Chapter 16 Tell the Truth
16
Tell the Truth
3:47 PM
Alison:
Minneapolis called an overnight snow emergency. Did you move Sam’s car back?
3:59 PM
Adam:
Shit.
4:02 PM
Alison:
I’ll move it. I can tape while I’m there to get a jump on painting tomorrow.
4:03 PM
Adam:
Okay.
After I move Sam’s car Friday night, I invite Russell over to look for his gear. I direct him to the group of three boxes by the living room windows. Aside from this last stack of boxes and a drop cloth held in place by Adam’s ladder, the place resembles a staged showroom. Once we paint tomorrow and deliver the last of his things, there’ll be nothing left of Sam here. We’ve packed him away like out-of-season decor.
“This is everything that could be relevant to hiking, mountain climbing, and general outdoorsiness.” I nudge a box with my toe.
“No worries. I’m glad we’re finally doing this. Want to crack two of those open?” He points to the six-pack of beer he brought. I open up a can for each of us and watch Russell haphazardly empty the boxes I packed so carefully. I reprimand his chaos with my eyes, but he continues un-nesting all of the backpacks I’ve zipped into one another and tossing them on the ground.
“I’m glad you’re still coming.” At the sound of his voice—missing its normal blitheness—I look up from the box I’m rummaging through. “I was thinking of calling the whole trip off at first. It’s going to be so different without him.” He clears his throat. “But I think it will be good for us. It’s good to have something to look forward to.”
“I get that.” I give him a soft smile and watch him blink—too fast, then too slow—until he seems like the Russell I know and…tolerate.
“There’s a killer new cocktail bar a couple blocks away. We can head over there tonight and talk about the trip. Our crew has a bunch of O Trek virgins, but you’ll be in good hands. It’s gonna be incredible.” Russell’s eyes melt, as if he can make out breathtaking views in the distance.
The way he pictures us out in the wilderness is intoxicating. Maybe I could like doing something like this—maybe this could shake my life by the shoulders. A genuine thirst for adventure could trickle into all parts of me.
Russell is describing collapsible trekking poles, measuring out about a foot with his hands. “He usually kept it all in a gray bag—” He stops at the sound of the door opening.
“I didn’t know we were having a party,” Adam says flatly. I react physically at the sound of his voice, body humming. But the look on his face when he walks into the apartment holding a pizza box twists my stomach.
My pulse quickens like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. But, Alison, we promised we’d only pack our dead friend’s things with each other, he cries out in the soap opera in my mind.
I swallow and force detachment into my voice. “Hey, Adam. Didn’t know you were coming down tonight.”
If I’d known, I would’ve made different decisions tonight, including, but not limited to, not wearing the embroidered train sweatshirt Chelsea gifted me that reads this is how i roll across the front. I pray the floor will open up and swallow me. “You remember Russell.”
“We’ve met many times.” Adam tries for a joke but misses. His tone is all wrong. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for his gear,” I answer for Russell, my voice sounding nervous and guilty.
“For your gear too. Sam wouldn’t mind his girlfriend borrowing a pack for our trip.” Russell’s tone is innocent, but his eyes twinkle with mischief. He knows he’s stumbled into something with Adam and me, and I only wish that I knew what.
“Yeah? Are you going on a trip with him, Alison?” Adam’s face is expressionless, but his voice is all challenge.
I ignore him. “Russell, you said the bag’s gray?”
“What’s in there?” Russell nudges his chin at the pizza box in Adam’s hand.
Our questions fly past each other, all of us wanting to speak to someone who doesn’t want to talk to us.
“Pepperoni and pepper pizza—her favorite.”
“Are those cookies?” Russell eyes the bakery Thin Mints propped on top.
Adam doesn’t answer, instead crossing the room and taking my can from my hands. “What beer is this?” His look freezes me in place as he presses his lips to the can. He takes a slow, deliberate sip before handing it back to me. “Ooh. Sour. Wouldn’t have expected you to like that.”
He might as well have peed on me. It would’ve been more subtle.
“It’s different.” I accidentally answer with Minnesotan for I hate it and internally groan at myself.
Adam swallows his satisfied smirk. He knows he’s won this round.
Russell, not to be outdone, combs a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. “Adam, can you have this stuff cleaned out by Sunday morning? I’m taking the photos, and I don’t want to waste the light.”
Confusion pinches my forehead. “Wait—you’re the real estate photographer?” Will I ever figure out what this man’s job is?
“I’m the listing agent. I sold them the condo. Didn’t Richard tell you I wanted it on the market by the end of the month? Otherwise, we have to wait until spring. Minnesotans don’t move in the dead of winter.”
One thousand expressions travel over Adam’s face as he registers that the December 1 deadline—and every little upgrade we’ve made to the condo—has been for the benefit of Sam’s family and Russell.
I throw my head back. “Are you or are you not a Realtor?”
“I’m not just a Realtor. I’m a real estate multihyphenate. I have rental properties, flip houses; I was in talks with Magnolia Network for a home renovation show pilot, but we couldn’t make it work. I need full creative control over my brand. This guy gets it.” Russell gives Adam an unearned pat on the shoulder. “I like the cabinet upgrade, by the way. The color will look great in the listing photos. Kitchens sell these places. We should talk collabs.”
Adam’s jaw ticks, and I know it’s taking everything in him not to swat Russell’s hand with his paw like the disgruntled bear he is.
“Is this it?” I hold up a blue-gray bag like a white flag.
“That’s it!” Russell points. Maybe there is a god. “Still want to get that drink, babe? Or are you busy with…whatever this is?” He points between Adam and me.
I tilt my head in the direction of the door, too mortified for direct eye contact. “See you around, Russell.” I agree to call him about the trip and shut the door behind him.
Adam’s humorless laugh reverberates against the walls of the hollow apartment. “Wow. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh, yeah? Was that macho display for his benefit?” I ask, folding my arms in front of my chest.
Adam flips open the pizza box on the counter with practiced nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My eyes snag on his fingers, and I shudder at the memory of what those fingers feel like in my hair. On my face. At my waist.
“Were you able to get whatever issue you have with Russell out of your system?” I ask, hating that my voice is higher than usual.
“Are you going to Chile?” He sounds utterly disinterested, his face a portrait of calm.
“Patagonia. And why would you care if I am?”
God, how I desperately want him to care.
“I don’t.” He removes paper plates from a bag on the counter, unruffled. “You know why you shouldn’t go to Patagonia with him?” he asks like he’s pondering this for the first time. “Because you shouldn’t backpack through the mountains for several weeks, period. Regardless of the company.”
“It’s only ten days.”
“Oh. Well, then, never mind,” he says caustically.
I pull my arms in tight like a shield. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“I have no idea if you can, but I know you sure as hell don’t want to if you can’t force yourself to walk along Lake Superior for an hour.”
“What are you even doing here?”
“I thought you’d be hungry.” He stumbles. “You said you were coming over here tonight, and after what you told me on the phone, I didn’t know why I wasn’t…why we weren’t…” He trails off, pressing his mouth into a hard line. Vulnerability seeps into his expression before it hardens again. “So I got in my car and drove. I wasn’t thinking.”
He tears at the plastic around the paper plates, turning it over and over, unable to break through.
I step toward him, my body itching to be the smallest bit closer to his. “I’m glad you did.”
His hands give up on the plates, and his dark eyes find mine. An unreadable expression clouds his features. “Yeah? Even though I interrupted you and him—planning your romantic trip under the stars?”
“Digging a hole to poop generally doesn’t constitute traditional romance.”
For a moment, we don’t do anything but stare. I’m buzzing with adrenaline.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, accessing every composed molecule in my body to keep my voice even.
His throat bobs as his eyes search mine. The dark quiet of the apartment covers us like a sheet. We’ve never been here at night. I’ve never been completely alone with Adam at night . He closes the distance, his eyes trained on my lips. He raises his hand, and I stiffen in anticipation of his touch. I’m so aware of every breath, of every inch of my skin.
His eyes scan my face, begging for answers, before they return to my mouth. My breath catches and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. It’s all I can hear aside from the rhythm of Adam’s steady inhalations. Phantom sensations skitter across my front, and I wonder what my nipples would be doing if they were here. Pinching, I imagine. I can almost feel it.
His breath is hot on my cheek, and suddenly, I can’t move. If I move, he might too, and it would be an absolute tragedy to be standing any more than a single inch from Adam Berg.
Friends don’t stand this close, I think. They don’t drink my beer or look at me with such unbridled desire.
I hear his slow swallow.
“I thought you didn’t want this to get confusing,” I ask.
His other hand tunnels into my hair and my eyelids flutter at the feel of his strong fingers coiling around my curls. My eyes lower to the corner of his mouth that hooks up when my body responds to him. “Are you confused?” he asks, his voice gravel. The gold flecks in his irises glimmer under the kitchen light.
“Adam,” I whisper, a secret.
“Alison,” he says, a plea. He wraps a strand of hair around his forefinger, anchoring himself to me. It pulls me a millimeter closer still.
Where the truck felt like a spontaneous crash, we both know this moment is different. This is deliberate. This is a choice. A point of no return. I tilt my head up to him, and with agonizing slowness, he presses his lips to mine.
He’s soft and tentative at first, as if I might still pull away. The careful caress of his mouth tugs at my bottom lip, and I murmur a sound of pleasure.
“You like that. Interesting…” I inhale his words until he presses his lips to mine again, deepening the kiss. Our mouths become desperate, searching for satisfaction. Adam places his hand firmly on the small of my back and pulls me against him.
“Tell the truth,” he growls, kissing down my neck. When his mouth meets the spot his finger grazed in Duluth, every cell in my body vibrates. He smiles against my throat. “Did you really like that beer?”
“No.” I squeal in surprise, digging my fingernails into his biceps. “I shouldn’t pucker at every sip. It’s unsettling.” He rewards my honesty with a warm laugh against my shoulder that melts into my bones.
“I knew it.” He straightens to his full height and smiles down at me, his eyes hooded and wild. “I knew you hated it.”
He grabs me by the hips and places me on the kitchen island like I’m lighter than air, his mouth claiming mine again. Heat clenches my center, and Adam separates my thighs to press himself against me. I wrap my legs around his body, aching to be even closer.
In a split second of awareness, I worry about the pizza next to me, but I’m quickly distracted by want. It’s an animal, alive in my chest, clawing at my insides. It wants to possess more of Adam’s mouth. More of his touch. More. More. More.
I gather the front of his shirt in a tight fist when his hand slips under my regrettably punny sweatshirt, skimming the sensitive part of my hip. His other hand stays firmly at my waist like it’s all he has to steady him.
I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this, like devouring while ravenous. Like lifesaving breath while drowning.
His firm hand travels to my front, and I feel the pressure of his palm on my breast. Panic instinctually builds up my spine but evaporates into a puff of smoke at the vibration of his hungry groan into my mouth. If he can register the difference in my topography, it’s not dampening his enthusiasm. It’s the first time a man has grabbed my new breasts with such fiery passion, and I can’t help but grip him tighter, needing more contact.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” I pant through hungry kisses.
“Try weeks .”
I run my hand down his hard chest, suddenly aware of the benefits of kissing Adam free of outerwear. “Weeks?”
He nods. “I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it.”
Dragging my hands to his belt buckle, I think, I’m going to have sex with Adam on Sam’s kitchen counter, when I hear a key jingling in the lock.
The sound punctures the delicious fantasy.
Wordlessly, we scatter like roaches. Adam’s in front of the fridge in an instant, and I brace myself as I jump off the counter. My pinky makes contact with a bit of tomato sauce, and I shudder.
“Hello?” I hear Mrs.Lewis’s tentative voice before I see her.