Chapter 6 Adam
Currently playing: Too Sweet by Hozier
***
This is ridiculous. You look like a stalker.
Granted, I wasn’t far from being one at this point.
Flashes of my night with a random blonde had been spiking in my head all week. The way her hair splayed out on my pillowcase, the clean orange scent on my sheets every time I went to bed. How Crew mentioned wanting to get new headphones, and I knew that the music-loving girl who so bravely ordered whiskey straight would have the perfect recommendations. The way she’d held long talks about different types of records for half the night. How she made it sound like she was already in a committed relationship with music itself and there was scarcely room for anything, or anyone, else.
The best part was that she understood immediately that I didn’t know how to hold a conversation. Maybe that wasn’t the best part. But it was really nice. No need to explain that I wasn’t trying to be a rude guy, but that I was a listener, not a talker. After the day she’d had, she needed a listener. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
All I wanted was her name. That was the only reason I was here. I couldn’t rest until the question was answered. I’d meant to get it before we got too preoccupied, but we’d gotten caught up in the moment, and it had slipped.
I wasn’t sure what I was thinking the other night, offering a drink to her like that. I liked my peace. I liked quiet, simple solitude. The click of her heels and the tiny skirt, mixed with her ordering straight whiskey, gave me a tip that she was anything but simple. But she sat there, muttering about not being cool enough to shoot whiskey. And between the pout in her pink-painted lips and the way her eyelashes curled when she squeezed her eyes shut in a whole body–shaking cringe at the taste of alcohol, I felt bad.
It was kind of ironic how the one time I didn’t order the same beer I got at Froggy’s every week was the time she was there. Like God was playing puppets with us, manipulating me into ordering something she would like before I even knew she was there. Going from that to holding her warm, soft skin in my hands felt like a dream I was going to wake up from any minute now.
“Just get it over with,” I muttered to myself, pulling my hood down in an attempt to not look like such a creep. The scar across my eyebrow probably didn’t help any.
It was usually the first thing someone saw when they looked at me, the tight faint-pink line that looked almost like a lightning bolt above my eye. But she didn’t. Her eyes first went to my tattoos. She shamelessly stared at them as if she was considering tracing them with her finger. I wouldn’t have stopped her if she did. It was rare I talked to a woman willingly. It was even more rare that I allowed an entire night of conversing that led to bringing her back to my apartment. The only time that happened was on the odd occasion when I was stationed out of the country and there was a sure-fire guarantee that I would never see the girl again.
I certainly would never connect with someone local at the bar I visited once a week. But yet there I was this morning, researching every record store in Philadelphia, trying to find out which one was rumored to be closing soon so I could…what? Apologize? Ask for more? Tell her that I hadn’t stopped thinking about the small freckles on her shoulders since I first saw them? I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far. Correction: I hadn’t thought anything. At all.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that I’d survived hell in training. I had gone five days with only ten hours of sleep, enduring every pain you can imagine and hallucinations. I was top of my class at that. A natural leader they’d said as I graduated. I saved men from plane crashes and war fights for a living. Anxiety wasn’t something I knew.
And yet I sat here outside a stupid record store, sweating my balls off because I was too freaked out to figure out the name of a woman I’d spent a single night with.
I shook my shoulders out and nodded to myself. I wet my lips and ran a hand through my hair before forcing myself to take the few small steps to the door and inside.
A bell chimed quietly above me as my boots stomped across the black-and-white checkered floors. Band posters hung on each of the walls, a few recognizable to me but not many. It was warm, a dash of pastels here and there, with woven light fixtures like the ones my sister-in-law had begged me to put in her new house. It smelled of cinnamon and oranges, almost nostalgic. A steady thrumming played over the speakers around the room, a man singing about learning to fly.
A sweet, almost angelic voice with a hint of firmness called out. “Hi! Welcome. Let me know if there’s anything I can find for you.”
It was her. There was no doubt. I took a step farther into the store, craning my neck to follow the sound of her voice. Her back was to me, and she was bent over, sorting through what looked like a mountain of files. My eyes trailed up from her platformed boots to the short denim skirt that had a white T-shirt tucked into it.
Her blond ponytail swayed as she bobbed her head along with the music playing above. My lips tipped slightly. I was willing to bet she was in charge of picking which songs to play in the store.
Realization dawned on me as I watched how she innocently had no idea I was standing on the other side of the counter. This was creepy. I was being creepy. What woman would want some scarred man walking into her workplace after extensive research just so he could know her name?
I was quiet, sure. I liked being alone, and I wasn’t exactly social, but I wasn’t a creepy guy. Or I never had been before. My brain began ticking off things about me that it had apparently decided were very not-creep-like, such as, the other day, I carried a stack of laundry to my bedroom, and I tripped over my coffee table. And I had a stuffed dinosaur in my closet from my seven-year-old nephews, who insisted I take it with me to “keep any monsters away.”
None of those things helped. This still felt weird.
Part of me wondered if I could slowly back out of the store before she realized I was here. My left foot descended after my right as she began turning around.
Seeing her face in broad daylight felt like a punch to the gut. In dim lighting, with only a few lamps on and neon flashing lights at the bar, I knew she was pretty. I knew she was far out of my league. Far prettier than anyone I had seen in a long time. Maybe ever. But now, watching as she stared down at a few files in her hand with a small book on top, flipping through them as she hummed, I knew this was a mistake. She was far, far more beautiful than I’d allowed myself to remember.
She smiled to herself, her rosy cheeks lifting and her pencil tapping against the corner of her mouth like she was considering something. Like she was excited about it. Faster than sound, her eyes met mine, and realization struck across her face, her mouth opening and her chin dipping.
Shit, too late.
The papers in her hand and the thin book, along with her pencil, crashed to the floor.
Her voice dropped, raspier this time. “Oh…I—it’s you…”
It’s you. Was that a good thing? She didn’t seem entirely turned off by me being here. More so confused. Her head tilted to the side and her eyes widened.
My knees bent as I knelt down to pick up her assorted papers, and…a sudoku book. Along with a tiny mini golf pencil. Huh.
She cleared her throat, watching as I tried to organize the papers in a neat stack for her. “Funny. I’ve seen your house, and I know what color couches you have, but I don’t even know your name.”
I laid her stack on the counter, lifting my gaze back to her, forcing down the natural part of myself that said to stay silent and nod along.
“Adam. My name is Adam.”
Now tell me yours so I can rush out of here and never come back.
At my name, she took a deep breath, like she was inhaling the words. Memorizing them? Her initial shock had eased into a soft smile, and I was grateful to see not a hint of regret in her eyes.
She nodded her head at me. “I’m Rachel.”
There. That was it. All I needed. Time to be on my way and back to my cold apartment.
Except I had this dying urge to ask more. How long have you worked here? Do you have plans for if they decide to close? When is your birthday? None of the answers to those truly mattered, considering I wasn’t going to see her again. But it was like I had to fight my own brain to convince myself to leave.
“So…” she dragged on, rocking back and forth on her feet with her hands clasped behind her back.
Oh. Yeah, I probably should have explained why I was even here.
I rubbed the back of my neck, taking notice of the heat forming there. “I was just walking and thought I would look for…a, uh, record.”
That was the only reason people came to record stores, wasn’t it? Although I did see a book section off in the corner, so I could have said that too. I was flustered, too concerned about what she thought of me now that we were in broad daylight, where I couldn’t hide behind a smug smile and a few beers.
Rachel’s eyebrows drew closer, her face tightening as she pursed her lips. She was seeing right through me, and there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t like I could come out and say sorry to seem like a stalker, but I’ve hardly slept at all in the last week because I keep thinking of your laugh and the really grotesque jokes that come out of such a pretty mouth.
“What kind of record?” she challenged.
Kind? There were kinds?
“I…don’t know.”
She snorted and gave me a soft smile, apparently not going to call me out on my crap. “How about we go look at some soft and easy classic rock? Not anything too heavy. More of a…foot-tapping kind of smooth rock?”
She stepped out from her post and walked across the checkered floors to the rock section of the store. It was impossible to ignore that the place clearly needed work. The vinyl floors were pulling up in some spots. Walls needed paint too. And although it was well-staged, there were undeniable structural issues underneath my boots as I followed her. The floor rose and fell under my feet, and I immediately began wondering what kind of foundation this was on. Seemed like this place was on a slab, and if so, there shouldn’t have been a need for wavy floors. Unless they had previous water damage somewhere.
Was that why they wanted to sell soon? Too many renovations to take on? I had an incredible urge to ask, but my time here felt borrowed, and at the end of the day, I’d come in here for her name only.
Rachel hummed along to the next song as the music switched over, her tongue clicking and feet tapping. She reached the rock section and settled in place before turning my way, taking me in from head to toe and nodding to herself. As if it was some kind of evaluation.
“I’m thinking…early Eagles. Maybe some Billy Joel?” Her fingers flipped through the vinyls organized in front of her while she muttered a hmm, then a nah, a nope, maybe, and wait a second. Eventually, she pulled out a black-and-white album with a man sitting on a striped bed and a mask sitting next to him.
She looked me up and down once more with a smirk, clearly satisfied with her decision. “The Stranger fits you very well.”
I wasn’t really a music person. Didn’t complain if it was on, but I certainly couldn’t piece together what kind of artists fit me best at the moment. I was more of an audiobook or plain silence in the car kind of guy. Any other time I could have been listening to music, I just… didn’t. Maybe I needed to now, though.
There was hardly anything for me to say without giving away my complete ignorance over the genre, so I simply nodded and stuck both hands in my pockets.
She nodded back and began to turn around and head back to the register. She looked over her shoulder, curling a finger her way. “Come with me.”
As if there were anywhere else I could go. My legs followed her before my brain could catch up. It felt like I blinked and was on the opposite side of the register from her, as if I had floated there.
I watched as she flipped the record over, typing the numbers from the barcode into an older-looking system. Her lips rested in this soft smile, and I wondered if she always looked this happy, or if my presence had any slight effect. Her long, painted nails tapped away as she rang me up, and it dawned on me. Records were…valuable, right? I had heard of other people collecting them for money. Was I looking to spend fifty dollars or five hundred here?
It didn’t matter, really. I was good enough at saving money that it was almost concerning how little I spent on what some people considered fun items. Each check I received went to bills, groceries, savings, and donating. In that order. No need for anything extra. Before now, anyway.
Rachel slammed her hand into the side of the register, clenching her jaw and rolling her eyes. “Come on, you piece of—” She pushed the device once more, brows furrowed, until a small light at the top turned green.
“Ah, there we go. She just needs to be manhandled a bit.”
I cleared my throat at the word manhandled and quickly handed over my card.
She took it from me, her fingers grazing mine and reminding me of how sweet it had been to hold her hand.
Tapping my hands against my pants, I watched as she wrapped the record up for me. I wasn’t ready to leave, despite my earlier hesitation, and it felt like I had to grasp for any reason to see her for a little longer.
“What got you into records?” I asked, hearing the rasp from my voice but unable to control it.
She smiled to herself, looking up at me as she finished wrapping. “I always thought it was so neat how they work. How much better the quality is since it’s not passing through a phone speaker like what we have now.” She paused as she tucked a corner of the gift wrap down and stuck a piece of tape to it. “Plus my dad and I used to collect them. He has early onset dementia now and can’t do it as much, so this is kind of keeping the memories alive in both of us.”
I briefly remember a couple of comments the other night about her father. He was prior service, a SEAL. She’d mentioned his slipped memory once, but I hadn’t considered it was anything as far as dementia.
This girl was real. Authentic, genuine, whatever else you wanted to call it. She held such substance. Way too much for someone I had planned on having a single night with and tossing out the next day. No wonder I couldn’t easily forget her. She was cemented in my brain.
I recalled her other discussions about music. How she said it was an escape. How she felt like every moment needed a soundtrack, and that she was really good at picking them out. My eyes dropped to the record she’d placed in the bag. The Stranger. Huh. I was going to have to listen to it tonight, to see a glimpse of how she truly thought of me.
I wasn’t good with words. Never had been. Always liked to communicate in actions. People could speak all day long, but who knew if any of it was authentic? Actions said more, spoke volumes louder. Maybe that’s how she felt with music. Maybe this was her way of conversing without having to say the hard things.
“So you are pretty familiar with it, then?” I blurted.
Her brow cocked. “With what?”
I pointed to the gift bag holding my record. She twisted her lips, feigning confusion, as if pulling me to say every thought out loud.
“Music. Records. That stuff.”
“That stuff,” she echoed with a tiny snort and a scrunch of her nose. “Yeah, you could say that.”
I nodded along as if I understood. I needed to go, but I had so much more to ask. More to find out and piece together. But she handed the bag to me, smiling my way with these bright, kind baby-blue eyes, and I felt a rush of heat wash over me.
My fingers reached for the paper straps, strategically avoiding where she held it so as not to make our hands brush against each other once more.
I looked back at the door and lifted my thumb behind me, as if to say I needed to leave. She nodded, not fighting it either.
“I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?” she questioned with this warmth in her tone that I couldn’t quite decipher.
Nodding my head, I turned to the door and began walking away, initially hoping to avoid any answer to that.
Would we? See each other around, that is? Probably not. It was a big city, full of different areas of downtown, and I hardly ever left my house right outside the town. I was deployed for half the year, and the other half, I stuck to myself, other than the weekly dinners with my family. So chances of me getting another shot at this were slim to none.
I stopped in my tracks, clearing my throat and looking over my shoulder at her. Her eyes hadn’t left mine, and there was so much wonderment in them that I knew if I didn’t get this out now, I never would.
“I was going to let you know…the other night.” I cleared my throat at the mention of it. “It’s a rare occasion for me. I mean I don’t…do that a lot on purpose. I don’t really have time for a relationship, so I was—”
“I know,” she cut in with a smile.
“What?”
“I know you don’t do it a lot.”
Oh. My face turned hot. I hadn’t had any complaints from women in my bed before. But then again, it wasn’t like I asked for them to fill out a survey afterward or anything. But she’d seemed enthusiastic at the moment. To say the least. Plus, the way she waited till the last minute to leave, how she took every minute after so slowly, putting on each item of clothing, lacing her heels back up sloth-like.
She shook her head, correcting herself. “That came out wrong. I meant I know because I don’t either…hardly ever. I recently dropped out of college to take care of some family things, so I also don’t have time. It’s okay. I’ll still see you around.”
I coughed up a choke. “College? How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
A heavy weight settled in my stomach. I shouldn’t have felt guilty. There was no need. She was an adult who could make her own decisions. But it felt deceitful on my end. I mean, she was eight years younger than me. We were in two completely different stages in life. She was young and bright, with a future and dreams ahead of her. I was getting ready to settle into what I assumed was going to be the rest of my life. Work, sleep, see family occasionally, repeat. Twenty-two. What had I been thinking?
“Why?” She tilted her head. “How old are you?”
Part of me wanted to lie. Just to make this easier. To not see her look at me like I was a disgusting old man. Which I wasn’t, but still. “Thirty.”
All right, in hindsight, thirty wasn’t that bad. I was still young-ish. I kept up with my health, mostly due to my job. I worked out every day and did my best to stay in shape. I certainly didn’t feel thirty physically. In fact, I was stronger now than I had been at twenty-two. But mentally, I was an old man, ready to yell at kids for crossing my lawn. My brothers always said I should have had gray hair at the age of fifteen.
Instead of disgust or shock showing on her face, she simply tilted her head to the side with a slow grin. “Huh. You’re very…” Her eyes dropped down my chest and back up. “Spry for your age.”
The tension in my body released, my brows relaxing and my chin dropping. I was taking that compliment with me, going to replay it all night.
I pushed my tongue to my cheek, trying my hardest not to smile. “Uh, thanks.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, and with that smirk, I wondered what kind of comment she was prepared to make. But the door behind me chimed.
“Hey, girl. I brought you leftovers. Luke didn’t want any—”
I turned my head to the familiar voice at the door. Layla Wright stood there, her brows furrowed at me and her lips pursed. Layla was a family friend, I guess you could say. She was going to be family eventually, anyway. As soon as my brother Luke got his head cleared and realized they were both desperately in love with each other.
“Adam? What are you doing here?”
I stared at her for a moment, silently praying for God to give me some kind of reason why I, someone without a record player, would possibly be in a record store.
“I, um—”
“He thought it was the tattoo place next door. Somehow, I convinced him to get a Billy Joel vinyl, though.” Rachel winked my way and instead of adding to the conversation, I just nodded along.
“Do you two know each other?” Rachel asked Layla. I looked back and forth between them. Layla and I weren’t close by any means, but she was a nice girl, and eventually, she was going to have my brother’s last name, so although we weren’t what I would call friends, our circles overlapped.
Layla answered for me, thankfully. “Adam is Luke’s brother.” She looked over at me. “Rachel’s my roommate.”
Rachel and I caught eyes at the same time. We would be seeing each other around, then. I didn’t know whether I loved or hated that.