Kissing the Shy Guy - Stephanie Street Page 0,8

but unless you can sing West Side Story with me in two months in New York, I’m not sure there’s anything you can do.”

Adam grinned. “The Sharks and the Jets?” He sang the first two lines of Tonight with perfect pitch.

“You know West Side Story?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

“Didn’t I just tell you Diana Sheridan is my sister? Name a musical,” he dared me. “I bet I can sing every song without missing a note or lyric. West Side Story is one of her favorites. We must have watched it a thousand times as kids. I can probably even recite the dialogue.”

I frowned. “Isn’t Diana a lot older than you?”

Adam nodded. “By five years. Her dad married my mom when I was only three. She was eight. We have another sister, Daphne, three years older than Diana. When she turned twelve, our parents started leaving us home with Daphne babysitting. Most of the time, those two ignored the rest of us while they watched movies.” He shot me a wry look. “Always musicals. The Sound of Music. Annie. Singing in the Rain. The Music Man.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “And, of course, West Side Story.”

Adam played the guitar in a garage band. I couldn’t picture him singing along to The Sound of Music. With his leather jacket and black clothes, he seemed more likely to hang out in a bar and ride a motorcycle than watch musicals.

The rest of us, he’d said. I turned to him. “Just how many sisters do you have?”

The tips of Adam’s ears turned bright red. He ducked his head with either embarrassment or resignation; I wasn’t sure.

“Six,” he admitted. “Two older and four younger.”

“Six?” I asked, mouth gaping. “You have six sisters?”

He nodded, still looking at the floor. The long hair on top of his head fell forward over his eyes. “Yep, six.”

No wonder he didn’t talk much. He’d probably never been able to get a word in edgewise his entire life. Six sisters! I only had one, and that was plenty. But Melly was different.

My problems momentarily forgotten, I had to know all about this sister situation. The poor guy. “How old are they? The younger ones?”

“Seventeen, fifteen, thirteen, and eleven.”

“Wow.”

“I know,” he sighed

We sat close, having leaned closer as we talked. His body’s heat warmed the front of mine like the heat from a campfire, except he smelled better. Spicy and clean, but still hot. It had been a long time since I’d felt this aware of a guy, even Josh. It was weird to experience it with Adam, especially thirty minutes after Josh broke up with me.

“I’m sorry about Josh,” Adam whispered. He put his hand on my arm and squeezed. Adam was a toucher, not in a weird or creepy way, but sweet, sincere. And that was terrifying.

I needed to go. Since when did I do sweet? I didn’t do sincere. None of that would ever get me what I wanted. What I needed was a plan. And a new partner. Kindness came with a price, and I couldn’t afford anything right now. My bank had been over-drafted.

I rose from the floor and picked up my backpack. “Thank you for listening.” I cringed, remembering. “And for letting me cry on your t-shirt. I appreciate it. But I need to get going.”

Adam jumped to his feet. If he thought I was acting weird, he didn’t show it, only tipped his head, acknowledging me.

I hurried out of the room, out of the school, and into my car. Maybe I’d felt a spark of attraction, but that was neither here nor there. I didn’t have time for romance. I didn’t have time to even think about romance. My boyfriend had just dumped me and ruined my chances for happiness all in one fell swoop. Nothing could fix that, especially not daydreaming about Adam Smith.

“Jenna! Is that you?” Mom called as soon as I opened the front door.

“Yeah!” I answered, wishing I could ignore her.

“Come back to the kitchen. Tell me about your day.”

I set my backpack at the bottom of the stairs so I wouldn’t forget it later, then skirted around the edge of the family room to the kitchen.

Mom glanced up from the sink of dishes she washed to smile at me. “I made some cookies if you want one. They’re in the pantry.”

“What kind?” Sometimes when she was on a health kick, she made super gross cookies.

Mom made a face, knowing exactly