Chapter Twenty
W e kiss like we’ve been pining for it for decades…
centuries . It’s almost comical how desperate my lips and tongue are to dance with his, and based on his erection pressing into my thigh, I’m not the only one.
Are we both turned on by what we saw on The Magicians ?
Is fooling around merely a way to relieve stress over Marcia’s date, or are the sparks flying off us finally bursting into flames?
I’m too horny to care.
From beneath me, Adam’s lips slide from my mouth to my neck, sucking gently. I moan and readjust my position on his lap so that the soft and wet part of me that is aching with need hits the hard part of him that feels the best… right there . Over and over.
He cups my ass and jerks upward while I grind against him, my hands resting on his thighs for balance.
All the need I’ve been holding back—I’ve been too self-conscious to touch myself since he moved in—is bubbling up and coming to a boil.
Adam’s hands dip into the back of my jeans until his fingers meet with flesh.
He cups my ass and rocks me up and down on top of him.
I whimper, my teeth pressing down on my lower lip.
I rest one hand on his shoulder and slip the other under his T-shirt, running it along his smooth skin while I pump my hips.
I’m fully clothed, yet so close to coming apart at the seams.
Adam surges forward again. He tucks his head into the crook of my neck and groans.
Rocket lets out a loud bark and races to the front door.
I slip off the couch as Adam flings me from his lap without warning.
Standing over me, he looks horrified and runs a hand through his matted hair. “Shit. Sorry, sorry.”
I look up at him from the floor in a daze. I’m too consumed with unfulfilled need to comprehend the world around me. I hear mumbling from the hallway and the jingle of keys. My eyes widen.
Marcia!
Adam’s sweating. And still hard.
I leap off the floor.
Adam covers his erection and hoofs it to the bathroom.
I hear the sound of a key turning in a lock a moment before Marcia enters. I launch back on the couch and zip my jeans just in time for her to look my way from across the room.
She’s back early. I glance at my watch. I’m not wearing one. I plant on a smile. “How was the date?”
Adam exits the bathroom. “Yeah, how was it?” He lost his boner, along with the ability to look at me, it seems.
Her face crumbles. “It was awful!”
“ Ruff , Ruff! ”
Marcia kneels to kiss Rocket. “I’m okay, baby.”
Sufficiently reassured of her well-being, Rocket retreats back to Marcia’s bedroom.
I press a hand to my heart, the sexual encounter with Adam now behind me, at least for now. “Oh no.”
“What did he do?” Angry sparks fly from Adam’s eyes.
Marcia drops her purse on the coffee table. “Do we have any of that prosecco left?”
“I’ll open a new bottle.” I rise from the couch and rush to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, after Marcia changes into pajamas, we reconvene in the kitchen, and she recaps her night over glasses of prosecco.
“When I got to the restaurant, he was already at the table, along with a pile of pills in front of him like he was waiting until I arrived to take them. Before even saying ‘Nice to meet you,’ he went through the list of all the medications he’s on: Crestor for high cholesterol, Monopril for high blood pressure, Celebrex for arthritis, Zoloft for anxiety. ”
“Hot,” Adam deadpans.
Marcia takes a glug from her glass. “We’re senior citizens, I get it, but can we at least pretend to still be sexy for a first date?”
“You are sexy, Marcia! Sexy is not about age. It’s about…” I look at Adam. Why am I looking at Adam? Because he’s the epitome of sexy. Snap out of it! “What about Richard Gere?”
“And Michelle Pfeiffer. She’s totally sexy!” Even though this is the perfect time to present a united front while we list some of the sexiest of the over-sixty crowd, Adam avoids eye contact with me as if his own cholesterol, blood pressure, joints, and anxiety depend on it.
“I could have gotten past the meds—even bonded over the side effects of our high blood pressure medication—but then he went on a rant about his last several dates. This one wanted to sleep with him on the first date. He should be so lucky! One had been married twice already, to which I say, so what? I just can’t with Judgy McJudgersons. ” She side-eyes us in annoyance.
A smile slips out in the midst of her rant. I’m a terrible person. Marcia is in the aftermath of a brutal reentry into the single scene and I’m smiling . Yet I can’t help but feel a burst of pride for the main-character energy she’s bringing to this fiasco.
“Is it always like this?” She glances between us, pleading for us to say no.
At the same time, we say, “NO.” Left unsaid is that it’s often like this.
“Good, because I can’t wait to do it again as soon as possible.”
I choke on a sip of prosecco. “Wha… what?”
Marcia grins. “Tonight was a disaster, for sure, but the excitement? Getting dressed up? The optimism that maybe we’ll hit it off? I liked it. I liked it a lot. I want to keep trying.”
“That’s fabulous!” I raise my glass. “To trying!”
We all take a sip, then Adam shakes his head. “It’s all well and good you want to get back out there again, but I might need anxiety meds to get through it.”
My heart tugs even as a chuckle leaks out. I can’t resist sneaking a glance at him. My gaze locks on his lips and my mind flashes to how soft but firm they felt against mine. When I look up, he’s watching me too. The room gets hotter.
Marcia walks her glass over to the sink. “It’s past my bedtime.” She kisses Adam’s cheek. “Thank you both for sharing in my excitement. This was the most fun I’ve had in a long time!” She glances between us with obvious affection before retiring to her room.
Once she’s gone, it’s me and Adam alone in the kitchen again. The vibe is awkward with a capital A . He’s on one end by the refrigerator and I’m on the other side by the table. Even though it’s a small space, it might as well be the Atlantic Ocean.
Adam scrubs a hand across his face.
I decide to break the ice. “Well, that was a close call!”
He drops his hand and cocks his head at me. “You think?”
“What are you thinking?” I don’t even know what I’m thinking, but it would be nice to get a sense of where he’s at.
Carley and Gabe are right about one thing: I like Adam.
He’s kind. He listens. He cares. He reads .
His yummy appearance doesn’t hurt. And damn the boy can kiss.
He’s also packing serious heat between his thick legs.
But nothing’s changed. He’s still Marcia’s grandson. Getting involved with him is probably a lousy idea. If things go bad between us, it could ruin everything. I love my living situation (and Marcia) too much to risk losing it over a boy.
“It shouldn’t have happened. We were both worried about Marcia,” Adam says before walking to the pantry and predictably removing a bag of Cheetos.
I wonder if that’s all it is, but don’t dare ask. “True, true. And that scene in The Magicians .” I whistle.
Adam’s hand travels from his pecs down between his legs and his voice is breathy as he impersonates Alice. “Bite me, Quentin. Not there. Here .”
I breathe out a laugh. “Nothing good can come from doing it again. We live together.”
“You’re my grandma’s roommate.”
“And you’re my roommate’s grandson!”
Adam smiles. “We’re in agreement then? It was a one-time slip?”
“Yes.” I answer quickly, though my brain, heart, and other parts are one step behind and not as convinced. I’m dying to know if he’s struggling with the same thing, but it wouldn’t change anything.
“Goodnight, Brina.”
My heart skips a beat. “What did you call me?”
He frowns. “Brina.”
“Why?”
“It just slipped out.” His eyebrows furrow. “No one calls you that?”
I drop my gaze to my feet and back up at him. “Only my grandparents.” Nana Lena and Grandpa Lou called me Brina Bear. My mom does too, but only when she’s feeling sentimental.
His mouth forms an O , but he doesn’t comment.
“Goodnight, Adam.” I turn and walk away before he can respond.
Back in my room, I change into my pajamas. I skip washing my face and brushing my teeth because I’m afraid to run into him in the bathroom. I slip into bed. I try to read for school, but the words blur on the page as my eyes close. It’s been a day.
Behind my lids, Adam is everywhere. Straightening chairs in the library at work, snacking on Cheetos at home, under me on the couch, his eyes hooded as we rock together.
I flip to the fetal position. Considering we work and live together, keeping our distance to the extent we can is smart. It’s a good thing we both decided fooling around again is a bad idea.
Now to figure out how to stop thinking about his mouth on mine and daydreaming about a repeat performance, only minus our clothes this time.