Chapter Thirty-Four
T he dog comedian was no Jim Gaffigan but his jokes, mostly centered on over-the-top dog owners, were funny.
The warm feeling in my heart over Marcia refusing to let me stay at home and do dishes while she and Adam enjoyed themselves lasted all night…
a reminder that our friendship isn’t any less important to her just because her grandson is back in the picture.
But the park was crowded, and for the entire hour I was hyperaware of Adam right next to me—his throaty laugh, his long fingers stroking Rocket’s fur, his grapefruit scent.
My only consolation was that he seemed equally tuned in to my presence.
We’d laugh at a joke and catch eyes. Or he’d lean into me so his large body pressed against my side before playing it off as accidental and stepping away, taking his warmth with him.
And now it’s two days later and I’m trying to focus on work while he’s across the floor shelving returns and wearing jeans that once again make his ass look amazing.
I’m well aware, having seen said ass up close and naked, that it’s not the jeans, but even Jeremy Allen White’s butt doesn’t look perfect in every pair of pants.
I force my gaze away from him and focus on the patron in front of me at the circulation desk. “Is your last name spelled o - d - e - r or o - e - d - e - r ?” She asked me to check if the branch has a copy of her novel.
“ O - d - e - r . Gwen Schroder.” The woman, who’s probably only a few years older than me, bites down on her lower lip. “This is my local branch and I’d be so excited if you had a copy here. I could have checked online, but I wanted to see for myself.”
“I totally understand! Let’s see.” I type her name into the catalog and smile when I see a title come up. “A copy of Clear for Disbelief was just returned today. Is that the one?”
Her blue eyes widen. “Yes!” She claps a hand against her heart. “Oh my god. So it’s somewhere in the library right now ? And someone actually took it out?”
I chuckle. Her excitement is endearing. “Yes and yes. Our page is probably shelving it as we speak. Go ask him.” I point at Adam. “Tell him I sent you over.”
She looks over her shoulder at Adam and back to me. “I will. Thank you!”
“My pleasure. Congratulations on the book!”
Since there’s no one else in line, I watch her approach Adam.
I can’t hear what she says, but I clock the understanding that washes over his face followed by a huge smile before he rummages through the cart, pulls out the copy of her book, and hands it to her.
She hugs it to her chest for a second then returns it to Adam, who reads the back.
As the two chat, something sour swirls in my gut.
They’re two extremely attractive people of similar age who share an interest in books.
She’s a published author, which is super impressive, and her reaction to seeing her novel at the library was adorable, which probably means she’s not an asshole.
And Adam is a whole damn meal. Since we’re not sleeping together anymore, not that we were even exclusive, he’s free to pursue someone else.
Gwen removes something from her purse… a bookmark… and hands it to Adam. He takes it and…
Shit. He’s looking at me. They’re both looking at me.
Why? My hands sweat and I wipe them along my jeans, willing myself to pull it together.
I square my shoulders and channel the Sabrina of Sunday…
the Sabrina who absolutely caused Adam to walk into a chair…
or at least the Sabrina whose breasts made Adam walk into a chair.
By the time this mental transition from jealous mouse to fierce goddess is complete, they’re not looking at me anymore.
Adam’s returned to his shelving and Gwen is walking in my direction with a huge smile.
“That was one of the best moments of my life.”
I want to ask if she’s referring to seeing her book in a library or meeting Adam. Instead, I offer my congratulations again and resume trying to focus on work and not the perfect fit of his jeans.
After school that night, I pop my head into Marcia’s open room to say hi, only to be greeted by a shirtless Adam.
“Seriously?” It comes out before I can stop myself.
Adam grunts and lets the king-size mattress he’s raised with his palms fall against the box spring. “Seriously what ?”
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. “You had to take your shirt off to flip Marcia’s mattress?”
He swipes his hand against the back of his neck, grinning when he notices me tracking the motion. “It’s heavy. I knew I would sweat. Why would I soil a perfectly clean shirt?”
I shrug. I don’t have a good answer and refuse to give him the answer I do have—that I’m inconveniently turned on by his bare chest.
He crosses the room until he’s standing right in front of me. “Does my bare chest bother you, Sabrina?”
I lift my chin, holding my breath. “Not at all.” I clench my thighs.
His eyes darken. “Then why won’t you look at it?”
I drop my gaze to his chest and right back up. “Done.”
He leans forward so we’re eye level. “You know what I think?”
I gulp. “What?”
He wets his lips.
My own chest heaves obnoxiously. Logically I know that if I don’t breathe soon I might asphyxiate myself, but my lungs won’t cooperate.
“I think you’re afraid to look at my body because then you’ll be forced to admit you want me.”
The hypocrisy of what he just said springs my lungs back into action and I take a deep inhale. “Like you admitted to wanting me in my tank top the other day?”
He shrugs. “That’s easy. I admit it. I wanted you then. I want you now. I even told that Gwen person at the library it wouldn’t be fair to give her my number because I’m too into you.”
My body goes still. “You did?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I’m so unnerved by his sincere expression, all I can manage in response is, “Oh.”
“I like you, Sabrina.”
I hate how much I wanted to hear that. Needed to hear it. I drop my gaze to his bare stomach, letting it linger this time. It’s too much to resist. “Where’s Marcia?” I trace a finger from his belly up his sternum and place my palm over his heart.
It thumps against my hand. “On a date.”
I blink. “Another one? Same person as before?”
He cages me against the wall. “Don’t change the subject.”
My eyes softly close and I feel the heat of his mouth against mine. He traces my lower lip with his teeth and draws me into a kiss. My legs wobble as I sink into it, raking my hands through his hair, until he breaks away and whispers, “I miss you,” in my ear.
I stroke the back of his neck. “I miss you too.” My body aches with need.
“If you agree to move out, we can stop this stupid competition and be together.”
I jolt out of his embrace while an army of emotions battle for prominence: anger, humiliation, disappointment. “Are you for real?”
“What?” He has the nerve to look all innocent.
My hands curl into fists. “The same is true if you move out!” Before he can respond, I wiggle out of his way and into the hallway. “Conceited jerk!”
He laughs at my back. “So I guess you don’t want to forfeit?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I march to my room and slam the door behind me.
I flop onto my bed and scream into my pillow.
I can’t believe I fell for Adam’s tricks.
Except I can because he’s so convincing with his smoldering gazes, romantic declarations, and passionate kisses.
It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s part of the game.
I want to hide out in my room for the rest of the night while I recover from my emotional riptide, but my schoolbag is still in the living room and it’s not like I can study without my notes.
I’m not in the mood to do homework anyway.
What I want to do is zone out to trashy television.
If I can do that while showing Adam I’m not at all affected by our kiss, even better.
With that, I toss the pillow I’m still holding over my face across the bed and stand up.
Adam’s conveniently still in Marcia’s room so I grab my purse and get comfy on the couch with a blanket around my legs even though it’s May and turn on the newest tell-all episode of Ninety Day Fiancé .
I check my email against a backdrop of the latest season’s cast revealing inside scoops that the audience never saw.
While scrolling from the bottom up, past emails from the Skimm , Refinery29 , Library and Information Science News , the Newsette , and Teen Librarian Toolbox , a new email message comes in from Verizon at the same time a notification pops up from the app.
I read the notification and my breath hitches.
My bank has declined my automatic phone payment this month due to insufficient funds.
I sit up and throw the blanket to the floor.
This can’t be right. I close out of the Verizon app and log in to my online banking app.
I should know how much money I have—give or take fifty dollars—but I haven’t checked in a while, a nugget of information that would frustrate my mother the way people refusing to leave the library at closing time frustrates me and my fellow librarians.
Within seconds, my current balance is displayed prominently on the screen and my pulse races: $98. 73.
A chill runs through me. How? It can’t be!
My first instinct is I’ve been robbed. Someone has hacked my debit card and stolen all my money!
Then reality sets in: no one else is to blame for my money mismanagement except me.
I deflate like a faulty air mattress. On the bright side, even Carley can’t argue the impossibility of my going to Europe when I don’t even have enough money in my checking account to cover automatic phone payments.
I curl into the fetal position and try not to cry.
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable on my couch.”
I raise my head slightly to see Adam standing over me holding Marcia’s winter comforter. I heard her ask him to store it at the top of the closet until the fall. I drop my head back to the pillow.
“You’re not even going to say something about it not being my couch?”
I sniffle.
I hear the comforter drop to the floor. “Shit. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I mumble into the pillow.
He squeezes next to me on the couch. “I’m sorry I was an ass before. You’re just a formidable opponent. Funny, sexy, and well-read. The best kind.”
I know he’s trying to make me laugh but I just can’t take the mixed messages on top of everything else. “Stop it. Believe it or not, not everything is about you.”
“So tell me what this is about.” There’s not a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
At the risk of falling for his soft-and-gentle act again, I sit up and hand him my phone open to the bank notification. At least he put a shirt on.
He takes it from me, his eyes widening as he reads the message.
“I have less than a hundred dollars in my bank account. Go ahead and say it. If only I’d paid with a check this wouldn’t have happened. You know you want to.”
“The check would have just bounced. And no, I don’t want to.” He frowns. “Just because we disagree on what living situation is best for Marcia doesn’t mean I want the worst for you.”
“Oh. Thanks.” My voice quakes. I shouldn’t have bitten his head off when he was just being nice. I dip my head and rub the back of my neck. “I can’t believe I let it get this far.” I’m talking about my pathetic bank account, although this could also refer to my competition with Adam.
I make a mental list of where all the money went—groceries for dinner, ice cream at Van Leeuwen for the three of us after the comic show (which I insisted on paying for to prove whatever I was trying to prove), lunch with Carley, Starbucks between work and class, takeout dinner at Westside Market after school.
I’d have to look at the app to see what else, but the point is, I spent more money than someone with very little money to begin with should spend, which amounted to all the money I had in the bank aside from $98. 73.
Adam swallows, then speaks. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but maybe you should tell your mom.”
My ribs squeeze. He’s right. I don’t want to hear this. Asking my mom for money is a last resort. I’ll get paid again before rent is due in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I’ll cool it with the spending, and I have a credit card for emergencies. “The first thing I need to do is call Verizon.”
Adam nods. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
I spend the better part of the next hour alternating between bypassing instructions to press one, two, or three depending on the reason for my call and listening to elevator music on hold.
At one point, Adam brings me a Trader Joe’s Way More Chocolate Chips cookie.
At no point does he raise the volume on the TV or ask me to relocate to my room.
Eventually, I get through to a human being and arrange for an extension of time to pay my bill.
Late payment fees will apply but at least my coverage won’t be interrupted.
Even so, I can’t sleep that night. And it has nothing to do with my disastrous financial situation and everything to do with Adam’s kindness. I’m more conflicted than ever.