when we were younger. Another one from when we were crowned homecoming king and queen in high school. A few medals and trophies of Adam’s. A newspaper clipping of what an athlete Adam Greene was and how Division One schools were bidding on him due to his older brother Xavier already having a killer start at his college.
There are a lot of pictures of Adam’s family and one of him and his mom when he was younger. Then I realize these pictures aren’t from our house together—these are from his room. His childhood bedroom.
It was right after our high school prom and I’d brought him over the framed picture. Marla and Hank were gone. We were allowed to be in his bedroom but with the door open. Since his parents were gone, he shut the door and we laid on his bed side by side.
He turned to face me, his hand sliding under the hem of my shirt, running back and forth along my bare skin.
“So they say you’re the next big football star,” I said, reading over the article again from the fall season.
He took it out of my hands and put it next to his bed. “Forget that. We’re going to Anchorage.” He nuzzled his face in my neck, his hand sliding up my torso toward my breast. “We only have an hour before they get back.”
“Are you going to hate me in ten years?” I turned toward him and his hand pulled my body flush against his.
He kissed the tip of my nose. “We’ve been over this. I want this.”
“I can’t have you hate me. I’d never be able to live with myself.”
“Relax, I’m good. As long as I’ve got you, I’m happy.” He kissed my lips, but I broke off the kiss right away.
“You sure?”
“Yes, now we have fifty-five minutes until they get home.” His hand slid up my back and unclasped my bra. “Whoops.”
“What if Chevelle or someone comes home?”
“I’m the only one here and since you were so kind to bring over that framed picture of us, it’s my responsibility to give you a proper Greene thank you.” His lips found my collarbone, and for a moment, I lost myself in his intoxicating touch.
“Is this the way all the Greenes say thank you?”
He chuckled into my skin on the way down to my breasts. “Only to special people.” He peeked up through his eyelashes. “In case you’re wondering, you’re the most special of them all.”
I laughed until he flipped open the button on my jeans. Then he rose on his knees and I opened my legs wider.
Since we’d first had sex after prom, there’d been no more making out, no more stopping at second base. Hell, we never even stopped at third unless I was giving him a blow job.
He shimmied my pants down my body with my help and lit up looking over me, as though he couldn’t believe I was his. As though I was the last Christmas gift under the tree—the one he’d asked for hundreds of times but never thought he’d get. I was addicted to that look, drunk on the fact that I’d somehow found my soul mate when I’d only been thirteen.
The flashback fades, although I remember how his bed squeaked as he pushed inside me after putting on a condom. The way he was so gentle and sweet and loving. The way we fumbled through movements like an unchoreographed dance. Nothing fluid with motion, but a lot of “hold on,” “I got it,” “oh wait,” “maybe we need to.” But that was also the fun. Us finding our groove together. Teenage exploration at its best.
A knock interrupts my memory and I shove everything in the box, rise from the bed, and inch open the door.
“Just seeing if you were up.” Adam’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that hugs the muscles in his chest and arms. “Want me to make you an egg since you like them now?”
“Sure.”
I open the door wider and he peeks in, his grin turning to a frown for a moment. “I see you found the boxes?”
“I did. Thank you.”
I should tell him that one box brought back a memory, but I hold back that information. I feel as though I’m slowly torturing him on some level by making him relive our life—the same one I chose to walk away from.
So instead, I smile and follow him to the kitchen, where I help him make eggs for what I think is the first time.