13 Adam
13 Adam
Nha Trang, Vi ? t Nam
The tour group leaves piles of clam and snail shells on the ground like peanut shells in a roadhouse. There’s a smell of smoke
and brine. The heat from the fires keeps away the mosquitoes dancing in frantic formations just outside the light. Families
sit at the long wooden tables, kids poking sticks at the discarded shells, holding them above their heads like hinged maracas.
An older gentleman burps loudly, a symphonic end to their dinner.
“Really!” his wife yells, slapping him. “We’re not at home, old man!”
He guffaws. “Damn right we’re not! Because the food here is actually good.”
His wife throws a cockle at his head, which he dodges with ease. He tries to pull her close for a kiss, but she brandishes
a pair of chopsticks, conjured from the ether of the night, and pinches his lips with them, eliciting a yelp of pain.
“This is what you have to look forward to if you get married,” Adam murmurs to the group.
“Maybe they should see one of the Love Yêu couples therapists,” Riley offers.
“Side business: Hate Yêu Counseling,” Evie quips.
The group groans in unison and Evie chuckles at her own joke, taking one last sip of her salted lemonade. She says, “I’ll
be here all night, folks. Riding this pun.”
“As long as that’s not all you’re riding,” Fen adds.
What does that mean? Adam glares at Fen, who shoots him an innocent, if amused, look from under her lashes.
A little girl, about seven or eight, sidles up to Evie and reaches up to touch the rhinestone straps of her dress, each strap
glinting in the dim streetlights. So thin it would take nothing to tear them off. Just a light pull of the teeth. Adam groans internally, then shunts those thoughts from his mind. He takes
a deep swallow of his Tiger Beer, trying to ignore the interaction in front of him, which has grown uncomfortably adorable.
“Hey, sweetie,” Evie says to the girl in Vietnamese, her voice lowering a few octaves, soft and confidential.
“Xin chào, C?,” the girl whispers.
“How many snails did you eat tonight? Ten? Twenty?”
The girl grins. She’s missing a tooth in the front and one on the bottom. “I hate snails. I only eat cake.”
Evie nods solemnly. “Of course. Like a princess.”
“ You’re a princess,” says the girl worshipfully.
“But I’m not the one with the sparkling shoes,” Evie says, pointing to the girl’s jelly sandals flecked with tiny gold stars.
“Watch me twirl in them!”
Evie reaches out a hand and spins the girl around. She laughs giddily, bumping into Riley, who tries to hide his annoyance.
“Cute kid,” Riley grits.
“Come back here, Lan,” the girl’s mother calls.
She trips away, waving at Evie, whose grin is so brilliant that it washes her whole face in light. ?? c and Cherie settle the tab, while the rest of them clean their hands and faces with scented wet wipes.
Unwillingly, Adam pivots to Evie, standing just a few feet from him, that dress glowing red like an alarm. It softened him
to see her interacting with the little girl. It’s as if her restlessness momentarily stilled into peace, or something like
it. She’s never been tender around him, and somehow that little glimpse of her hidden heart feels as rewarding as finding
a pearl inside an oyster.
They wait for the private cars that will take them to Karaoke Luxury—no hulking tour bus for their entrance tonight. The other dinner group, the one Talia was part of, with the fancy cocktails and charcuterie plates, has probably already arrived at the karaoke club. Adam’s group has a minor setback when Connor wanders off on a mysterious shopping expedition and keeps them waiting for at least twenty minutes on the street.
There’s a shuffle nearby, and Adam turns to see what’s going on. Lan, the little girl from dinner, careens toward them, arms
outstretched for one last hug from Evie. At the last second, she trips on a purse on the ground and goes flying into the street,
her arms lifted like wings. At that exact moment, a moped tears down the alley from the opposite direction.
Adam can see it happening so quickly, yet for him, time is frozen. He imagines the worst-case scenario.
“Stop!” he shouts. “ Stop! ”
Without thinking, he lurches forward. He has a brief moment of déjà vu, thinking of how he stopped traffic for Evie and her
stupid rooster. The panic, the fear. The adrenaline.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Evie moving ahead. Stretching her arms as far as they will go, she pulls Lan from the
street, lightning-quick, so they land in a crumpled heap together. Adam steps between Evie and the moped, diverting it in
another direction. A loud screech shatters the air, and they choke in the sudden dust kick-up from the driver’s swerve. The
driver shoots an obscene gesture their way but disappears without incident.
“Fucking crazy drivers,” he says. Turns to Evie and asks, strangled, “Are you okay?”
“I think we’re fine,” she says shakily.
Evie picks herself and Lan up. Adam walks them back to safety, his hand resting on the small of Evie’s back. Despite the adrenaline
pumping between his ears, and probably hers too, they act as a coordinated team, as if they’ve saved hundreds of children
on the streets of Nha Trang together. He wants to pick her up, the way she did the child, scooping her onto his lap protectively, shielding her from anyone who could hurt her.
He’s seized with an unwelcome, all-too-vivid image of her lying in the street. Broken. He closes his eyes and swallows hard. Nope. Some things are off-limits. Like the thought of her ever getting hurt on his watch.
“Wow,” Riley breathes. “That could have been bad.”
Adam turns to Evie, who’s still cradling Lan, whispering something in her ear. The girl’s face is pale, shocked, as she belatedly
grasps how close she came to disaster. She nods at whatever Evie’s saying and clings to her neck. Lan’s parents rush up, taking
her from Evie’s arms. Apologizing for taking their eyes off their child. They shoot a grateful look at Adam too, then jog
away, murmuring comfort into Lan’s ear.
As soon as the child is gone, he’s next to Evie in a flash, running his hands up and down her arms. He bends to look into
her wide eyes.
“Did you get hurt when you fell?”
“Not much.”
Adam can see Evie beginning to shake. He pulls her to him, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You were so brave.”
Sweetheart? Where did that come from?
He can’t deny that the word, tender and intimate and full of unsaid feelings, slides easily off his tongue. He’s never used
endearments toward other women. But she pulls it out of him as easily as a snake out of a charmer’s basket.
She nods against his chest. There’s a kind of blooming there, an opening where her head is touching his heart. He’s stroking
her hair, not caring that everyone can see his tenderness toward her. In fact, he’s feeling downright feral about her. Let
anyone get in between them now.
What other woman would have thrown herself so readily into danger for a stranger? Impetuous, determined, breathtaking Evie.
Only after she steps away from him does he release her, though his arms feel empty without her weight, the feel of her featherlight
touch. He wants to pick her up and carry her straight to his hut, where he’ll lay her down on the bed and inspect every inch
of her. Running his lips over any purpling bruise, any jagged scratch, until she forgets everything except the feeling of
his tongue soothing all the tender, waiting parts of her.
“Nicely done,” Fen says, interrupting his thoughts. “You both deserve a stiff drink.”
The private cars pull up, sleek and dark. Adam helps Evie into one of them, then props her shins up on his knees to examine
them. He loves the weight of those long legs on him. How he has them trapped under his arms. She protests, but he continues
looking. Just a few scrapes on her ankles, but no blood. Fen squeezes Evie’s hand from the other side of the car.
“Okay, Dr. Dreamy,” Fen says, angling her eyebrows at him. “Now that you’ve made sure your girl’s as flawless as ever, can
we go get shit-faced and forget about homicidal Vi ? t motorists?”
Your girl. Adam grunts, releasing Evie’s ankle, trying not to let anyone see how much the words grab him. How nice they sound. He turns
to the window with a fierce frown.
She’s not a forever partner, he reminds himself. Ruby isn’t always right, but she’s right about that. Sure, Evie Lang is gorgeous and
compelling. Sure, she’s always interesting, always surprising. Sure , he wants to tear her clothes off every time she steps into a room and worship every single inch of her stupidly soft skin.
But she’s going to leave the damn country in less than two weeks. There’s no future in that.
Plus, it’s not like she’s gone out of her way to make her interest clear. So it’s a moot point. Isn’t it? She shoots a tentative smile his way, which dissipates all the thoughts from
his head except the ardent wish that every single person in the car would disappear, leaving them completely, dangerously
alone.
As soon as they arrive in the lobby of Karaoke Luxury, they locate the rest of the tour group milling inside. Echoes of music
waft from the rooms, strains of familiar Vietnamese and American songs, along with a chorus of off-key singing. Some of the
older folks had decided to go back to the hotel, so it’s mostly guests in their thirties and forties left, calling out their
favorite karaoke tunes. Celine Dion is a favorite with this crowd. The air carries a slightly floral scent, taut with promise.
Adam spots Talia near the entrance in a navy dress cut conservatively to her knee. She gives him a smile as he makes his way
over.
“How were the clams?” she asks.
“Plentiful. Slimy. Delicious,” he says.
“That’s a lot of adjectives!”
“How was the French food?”
“Cheesy. Rich. Incredible,” she answers. “France has always been a bucket list item of mine, and now it’s soared up the list.”
“I hope you’ll get there eventually.”
“What’s on your to-visit list?” she asks.
“Portugal. Chile. The Arctic Circle.”
“Oh! Slightly more exotic than my list.” She laughs in self-deprecation. “I think you’ll get to those places too, Adam. You
seem like a resourceful human.”
Talia makes him feel like he’s sitting near a warm fire. Comfortable. She’s kind and smart, not to mention lovely. So why
hasn’t he asked her on a date? Tonight, he tells himself. It’s the only way to get to know her better. After all, Pin went
on a date with her, and now he’s glowing every time he glances her way. This romance thing can’t be all that hard , Adam thinks. He wonders, though, why he’s not feeling even a hint of jealousy at the thought of Talia going on a date with
someone else. If anything, he’s glad for them. An unlikely, yet strangely rootable pairing.
Ruby leads them to the private room she’s booked. It’s a large and flashy space with three long leather sofas lining the walls.
Gold carvings run up to a recessed ceiling painted like a night sky, complete with rosy-cheeked cherubs with bare butt cheeks.
There’s a big television on one wall, resting on a shiny, tufted leather backing. Filigreed sconces cast a warm light.
It’s gaudy and opulent and the very definition of nouveau riche. Hugh Hefner meets someone’s fevered interpretation of a rococo painting. Adam’s parents would have had
a conniption in this room. But he finds himself admiring the decor anyway, not for its innate style, but for its sheer give-no-fucks
nature. Someone picked these furnishings because they liked everything, not because some interior design aficionado was telling them what to buy.
Everyone makes their way to a sofa of their choice, kicking off their shoes, sprawling cozily on top of each other. A server
makes his way around, taking their drink orders, while Ruby orders bar snacks for the group.
“Hey,” Connor whispers at Adam’s elbow. “Want some of this?”
He inclines a little vial toward Adam, gesturing for him to pour it into his newly acquired cocktail.
“What is that, man? Is it illegal?”
The drug laws are stringent in Vi ? t Nam, so it’s hard to get anything into the country. It’s also not something that you get a light slap on the wrist for.
There is literally a death penalty for drug trafficking. Adam wonders how Connor could have possibly found himself a dealer
so quickly, when savvy local residents can hardly penetrate the sophisticated—and highly secretive—underground network of
illegal substances.
Connor snorts, pushing his glasses up. “No way. I don’t fuck with that. This is bison semen mixed with caffeine.”
“Come again?”
Connor nods, a little smugly. “Exactly. It’s supposed to improve virility. Got it from this man at a stall in the market.
Actually, it might not have been a stall. He was just kinda standing there and pulled this from his pocket. Said it’ll change your life . It better. It cost me a fortune.”
Adam studies the vial dubiously. “I’m pretty sure that’s just rice water.”
“Mixed with cornstarch,” Fen adds, overhearing them.
Connor shrugs and dumps the whole thing into his drink. “Suit yourself. I’ll be flying high while the rest of you are wondering
how you wasted your youth.”
He sips, then coughs. “Uh. It’s kinda warm still? Tastes—”
“Like a great Friday night,” Fen completes with a wink.
Evie, overhearing this, has her hand clamped over her mouth, trying not to laugh. Adam crooks his head, as if to ask, Is this real life? She shrugs and raises a glass of sticky rice wine in a toast. The reddish-brown liquid sloshes slightly as she takes the
shot, clenching her eyes shut. Everyone cheers her on.
“A hero in more ways than one!” Fen toasts.
She hands them all shots. What the hell. He swigs the rice wine back. It’s the first of many rounds for all of them.
The night is a blur of terrible singing, strobe lights, and at one point, an impromptu strip show from ?? c that Ruby quickly interrupts with gritted teeth.
Adam sits next to Talia, and she’s a great sport, clapping at even the worst singers. She takes a shot or two, but remains
in perfect control, again revealing herself to be one of the most appropriate adults on this whole tour. She sings a shaky
yet earnest rendition of “Endless Love” that does nothing to stir him into anything more than warm admiration.
Then it’s Evie’s turn to take to the stage, after a small push from Fen and Riley. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a languor
to her eyes, a mischievous tilt of her lip as she picks out her song.
Onstage, she juts out her hip and says, “This one’s for the Love Yêu romantics out there.”
His heart gives an annoying, irrational jump. She’s pure starlight, eclipsing every other person in the room, so that all
he can see is her, glowing in that ridiculously sexy red dress, her shoulders shimmying with the frenzy of a cabaret dancer.
Free. That’s the word for her.
Seconds later, the jaunty strains of “Summer Nights” from Grease come on over the sound system. The crowd starts to whistle.
“Get it, babe!” Fen shouts.
Most everyone’s seen the film phenomenon, or at least they recognize the happy-go-lucky song with not-so-subtle innuendos.
Evie beams in the spotlight. She flips her hair as she begins to walk the stage and belt at the top of her lungs.
“Summer lovin’, happened so fa-a-a-ast. Met a girl... Shit, guys, this is a duet! Help!”
Connor hops onstage with her, driven by the bison semen, or the lure of Evie’s smile. “Crazy for me-e-e...”
Soon, everyone who knows any bit of the song, and even those who don’t, call out the lyrics flashing across the television screen.
Meanwhile, Evie is laughing and gulping out lyrics while twirling with Connor around the stage. The lights bounce off her
hair, catching the glint in her eye. She’s a dervish of fun. Adam has seen a few versions of Evie tonight, but this one—this
one is intoxicating.
He can’t hide the smile spreading across his face. He whistles long and loud between his fingers.
“She’s a pretty good singer, huh?” Talia says, studying him closely.
“She’s okay, I guess. A little flat.”
Truth is, Evie is no secret pop star, not like Fen, who’d commanded the stage earlier with her belting rendition of a Mariah
Carey song that left them all breathless. But there is something about Evie that no one can tear their eyes from.
“She’s captivating.” Talia corrects him with a gentle smile. “I never took you for a liar.”
Adam is about to answer when Connor begins heaving on the stage, in the middle of a chorus. Evie jumps back just in time to
avoid a pile of pale-colored vomit on her sandals. Suddenly everyone rushes up onstage, patting Connor on the back, grabbing
him bottles of water, a fistful of napkins. The music is forgotten.
“Oh, crap,” Ruby says, staring down at the vomit and a hunched-over Connor. “Are you okay?”
He lifts his head, a little wan, but mostly just sheepish.
He turns to Ruby with a hiccup. “I have some advice for you.”
“Okay,” she says, wrinkling her nose in a mixture of disgust and consternation as he dry-heaves again.
“Never—and I mean never —buy any back-alley substances from strange men,” he manages to get out, wiping his face.
“You did what ?” Ruby asks, nearly combusting.
?? c and Cherie grab a staff member to clean up the mess, while Ruby ushers Connor out of the room, against his ringing protests.
“Stay if you want,” she calls to the group over her shoulder. “I’m taking him back to the huts.”
“Wait up,” Talia says, standing. “I’m going to call it a night too.”
A few of the tour guests filter out with them, including Pin, Talia’s constant shadow. Adam begins to stand but pauses. He
doesn’t really want to go.
The music starts up again. One of the quieter tour guests, a venture capitalist from Boston with an affinity for pinstripes
and lukewarm tea, grabs the mic and throws down such an on-beat version of Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” that the group goes wild, pounding
fists and flinging coasters on the freshly cleaned stage with loud hoots. At some point, Fen tosses her strapless bra at the
venture capitalist, who catches it with one hand and lassos it over his head.
It’s a night for the books.
Afterward, when the singing has died down and they’re lingering over their last drinks, Adam sneaks a glance at Evie sitting
across the way, hair slicked to her neck in sweat-damp waves. She’s moved on to glasses of iced water, but there’s still that
buzzy, tense air around her. Her eyes are closed as she sways gently to the last of the ambient music, her lips moving just
a little. When she opens her eyes and sees him, she gives him such a beaming, open, joyous smile that his breath catches. It’s sunshine and sweetness, reminding him of the thrill of riding his motorcycle fast down
a country road. Mystery and abandon and sex, all in one smile. He can’t tear his gaze away.
This woman.
“Hey! Before we call it a night. One last parlor game!” Fen calls.
“What do you have in mind?” Riley asks, yawning.
Fen looks around and catches sight of an empty champagne bottle. She dangles it in front of them and says, with a challenging
lift of her chin, “Spin. The. Bottle.”