Chapter Eight
I can’t believe how seriously you take this show.”
I remove my intense gaze from Love Is Blind on the flat screen and turn to Adam, who’s sitting next to me on the opposite end of his couch/bed with an amused expression on his face. We’re exactly two weeks into his stay. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He pulls a face. “Because I seriously doubt most of the contestants are really in it for ‘the right reasons.’” He chomps on a Cheeto from the bag on his lap.
I shift so I’m leaning against the arm of the couch and facing him, knees pulled into my chest. “I, personally, have zero desire to go on television to find love, but the impressive success rate of Love Is Blind speaks for itself.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Tell me, Sabrina. Do you think love is blind?” The serious tone of his voice is in contrast to the twinkle in his eyes.
“Not necessarily. But I do think building the emotional connection without preconceived assumptions getting in your way is a good idea.”
“What do you mean by preconceived assumptions?” He extends the bag of Cheetos to me.
I shake my head, declining to partake in what I’ve quickly discovered is Adam’s favorite snack.
I can practically hear my sister going on about the dangers of filling your body with processed cheese.
“I think people have preconceived notions about what they’re attracted to based on their dating habits.
If I’ve always dated guys with blond hair, I might assume someone with brown or red hair isn’t my type and immediately swipe left.
But I might be surprised to find that I am wildly attracted to a ginger if we talked for weeks with a wall between us and formed a blind connection first.”
Adam mutes the TV. “ Do you only date guys with blond hair?”
I chew my cheek. If we were at a party or on a first date, I would assume he was flirting and ping back something like, “Not always .” Or, “I make exceptions sometimes.” Or, “My type is brown hair with red highlights.” All with accompanying sultry eye contact.
But I don’t know if Adam is flirting. He might just be making conversation.
Whether I hope he’s flirting is not something I’m prepared to examine at the moment, even though the answer is a resounding yes.
But this living arrangement is not about me and Adam.
It’s about Adam and Marcia. The dynamic is tricky, so I simply say, “No.”
He faces the TV again like he’s reluctant to make eye contact. “What is your type?”
And now I’m 95 percent sure he is flirting. Despite my better judgment, my heart skips a beat as the word you begs to fly out of my mouth.
“Sabrina!” Marcia’s voice shrieks from inside her room, blessedly negating my need to answer the question while freaking me out at the same time.
I vault off the couch with my heart in my throat, but I’m not fast enough for Rocket, who comes flying out from the kitchen, where he’s been gnawing on the new toy Adam bought him for being a good boy at the groomer. He whines and scratches at her closed door.
Adam also beats me to Marcia’s door, gently pushing Rocket away and throwing it open. “What’s wrong?”
Marcia’s in her pajamas with her back to us at the small desk in the corner of her bedroom. She rotates her black swivel chair so she’s facing us. Her blue eyes are wide. “They found my information on the dark web! What does that mean?”
My tight muscles relax in the knowledge she’s not having a heart attack or being held at gunpoint by a robber. “Let me see.” I lean over the desk so I can get a good look.
She points to the open email from McAfee—an identity-monitoring report.
After I’d lived with Marcia for about a month, she mentioned all the pop-ups she was getting from McAfee and Norton about protecting her computer from viruses and hackers.
She referred to them as “junk mail,” and that’s when I realized she had zero protection on her computer and helped get her set up.
“Was my identity stolen? A fake sex tape emailed to all my friends?” Her voice is shaky.
Adam’s eyes bug out.
“No,” I say, trying not to laugh. “It just means some of your passwords have been breached. We just need to change them. Let’s see what they say.”
Marcia stands and gestures for me to take her place on the chair.
With Adam and Marcia hovering over me—Adam’s arousing grapefruit scent mixed with her comforting floral—and Rocket circling in and out of my legs, I wait while McAfee generates a summary of all the breaches.
I nod. “It’s what I thought. Your password has been exposed on three sites.
” I jot them down on the yellow Post-it notepad on her desk.
“Let’s go to these websites and change your passwords.
” I flash a stern look at her over my shoulder. “Something besides Adam0925, please.”
Over the next few minutes, she gives me some stronger options. I suggest adding hashtags and random numbers, and when we’re satisfied, I go to the sites and make the changes for her.
“You need a password for everything these days,” Marcia says from behind me. “But what’s the point if they’re so easy to steal?”
“That’s why you don’t use your birthday!” I say while changing her password on a flower-delivery website. “Or your grandson’s.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she gushes.
Adam, who’s been otherwise quiet, says, “I didn’t realize Sabrina helped you with this sort of thing.”
“She sure does… even set me up with a password manager app so I don’t have to worry about memorizing them all! She’s a godsend.” She squeezes my shoulders.
My chest swells. “I’m not sure about that.
I’m just happy I can help.” I keep my stare straight ahead while I continue to type so they don’t see that I’m on the verge of silly, choked-up, feeling-validated tears.
When I’m confident my complexion has returned to its regular pallor, I spin around.
“We can update the password manager next.”
Marcia is beaming at me. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a big deal!” I give a bashful glance to Adam, but he’s staring into space, all contemplative. “Everything okay, Adam?”
He shakes out of his trance and blinks at me. “Yeah. Fine.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just glad everything is straightened out.” He pats Marcia’s arm.
I cock my head and study him. I don’t buy that everything is fine, but I’m also not confident he’d confide in me even if I pressed him. I decide to move on for now. “Meet you back on the couch to resume Love Is Blind in five?”
He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Actually, I’m exhausted. You mind if I turn the TV off?”
My shoulders drop an inch before I hitch them back up again. “Oh. That’s fine. I should get ready for bed anyway. Big day tomorrow with work and school.” I stop short of faking a yawn, hoping my disappointment isn’t obvious.
After I finish helping Marcia fight the good fight against the villainous dark web, I spend the rest of the night in my room, reviewing the discussion board from my youth literature class and reading the required articles. Before I know it, it’s time to get ready for bed.
When Adam first moved in, I didn’t change into my pajamas until I was in my room for the night, but I’ve since decided that it’s perfectly acceptable for me to walk around in shorts and a tank top in my own home.
I keep my bra on because my nipples have a mind of their own, especially around hot guys.
But it doesn’t matter that I’m still wearing my nude front-clasping bra under my pink ribbed tank top because Adam isn’t even in the living room.
I assume he’s either in the bathroom, in which case I’ll have to wait my turn, or the kitchen, when I hear his voice.
It’s coming from Marcia’s room, where the door is open just a crack.
Marcia tells him how happy she is to have him there.
She still says some version of this at least five times a day, but I love to hear it.
Then Adam says he wishes they didn’t waste so much time letting his dad keep them apart. He says this at least once a day.
My throat thickens at this touching moment, as it always does, until a wave of guilt crashes over me for eavesdropping, even though it’s not on purpose. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, not a mansion.
The talking stops and there’s a faint “squish” sound.
I’m guessing Marcia went in for a hug. She does that a lot too.
I close the bathroom door behind me. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I’m about to return to my room when I hear my name mentioned.
On instinct, I take a step closer. In case they see me, I pretend to look for a new container of body moisturizer in the closet next to Marcia’s room where we keep our unopened toiletries.
“Sabrina keeps me young. We have fun together.”
Warmth rushes through me and I smile to myself.
I think we make a great pair—my youthful perspective balanced with Marcia’s more experienced and mature one—but it’s validating to hear it directly from her.
It’s a dynamic I’m not used to, since my mom wasn’t around much and my grandma…
well… if I let my mind go there, I’ll never fall asleep.
Adam says, “I’m happy you have a roommate you like, but you do have to be smart.”
I frown. Smart about what?
“Seriously, Adam. There’s nothing to worry about,” Marcia says.
My muscles tighten. Worry? What is he worried about?
Adam says, “You can’t just go around sharing your passwords with people, Grams.”
I gasp and throw a hand to my mouth. Is this about me? Am I people ?
“I only shared them with Sabrina.”
“Who was a virtual stranger. She could have done anything with them. Robbed you blind.”
“But she hasn’t.”
My pulse speeds up. Does Adam really think I would do something so horrific?
I only want to help her! I curl my fists and blink back the tears building behind my eyelids, my insides torn between anger at this ridiculous accusation and disappointment that the accuser is Adam, who I thought was becoming my friend.
“Thankfully, but don’t give her the opportunity. If you need help, I’m here too.”
“You’re as much of a Luddite as me!”
Ha! You tell him, Marcia.
“Just promise me you’ll be more careful with your personal information. Don’t respond to any weird emails from Nigerian princes asking for money either.”
“What does a prince want from me?”
“A real prince wants nothing. A fake one wants your life savings! Your identity can be stolen even if you do everything right, but your risk increases if you’re careless with your personal information.”
I don’t stick around to hear what Marcia says next. I quickly dash into my bedroom and close the door behind me as quietly as possible.