him to join me here, between a rock and a hard place. I scoot an inch closer to him and clutch his knee. “You heard the lady, honey.” I give him an exaggerated wink and move my hand a few inches higher, then drop my voice. “Fake it like you mean it .”
My eyes reflect a challenge of my own, and Adam accepts.
His arm falls from the back of the couch to my shoulder, his fingers on my upper arm. His watch isn’t as cold on my skin anymore. He hugs me closer, our sides aligning all the way down. There’s no reason to be this close, but when I try to pull away, his hold tightens.
The show returns from commercial break, and I’m relieved to have something else to focus on aside from his warmth.
A soft breeze rustles the hairs around my face. “ Catcher in the Rye .”
His murmur at my ear is just as disarming as his breath on my neck. A chill and heat lance through me at the same time, and, like my heart can’t decide how it feels either, it skips a beat before thudding clumsily in my chest.
I blink. “What?”
Adam’s chuckle is so close, it hums through me like one of my own. “ Catcher in the Rye . The answer. Lovie said not to yell, but …” He shrugs, and that jostles me too.
On the screen, one of the contestants guesses s . The host dons a consolatory smile. No s ’s.
I peek at Adam in my periphery, then the puzzle again. Damn it. He’s right.
And, after two more letters, Mary from Albuquerque is right too.
“I knew that,” Lovie says, crossing her arms.
For all her talk of “don’t scream the answers,” the biggest offender is Lovie herself. Through the rest of Wheel of Fortune and into Jeopardy! as soon as the answer becomes clear to her, she spits it out fast enough that if she had dentures, they’d fly across the room.
Adam continues to whisper his guesses along my temple. His lips never touch me, but other parts of him do. The hand on my shoulder travels up my neck, takes to playing with the short hair at my collarbone.
Because I don’t handle losing well, I decide to return the favor.
My hand migrates to midthigh, firm and muscled under my touch.
His breath hitches in my ear, his body tensing as he blurts, “Nineteen seventy-six.”
Whoops.
Lovie huffs. When the contestant on the screen confirms Adam was right, she huffs again. I have to swallow a laugh.
I’d play Adam’s game if I knew any of the answers, but unsurprisingly, Ancient Greek architecture does not come up often on the subway. Nor the 1992 World’s Fair.
During Double Jeopardy, when the host reveals a category called, simply, “Podcasts,” I sit up a little straighter. The contestant starts at $800.
“My granddaughter has one of those podcast things,” Lovie says, and pride flairs in my chest. She may not know I’m sitting right next to her, but I’m in there somewhere.
“This show features two best friends who discuss death and crime of all kinds, and listeners can submit their own stories, called ‘Hometowns.’ ”
I know this. Hell, you’d have to live under a rock not to.
But Adam stays quiet, as do Lovie and the contestants.
Steeling myself to be met by either his penetrative gaze or intoxicating smell, I turn to Adam and place my mouth at his ear. “ My Favorite Murder ,” I whisper.
None of the contestants take a guess. After the time runs out, Ken Jennings proves me right, and Adam hums in appreciation, his eyes sparkling.
The contestants move on to the next question, and once again, I know the answer immediately but stay quiet, per Lovie’s instructions.
Adam tugs a lock of my hair. “Well?”
“ Stuff You Should Know .” A smile comes to my face, rare in his presence.
His gaze drops to it. “ Stuff You Should Know ,” he echoes. Probably he’s unused to my mouth forming a shape as flattering as my smile.
For every unanswered Dark History and Call Her Daddy , Adam’s murmurs of approval are more affirming than knowing if I were a contestant, I’d have $5,600 on my board. Cutting their losses, the contestants move to another category before deciding not knowing podcasts is less embarrassing than not knowing astrophysics. They switch back to finish out the category.
“This show follows the namesake as she travels the Chicago underground and interviews other public transport riders.”
“Oh my God,” I say, sitting forward. Adam’s arm falls off my shoulders. My heart is suspended in my throat. “That’s my show.”
Adam hisses, prying my nails from his thigh.
I can’t even begin to formulate an apology. My brain’s still stuck. My podcast is on Jeopardy! I need to do something. Take a picture, start a live stream, something. “Why aren’t they buzzing in? Elle on the L. Somebody say it.”
Nobody does. The buzzer sounds, and it remains unanswered.
I throw up my hand, nearly hitting Adam in the face. “Oh, what the fuck.”
Three things happen at once: Adam barks out a harsh laugh, Lovie harrumphs, and the host says, “The answer we wanted there was Elle on the L .”
Eyes wide and mouth gaping, I jump to my feet and spin around.
“I was on Jeopardy! ” I yell over the now-ambient noise of the game show.
Lovie seems confused; Adam is too, I think, his eyes darkening as he takes me in.
I shimmy on shaky legs, and in my socked feet, I probably look like a footballer warming up at the Super Bowl.
My phone starts dinging with notifications in my pocket. My listeners are more on top of my shit than I am. One of them reminded me to schedule a Pap smear this spring.
Lovie mutters something about getting more tea and disappears into the kitchen.
Adam moves as if to follow her, but I pull my phone out and toss it to him. “Take a Boomerang.”
He catches it with one hand, flipping the screen right side up. “A what ?”
“Okay,” I say. “Go to Instagram.” I want to make a joke about how he’s young for a boomer, but nothing can kill my vibe right now. I was on fucking Jeopardy! The name of my show will go in, like, the Jeopardy! archives. And since they never, ever, ever recycle clues, it’s not a far jump to say I made history.
“Dakota Fanning with two exclamations says to check your social media,” he says, frowning at the screen. “And I’m on Instagram now. Should I check this little box with five hundred notifications, or keep going for the Boomerang thing?”
“Five hundred ?”
His eyes widen. “Make that seven.”
I do my little happy dance again. “I’m famous. You, sir, are in the presence of royalty.”
He rolls his eyes. “Should I rewind the episode so you can do”—he waves a hand in the general direction of my feet—“whatever that is next to the clue?”
“Great idea.”
His mouth drops. He must have been kidding.
Adam rewinds the show, and I peek through the wooden half wall topped with banisters and check on Lovie in the kitchen. She’s mumbling to herself—probably about how I shouted the answer before she could—as she roots around in the dry-goods cabinet.
I pose for the picture when Adam says he’s ready. “Scoot to the, er, left a bit?” His brows slash a near-straight line across his forehead. “Maybe turn to me more?”
He looks so focused, his eyes trained on my phone, dwarfed in his massive hands. I can probably use filters to hide my blush. “I’ll make an Instagram husband out of you yet, Adam Wheeler.”
It’s his turn to blush now.
To my surprise, the first Boomerang turns out cute and usable. I’m not sure whether it’s a testament to my pure joy or Adam’s abilities.
I’m in such a good mood, I’m willing to share the credit.