27. Chelsea
CHELSEA
I’m nervous for my next date, even more than I was for the last.
Out of all the men, Adam is the biggest mystery to me, the one I can’t completely figure out. The one that makes me the most nervous. I mean, I know Jake is a flirt, and Sam is a sweetheart, but Adam...he didn't seem interested in any of this before, and now he wants to take me out on a date?
It's like a one-eighty, and I'm not exactly sure why it happened.
I mean, he didn’t seem opposed to sleeping with me, and he clearly likes it and wants to do it again, but he doesn’t have to date me for that.
Also, I did notice he was the last one to respond about wanting to be a father. He’s the one I know the least about.
So this date is more about scoping him out than anything.
Unlike with Sam, I don't expect an instant connection or flirtatious banter.
I expect it to be a little awkward, but hopefully enlightening by the end, and if anything, we can just agree to be friends.
Besides, I'm pretty sure I have feelings for Sam anyway, and he'll be the most obvious choice.
However, when I open the door, and Adam stands there looking dashing, it’s a little hard to remember that. It’s hard to swallow past the knot that suddenly forms in my throat.
The rugged masculinity oozes out of him, and he looks like he just stepped out of a GQ shoot. Even though he's just wearing a button-up and jeans, they look expensive.
They're not as color-coordinated as Sam's outfit, but that's because Adam isn't a color-coordinated guy. He's more salt of the earth, a raw, beautiful man who doesn't have to work hard at it, because he has an effortless charm.
Although I can still tell he put in effort, especially given the flowers he draws forward. They're lilies, not the classic roses.
"Noticed you had these in your vase and a couple of them were dead," he says. "Thought you might like some more."
I beam. "Thank you." Of course. He always seemed like the type who would give me a practical gift, rather than a purely romantic one. And somehow I like that about him. "They're pretty."
"You're pretty."
Just that phrase, said in his throaty voice, is enough to make me blush. I tuck my hair behind my ears and say, "You look very nice as well."
“I’m glad you like it,” he responds. "The cowboy boots were my mother’s doing, by the way, and if you hated it, I was going to tell her that.”
"You told your mother you were going on a date with me?” My eyes widen. I didn’t expect that from him. Somehow, I thought he would be the type to keep his dating habits to himself, if only because he seems like a very private person.
“No, at least not intentionally. I booked a reservation at a restaurant and forgot that she and I visited it while she was in town, so both our emails are on file. They emailed her about the reservation for two, and she figured it was for a date.”
“How come? She could have thought you were going with Jake or something."
He smirks. “Ironically, she did think it was with Jake.”
"She thought you were going on a date with Jake?"
"Yup. Thought we were finally making it official."
A smile teases the corner of my lips. "She thinks you and Jake have something going on?"
"Yeah. My whole family thinks that it's just a matter of time until I come out of the closet, no matter how many times I tell them that Jake simply isn’t my type."
I snort at that, and he smirks as he continues, “But then after calling Jake, she figured out it wasn't him, she called me to interrogate me about who I was going on a date with and involved herself in every part of my getting ready process."
“Oh.”
“I didn’t tell her your name or anything else," he says. “I know you would probably hate that.”
“I mean, it’s too early, right? This is just an experiment after all.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Experiment."
A dark look passes over his face, and it has a knot growing in my belly until I blurt out, “You know you don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Be here, going on this date with me. I get the sense that you don’t want to.”
“I wouldn’t say that," he says. “Dates just aren't something I do very often. In fact, I haven’t been on a proper date since college.”
“Seriously.”
“Yeah.”
“So how do you..” I was going to say get his needs met, but then I realized how silly and downright naive that sounds. He hears the unsaid words anyway, a roguish smile spreading across his lips. “I get by.”
I roll my eyes even though the smile has my belly flip-flopping.
“You ready?” he asks, and I nod.
He puts a hand on the small of my back, and I'm hyperaware of that hand as he leads me down the stairs to his truck and opens the door for me for good measure.
The car ride is silent for the most part. It’s not a relaxed silence like it was with Sam, and it’s not even really awkward. The only word I have to describe it is intense. I’m so intensely aware of him, of how he smells, how his hand grips the steering wheel, how he drives.
Which also means I’m aware of the vague frown on his face
Once again, insecurity starts to set in. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to go on a date with me, but he feels obligated to because his friends dragged him into this. Or because I may or may not be carrying his child.
I don't want things to be awkward, neither do I want him to simply be with me because of the baby.
I sigh again and say, "You know you really don’t have to do this.”
“Meaning?’
“Taking me on this date to appease Sam and Jake. Just because they want me, you don’t have to…"
He does something unexpected then. He laughs, loud and long and noisy.
His laughter bounces around the entire car, and it’s so throaty and rich that I realize I’ve never heard him laugh before.
I’ve barely ever seen him smile. But he has such an addictive laugh, I feel my own smile growing in response.
"What?" I ask. "Did I say something wrong?"
“You think I’m going out with you because of those two knuckleheads?"
“You're not?
"No," he says. "It's the opposite, actually. I'm here despite them."
"What do you mean?"
He spares me a look before he speaks. "Part of the reason I held back in the first place was because of them and not wanting to fight over you. But I've always wanted you. I don't think there's a red-blooded male alive who doesn't want you."
My breath catches. It's an exaggeration, of course. Plenty of men don't want me. But he doesn't make it sound like it.
"I mean, you can want me sexually, but that doesn't mean we have to go on a date."
"I want to go on this date," he says as we come to a stop for a traffic light, and shoots me a look that makes me melt.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm not really used to this, and I didn't realize that I was probably worrying you by not talking."
“It’s okay.”
“No it's not. I want to be here. Not because of the baby and not because of the guys but because I want to.”
“But why?” I whisper I don't get it why these three attractive men want me, why they’re willing to date me together.
He stares at me for some time, then simply shakes his head and looks away. “You have no idea how special you are, do you?”
My heart pounds. I want to ask what he means by that, but at the same time, I’m terrified. I swallow and look away.
When we finally arrive at the restaurant, we walk through the swinging doors at the discreet entryway, accented with limestone walls, tinted glass, and dark metal. The acoustics of the interior mutes sound, giving an intimate feel to the restaurant that just oozes class.
“I wish I’d known earlier we were coming here,” I whisper. “I feel very underdressed.”
Everyone else is wearing designer, or at least something that looks like it.
His eyes run down my body, returning with lingering heat that makes all my apprehension give way to desire.
“What are you talking about?" he says. “You’re the most beautiful person here.”
My heart starts racing even as I tell myself not to take it seriously, and tell myself that he’s just saying that to be nice.
“You haven’t even looked at anyone else here,” I quip.
“Exactly,” he responds, and he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make light of the moment the way I do. He stares me right in the eyes, not letting me escape from his gaze or hide from the compliment, like he knows I want to.
I blush deeply and clear my throat. “Thank you."
It sounds dumb to my ears, but I don't know what else to say. Thankfully, the hostess comes around to lead us to our seat so he can take his eyes off me.
Good. Just that short bit of eye contact was nearly enough to give me a heart attack.
We’re led to a cozy booth in the far left of the room, with a gorgeous view of the pier.
“Wow,” I comment. “Best seat in the house.”
“It is. But next time, when the weather’s better, we’ll go for the rooftop. The view there is even better.”
Next time. It implies that he wants more dates with me. I shouldn’t let that sway me because he could very well be lying through his teeth, but a lot of silly romantic thoughts filter through my brain anyway.
Next time.
“So,” I say after the hostess takes our drink orders and leaves to prepare the first course. “Tell me about yourself. I realize I don’t know anything about you.”
“There’s not really much to know,” he says. “I grew up in a very average home in Oklahoma, and went to NYU for college, which is where I met Sam and Jake. I’m the oldest of eight.”
“Damn,” I exclaim, before I can catch myself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just meant…”
“No, it’s okay. That’s totally worthy of an expletive.
” His eyes twinkle. “Yeah, I don’t know what my parents were thinking, having that many kids.
They definitely could not afford it, and they were both very busy people.
My dad was in the military for most of my childhood, and my mother was a nurse who really loved her job and did not want to give it up.
Which is great, but what that meant was that we rarely saw them. ”
“And a lot of the childcare fell to you. Right?” It makes sense, then, why he was apprehensive about the pregnancy.
“Right.” He shrugs. “I’m not resentful over it, at least not anymore. I've worked a lot of it out in therapy, but I definitely won't be having that many hopefully."
I nod, but something in my head sighs. He does therapy.
I can't help but be impressed.
It was difficult to even talk to Eric about seeing a therapist with me to work out our issues, or even alone.
He had deep anger and trust issues, and though he had never hit me or even yelled much, he could sometimes go days without talking to anyone, simply seething over something minor.
I told him that wasn’t normal. Told him that he needed to talk to someone, but according to him, therapy is for people who are too weak to handle real life.
Not that I ever believed him, but I don’t think anyone could look at Adam and call him weak. Even as he sits there, he oozes masculinity, power, and a self-assurance that is just so damn attractive.
“Therapy, huh?” I say with a smile. “Now I know how you deal with Sam and Jake on a daily basis.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Therapy definitely helped with that, too."
“When did you start going?”
“After I got discharged. I did an eight-year stint, after which it was recommended to go see one for adjustment. I didn’t think I needed it since nothing especially terrible happened where I was stationed, but it turned out that I did need it.
There’s just something about being in another part of the world and seeing the way other people live that can get to you.
I mean…” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know how to explain it.
” “I think I know exactly what you mean. In college, I did an exchange program in Zimbabwe, where we helped volunteer at a women’s shelter.
That was the single most defining moment of my life.
Nothing terrible happened, but it definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things I was willfully ignorant about. "
“Yeah. Except this place was probably even worse. They'd been through wars before, and they didn't like us being there very much, which I totally understood. That’s kind of why I didn’t end up renewing. There was nothing really here for me stateside, but the more time passed, the more I started to feel less and less like there was anything for me there either. It kinda seemed like maybe they might be better off without us.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I'm wrong."
"I don't think you are," I say. "But even if you are, I think that's okay too."
He smiles and then reaches over, stroking my cheek and running his thumb down it. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“You should.” I surprise myself with my boldness, but I don’t regret it as he leans forward to capture my lips in a mind-scrambling, bone-tingling kiss. He tastes like coffee and mint, and a flavor that has me sucking on his tongue and wanting to drag him across the table.
When he leans back, I see stars for a second. My gaze is first drawn to his self-satisfied smile as he rests against his seat.
But then, for some reason, my eyes flicker over his shoulder. I don’t know what draws it, maybe movement or instinct or something else.
And I’m met with familiar eyes
My breath stops. Jaw drops.
It’s my worst nightmare.
My brother is sitting across from us, and he’s staring right at me.