Chapter 7
Chapter
“I still can’t believe you’re moving in with a total stranger .” Chloe holds down the flaps of the cardboard box as I tape up my books.
“Can you stop saying he’s a stranger? He literally knows Ethan.
” After finding out about Adam, Chloe went on an investigating spree, as most friends do, and made it her mission to find out if we had any mutual friends.
To our surprise, the guy I’m moving in with and the guy she’s casually sleeping with are from the same town on Long Island.
“He’s also genuinely nice and he’ll be good protection. ”
“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot.” She nudges me with her elbow.
“He’s not hot,” I say to her, but really to myself, because being attracted to my future roommate is not an option.
“You’re joking, right…?” Chloe says seriously. “There’s no way you can’t think he’s attractive. He’s six five and has that dark wavy hair and probably an eight-pack.”
“He’s only like six three…” I say.
“You guys are going to hook up,” she tellsme.
I choke on nothing. “What? No we’re not!”
“Oh my God, of course you are!” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Two attractive, single people living under the same roof?!”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I shrug. “We have a deal.”
“What? Your stupid deal that nothing is ever going to happen ?” Chloe says, using air quotes. “Do you know how many times I tell myself I’m not going to hook up on a first date? And then before I know it, I’m faking an orgasm.”
“That’s…” I make a face. “Did you ever think I have more willpower than you?”
“Yeah, but does Adam?” She raises an eyebrow.
“All it takes is him seeing you wrapped in a teeny tiny towel coming out of the shower for his testosterone to go wild. He’s going to say June, forget the deal, ” she says, putting on a deep voice that kind of sounds like Antonio Banderas.
“And you’re going to say okay !” she says in a high-pitched voice that sounds like my IQ is much lower than it is.
“Because no matter how much you try to deny it…you’re attracted to Adam. ”
“Okay, I just want to make it clear neither of us sounds like that,” I say. “And besides, even if I do decide to walk around half naked after a shower—which I won’t—it doesn’t matter, because I’m not Adam’s type.”
“You’re like one of the prettiest people I know…” Chloe frowns. “What’s his type?”
Fine, I actually don’t know Adam’s type.
I just know that guys like Adam who are tall, good-looking, athletic, and charismatic are the types of guys who go for people just like them.
There are certain women who are just out of the averageman’s league, and those are the women who people like Adam date.
“Not me,” I say. My phone vibrates in my back pocket and when I reach for it, I see a text from Adam flash across the screen. “Speak of the devil.” I hold it up to Chloe and she simply raises an eyebrow.
I’m going to Ikea, need anything?
We exchanged numbers and all those important details you should probably know about someone you’re moving in with. But this is the first time we’re actually texting.
A lot actually…but I don’t want to hijack your trip.
I set my phone down and go back to taping another box.
“Okay, I’ve got to head to class.” Chloe picks up her bag from my bed. “Let me know if you need any more help tonight.”
“If I need you to sit and watch me pack, I’ll let you know,” I say, but the irony is she’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever met. And the only person I know who got into law school, specializing in criminal law, of all things.
My phone buzzes again.
I’ll be there at 2.
At 1:59 p.m. Adam pulls up to the front of my apartment in a black sedan with the passenger window rolled down. He leans across the seat, ducking his head. “Hey.”
“I didn’t know you had a car.” I open the door and slide onto the seat. It’s surprisingly clean, and there’s something about being in a mode of transportation that’s not the subway that feels more personal than itis.
“Did you think I was going to make you ride the handlebars of my bike?” He turns to me with an amused look on his face.
“I assumed we were going to take the subway.” I tap the air freshener in the shape of a New York Yankees logo. “But now I know we’re living the life of luxury…”
“Don’t get used to it—it’s my parents’.” He pulls the parking brake and starts driving. “So, what do you need to get?”
“Um.” I pull open the list I made on my phone. “Mostly kitchen items, and stuff for my bedroom, but I wanted to ask what your thoughts were on furniture?”
“We should have some.” He nods.
“Cool, agreed. But are you bringing anything, or should we go in on some new stuff?”
“I have a couch,” he says. “It’s a good couch.”
“Great.” I delete the word couch from my list.
“But I don’t have a dining table.”
“The one in my apartment is technically mine, but it’s so old I’d rather get a new one.”
“We can split it.” He looks at his blind spot and switches lanes. “We should actually split everything we get today. I’ll be using the kitchen stuff as much as you are.”
“Perfect, because I can’t cook.”
His grin widens and it’s a nice feeling, knowing I’m the cause of it. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you some stuff.”
“What’s culinary school like?” I turn to him, genuinely curious.
“I love it. Really.” He turns his head to me, and his eyes flash in a way I haven’t seen before. “A lot of it’s technical, which is necessary, but still fun. It’s cool when we can create our own dishes and menus and stuff.”
“Okay, that sounds pretty cool.”
“I’ll make you something once we’re settled in,” he says.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I adjust my seat belt, suddenly self-conscious.
“I want to, it’ll be fun.”
I feel a smile fill out across my face, and I sit back. “Nobody’s ever cooked me anything before.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when I was a kid my grandparents would make me food, obviously. But never as an adult.”
His gaze falls on me, a moment longer than feels natural, then he turns his head back to the road.
“Well, it’s my pleasure.”
I turn away and look out the window because for some reason I’m blushing. “So, what made you want to be a chef?”
He rolls the sleeve up on his driving arm, and for the first time in my life, forearms are attractive.
“I’d always follow my mom around the kitchen as a kid. She let me make the pasta sauce for dinner with my grandma’s recipe. She was watching, but she like really let me make it. Cooking together sort of became our thing…and I just fell in love with it.”
“Wow,” I say under my breath.
“It’s stupid, I kn—”
“No!” I sit up. “Not at all—that’s actually beautiful.”
“You don’t have to say that.” Now he’s the one blushing.
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “I wish I had childhood memories like that.”
It’s silent for a moment, but he looks over and gives me an assuring look. It’s nice. Almost like he’s telling me I can share more with him at my own pace.
“Why did you move to New York?” he asks.
“Probably the same reason you did,” I say, and he nods.
“I fell in love with the city. When I lived in Toronto, we had to come here for a choir competition and it was truly the best forty-eight hours of my life, to this day. And then after high school, I gathered my savings, took the first bus here, and never looked back.” I smile at him, and he lets out a breathless laugh.
“What made you want to study theater?”
“Oh God.” I look out the window. “I don’t know, it’s the only thing that really brought me joy as a kid. Pretending to be someone else, escaping from whatever was happening. Plus, I’m a sucker for a musical number.”
I see a hint of a smile. “What’s your favorite musical?”
“ Les Misérables, ” I say. “Have you heard of it?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what it’s about.”
“Well.” I let out a chuckle, because anyone who knows Les Mis knows it can’t really be tied down to a logline. “It takes place in nineteenth-century France and follows the main character, Jean Valjean, an ex-convict who’s released from jail after nineteen years.”
“What did he go to jail for?” he asks.
“Stealing a loaf of bread for his sister’s starving kid.” I look at him.
“Damn,” he says.
“There are other storylines too, though,” I say. “Love triangles, prostitutes, broken dreams, abandonment—all those good things.”
“Holy shit…” He reaches for the middle console. He pulls out an auxiliary cord and hands it to me. “Let’s listen to it.”
“Really?” I turn to him, a little too excited, and he nods. I plug the cable into my phone, and we make it through half of the album before reaching IKEA.
Three hours and an embarrassing amount of money later, which I justify as my first investment as an adult, we’re parked back in front of my building. The engine sputters, and I reach for my bag of belongings in the backseat.
“It’s a good thing we’re getting everything delivered,” I say, not knowing where we would’ve stored our furniture otherwise.
“You know you have an amazing voice, right?” he says like he didn’t hear anything I just said.
“What?”
“Your voice,” he repeats. “It’s incredible.”
“Stop!” I throw my hands over my face, embarrassed. I’d made a conscious effort to control myself when listening to the soundtrack but, apparently, I didn’t succeed. “I wasn’t even really singing.”
His eyes widen. “You weren’t even trying?”
“I’m done here.” I cover my ears and step out of the car. “If you want to keep listening, I can send you the second half.”
“I’d rather listen to it with you. Let’s do it next week when we’re home,” he says.
“Okay, drive safe.” I close the door and adjust my bag over my shoulder.
“Night, June.”
When we’re home. That sounds nice.
A few weeks into us living together, I rarely see Adam.
Between shifts at the bookshop, my acting classes, his school schedule, and working on weekends, he’s usually out the door when I come home and vice versa.
It doesn’t take long for me to learn a small detail.
Adam Harper will always have a date planned on his night off, and rarely with the same person.
Our twenty-four-hour rule? It has yet to be in effect, because something else I learn is that Adam never brings a woman home.
My first night off in weeks I spend doing what I love best, reading a book with a cup of tea.
As someone who’s the type to read multiple books simultaneously, tonight I decide to finish my thriller.
It’s not the brightest idea, because by the time I finish, it’s almost eleven and I know I won’t be able to fall asleep.
Naturally, my plan of action is to turn on a rom-com.
So, I curl up on the couch, make a bowl of extra-butter microwave popcorn, and play My Best Friend’s Wedding.
About thirty minutes into the movie, Adam carefully walks through the front door, making sure to keep quiet until he realizes I’m awake.
“What are you doing up?” He sits on the couch beside me and grabs my bowl of popcorn. There’s a faint smell of beer on him, and I can tell he’s exhausted, but the way his hair is pushed back and his denim shirt is open, he still looks attractive.
“Couldn’t fall asleep.” I stretch out like a cat and then curl my legs back into my body. He watches me, smiling. “What?”
The sides of his mouth turn down as he shrugs. “You look cute.”
I laugh. “Is it the stained sweatshirt or the messy bun?”
“I think the flannel pajama pants and the glasses, honestly.”
“How was your date?” I adjust myself.
“Good.”
“And are we seeing her again?” I smile, anticipating the answer.
“Probably not,” he says as he puts a kernel into his mouth.
“Why not?” I turn onto my back and look at him.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t feeling it.”
“But I thought it was good. ”
“ Maybe I’ll see her again.”
“Are you a fuckboy?” I put an arm behind my head to get a better view of him.
He starts coughing. “What?”
“Hey, I only know the version of Adam that lives here. I don’t know what you’re like on dates. I don’t know whose texts you’re not responding to and what girls you’re making cry.”
“What about the girls making me cry?”
“I thought I heard a noise coming from your room the other night.”
He laughs and then puts his feet up on the coffee table. “I assure you, you are not getting a certain version of me.” He burps. “You’re getting the whole package, June.”
“Lucky me.” I turn onto my side to face theTV.
“So, what are we watching?” he asks.
“ My Best Friend’s Wedding. One of the best rom-coms of all time.”
“What’s happening?” His eyes stay focused on the screen.
“Well, Julia Roberts is in love with her best friend, Dermot Mulroney, but he’s engaged to Cameron Diaz, so she’s trying to break them up.”
“What the fuck, that’s messed up.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“What’s wrong with your ankle?” He looks down, and I’m unaware that I’ve been moving it in circular motions.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s been hurting the past few days. I think it’s from dance class.”
“Here.” He puts the popcorn back on the coffee table and pulls my leg on his lap and starts massaging.
For a moment, I feel the urge to pull away because his skin is touching my skin.
Even though it’s just the skin between my socks and pajama pants, it’s enough to distract me from the movie.
One of his hands is wrapped around my calf while the other kneads my ankle.
My mind becomes a blank slate, pulsing, yet I can focus only on where exactly his hands are.
Glancing at Adam, I see that he’s still focused on the movie. His eyes are dark, illuminating only when the light from the screen hits them.
I inhale and continue to watch Julia Roberts’ attempts to win the affection of her best friend.