Chapter Fifteen Eleanor #2
Iris has always, always been there when I need her. To give me a push in the right direction, or to be a shoulder to cry on, or just to listen when it feels like no one else will.
Right now she needs me, and what do I do? Send her to voicemail and ignore her texts. My baby sister is getting married, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I’ve barely made time for her and have acted like it’s some huge chore to listen to her plans.
Iris is away at some yoga retreat this weekend that promises to reset your chakra through an abundance of herbal tea and a lack of Wi-Fi.
Probably there’s more to it than that, but Iris told me about the itinerary after a very long day of wedding-related errands, so I may have tuned her out.
But I’m pretty sure it’s the sort of place where phones are frowned upon, so I figure she must really be anxious if she’s spending this much time messaging me.
I call her without giving it another thought.
“I’m so sorry,” she says as soon as she answers.
“For what?”
“Uh, because this is your shot at Dempsey, and here I’ve been blowing up your phone with these dumb wedding logistics. I’m the worst.”
“You’re really not. It’s fine. I’m not even seeing the band until later. And anyway, I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner, but yes. Of course I’ll take care of Duchess.”
“Yeah?” The relief in her voice is palpable. “Thank you, that’s a huge help. Every time I think I’m done with wedding stuff, some new problem crops up.”
I shuffle across the pavement and sink against the scratchy brick wall of the shoe store while Iris launches into a whole laundry list of instructions that I don’t actually need to think about until next weekend.
But I close my eyes and do my best to actually listen, to make mental notes so I don’t fuck anything up on the big day.
Unfortunately, keeping my eyes closed means I miss the moment when Adam walks out of the store.
“Before you say anything about me buying boat shoes—”
My eyes fly open, and I start cutting my hand across my throat in the universal sign for stop talking, and naturally, Adam is too busy staring at his new shoes to notice.
“—it was either this or a pair of platform sneakers. Which were actually kind of cool, but I’m not Harry Styles. So.”
Iris has gone suspiciously quiet in my ear, and I move my free hand even more frantically to get his attention, accidentally clipping Adam on the nose in the process.
“Jesus, Eleanor,” he hisses, and I wince as I shift to cover the mouthpiece instead.
Which is probably what I should have done in the first place, because if Iris realizes I’m with someone right now, that will open up a whole new can of worms. Adam opens his mouth to speak again and instinct takes over.
I don’t think—I lunge toward Adam, shoving him up against the wall and covering his mouth with my palm before he can say anything more incriminating.
“Are you with someone?” Iris asks.
“No. I’m—I’m outside. On a sidewalk. It’s crowded.”
I can feel myself acting a little unhinged.
It should’ve been easy to say, yeah, I’m with a colleague, can I call you Monday?
It wouldn’t have even been a lie. Except for the part about me thinking of Adam as a colleague.
Because he’s not just a random guy I know through work, he’s someone I might really be starting to like, and that’s the entire issue, because I don’t know how to do this anymore.
Especially not with someone in the music business.
Griffin made me gun-shy. Made it impossible for me to feel this way about someone without worrying it will all blow up in my face one day.
Adam’s eyes burn into mine. His mouth has gone slack beneath my touch, but his fingers are curled into fists at his sides, like it’s taking all of his restraint to keep from putting his hands on me.
A shiver runs down my spine and I find myself tempting fate—pressing more of my weight against him, one of my legs slipping between his.
He exhales sharply against my fingertips.
Iris says something I don’t quite catch, too distracted by the heat of Adam’s palms as they wrap around my waist and hold me in place.
My fingertips drag across Adam’s full bottom lip. He remains passive, allowing me to explore for a suspended moment before his lips twitch beneath my touch and his tongue flicks out to lick the pad of my thumb.
My breath catches and heat flashes low in my belly. I cut Iris off midsentence.
“Hey, Iris? I’m so sorry—now is actually not a great time. Can I call you later?”
“Oh, sure. No problem. Then you can tell me all about how it goes with Dempsey!”
“Yeah. I will. Enjoy the rest of the retreat.” I lick my lips. Adam’s smile grows wider. With my eyes locked on his and a tremble in my voice, I say: “Love you. Bye.”
I hang up the phone with one hand, and for the span of a breath, Adam and I remain locked in place.
His eyes lose their teasing edge, become more earnest. He’s no longer wearing the cocky grin that always winds me up.
The way he looks at me now is without pretense.
It’s raw, and unfiltered, and has something warm unspooling inside of me.
“That was my sister.” My voice comes out hoarse, and I swallow hard. “She wants me to be her dog’s date to the wedding. It’s a whole thing.”
Adam doesn’t reply. Just keeps on staring at me, hungry. Belatedly, I come to my senses and shift back to give Adam space. But the moment I pull my hand away from his mouth, Adam catches my wrist and holds me in place.
He moves slowly, giving me every chance to stop him as he leans in.
I don’t. I let him kiss me, and do nothing except close my eyes.
It starts soft, a brush of his lips across mine.
My next exhale comes out shaky, and Adam releases my wrist so he can gently cup my jaw instead.
His thumb sweeps across my cheek, soothing, and I find myself melting into his touch.
My hands land on his ribs, fingers latching on to the fabric of his shirt.
I keep waiting for him to take control and turn the kiss into something deeper or more demanding, but that never happens.
Each time we break apart, it’s only so his nose can skim mine, or so he can sweetly press his lips to my cheek before catching my mouth with his once more.
I lose track of how much time has passed.
Of everything except the way Adam feels and tastes.
After one last, lingering kiss, Adam’s forehead rests against mine. Our breaths mingle, and I feel lightheaded in a way that’s very different from every other hangover-induced moment of the afternoon.
“I really had been thinking about it all day,” he says. I nod helplessly against him.
My eyes open, and I don’t know what to do with the vulnerability I see written all over his face, or the fact that I suspect it mirrors my own expression.
I step back, and this time Adam lets me.
My thumb swipes across my bottom lip, as if to erase the sensation of Adam’s kiss.
Doesn’t work. I don’t know where to look.
I am not usually this frazzled after a kiss, but that was, like…
a lot of kisses, and all of them very intimate, and highly enjoyable, and I kind of want to still be doing it?
But that is out of the question, because we’re standing in the middle of a parking lot outside of an establishment called Kinky Boots, and I am thisclose to becoming unemployed, and I did not come to Vegas to make out with Adam Shaw.
“We should…” I cast a gaze around the parking lot in an attempt to get my bearings. “We can walk the rest of the way from here, don’t you think?”
Adam doesn’t answer right away, seems reluctant to move on from the moment we shared.
Not that I can blame him. I feel unmoored in the aftermath, teeming with a buzzing energy that no longer has any outlet.
But when I turn back to Adam, he swallows hard and nods once.
Takes out his phone and pulls up directions.
“Few minutes away,” he confirms.
We walk side by side, and I can’t stop myself from wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand.
The backs of our knuckles brush together, and my stomach pitches, and I tell myself it wouldn’t be a big thing, or all that out of the blue considering we kissed moments ago.
My fingers twitch and I am about to go for it, but Adam’s hands slip into his pockets.
Never mind, then.
We wait at the corner for the Walk sign to come on, and Adam huffs a laugh.
“Just remembered, I got you this.” His hand comes out of his pocket holding something.
He tosses it to me and I catch the small object against my chest reflexively. It turns out to be a stress ball shaped like Elvis.
“I figured you can’t leave Las Vegas without a souvenir.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be leaving with plenty of baggage,” I quip. I give Elvis a few squeezes and meet his gaze with a grin. “Thank you. It’s cute.”
“You’re welcome.”
I don’t overthink it this time. As we step onto the crosswalk, I let my hand do what it wants—reaching out and slipping into his, our fingers lacing together easily.
I feel Adam’s gaze on the side of my face but keep my own dead ahead.
Out of my peripheral vision, I think I see his lips curve into a smile.
He holds my hand until the brewery comes into view, our steps instinctively slowing to a stop.
We stand still for a long moment, and when I finally allow myself to look up at Adam, it’s to find him watching me with an expression that I struggle to describe as anything other than soft.
Adam looks down at our entwined hands and shifts his hold so the pad of his thumb can trace gently over my knuckles.
The ghost of his touch seems to linger on my ring finger after he gives my hand a squeeze and lets go.