Adam pulled his shorts up and zipped them. He watched as I gathered my stuff in my eagerness to escape. It was time for me to make a swift retreat. I had been in town for two weeks, and I had already had sex.
With Adam Ducate.
My feeble brain couldn’t handle the overload.
“I need to go,” I muttered, pushing past Adam in my hurry to leave.
“Wait a minute, Meg, don’t just run away.”
“I am not running off. I need to get home. Mom’s probably waiting for me,” I lied. I couldn’t look at him.
But I had to. My eyes were drawn to him always. His hair hung in his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed. And he looked at me with an expression that made my insides quiver.
He took my hand and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t go, Meg. Let’s watch the last movie. Maybe I can take you to dinner afterward.”
He leaned down to kiss me.
I let him.
But then my mind engaged and stopped letting my vagina make all the decisions. I stepped out of his embrace.
“This doesn’t mean anything, Adam,” I told him.
It didn’t.
It couldn’t. I wasn’t even sure I had forgiven him. Mind-blowing sex didn’t equate ‘all is well.’
“Meg—”
I held up my hand, stopping him. “I need to go. Don’t follow me, please.” I pressed my purse to my chest like a shield. “I’ll see you Monday.”
I turned and all but ran from the theater, leaving Adam behind.
Okay, so I was running.
Chapter 13
Adam
I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My mind wouldn’t shut off.
Neither would my body.
I’d been sporting a monster case of wood for hours. Who needed Viagra when I had Meg Galloway?
If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed what had happened.
I had gone to the movies in a fit of self-pity. Kyle had invited me to his house for a day of drinking beer and smoking meat on the grill, but I declined. The conversation with Meg on Friday had fucking upset me, damn it.
I was angry with her, sure. She jumped to the worst-case scenario about me every time. Would I ever be able to convince her I wasn’t the jackass she had painted me up to be in her mind? She thought I chose Chelsea over her. When I was seventeen years old, I hadn’t realized how my actions had impacted her. I thought she was being petty. Holding onto grudges that were a waste of energy.
Chelsea had acted like she was upset that Meg disliked her. She claimed she didn’t understand where the animosity came from. How quickly I forgot the long list of shit she had dished out over the years; Chelsea had been able to paint a completely whitewashed picture. Her deceit had always been so damn beautiful.
I had known Meg’s hatred of Chelsea was pervasive and soul-deep, but I had also overestimated my ability to make my best friend see reason. I honestly believed that I could broker peace or something. That I would be a one-man United Nations and end the war between the two of them.
When I think back on teenage Adam Ducate, I wanted to wring his fucking neck. He could be way too arrogant and much too naive. He never really thought things through.
My marriage to Chelsea was a case in point.
But she had snowed me. Spectacularly and totally.
Losing my virginity had addled my brain. It wasn’t just girls who turned into emotional headcases the first time they had sex. I didn’t dip my wick for the hell of it. Despite my alpha tendencies, I wasn’t Jeremy Wyatt. I didn’t fuck around. I didn’t sleep with every pretty pair of legs I came across. I lost my virginity to Chelsea and had convinced myself that we had a future.
Except for a string of random one-night stands during our brief break up while I was in law school, I could count my sexual partners on one hand. Well, two hands, now.
Because I had just had sex with Meg Galloway. In a movie theater.
I rolled onto my side, glancing at the clock. It read at 3:30 in the morning. I was supposed to go fishing with Kyle in five hours, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about my dick in Meg’s hot, tight pussy. Her legs over my shoulders as I fucked her with my tongue.
Okay, so the location hadn’t been ideal, but it was the best sex I’d ever had. It was intense