“I’m getting the hell out of here.” It didn’t surprise me. I knew—everyone knew—that Adam possessed too much talent to just waste away in our modest little city. He was destined for more, for bigger things, and I ached to have that same kind of calling. “I think Los Angeles is what everyone expects, but I want to go east.”
“New York?” I asked, trying not to let disappointment color my voice. In all the years Adam Oliver and I had attended school together, I had never once had a conversation with him the way I was now. I didn’t need to feel some misplaced sense of loss when there was nothing for me to grieve.
“Maybe not that far. I’ve got a kid sister and my gram to look after here.”
I knew better than to ask about his parents. His mom had died a couple of years back and everyone talked about his dad. In middle school, the stop sign at the crosswalk had been taken out by Adam’s dad one night when he’d had too many drinks. Being that Amber Lake was a smallish town, everyone knew who’d caused it. And Adam, being the son of the guy who had messed up, publicly, many times, had been the butt of many jokes.
I never engaged in that kind of gossip myself, but I hadn’t ever taken action to shut it down either. I felt shame, knowing how many conversations I had listened to and remained silent. Too afraid to rock the boat, to even so much as whisper my disagreement.
“You went quiet.” His voice was low and beckoning. I met his eyes, saw them searching mine. Much like he had when we’d he’d first greeted me that night, though with none of the contempt he’d held then.
I licked my lips, feeling my breath go heavy as he continued to stare at me. His arm was resting behind me, along the railing. If I leaned back just a few inches, I knew I would feel his arm on my back, the skin that was bared by this pathetic excuse for a tank top. But I couldn’t be that brazen, could I? I licked my lips again and this time, his eyes dipped to them and then slowly he looked back into my eyes. I took a breath in, feeling my chest lift and fall in an irregular cadence and every single inch of me came alive like a firework. He looked back at my lips and when he met my eyes again, the crooked smile on his lips nearly undid me. Holy Hannah. Was this sexual tension? I had never felt anything like this. I had little practice in romance, and even less in sexual contact of any kind. My inexperience caused a flurry of feeling to gather in my head: indecision, excitement, and impatience.
When we first sat beside each other, there hadn’t been anything intimate about our position. But at some point in our conversation, I had turned my body his way and he’d turned his way to me. In the few inches that separated our thighs rested his hand, close enough that I could feel the cool condensation of his glass wetting my jeans.
But then, in the lightest of touches, I felt his thumb graze my spine. And I did something unheard of for me, I leaned into it.
His head moved in closer—maybe not for a kiss, maybe just for conversation. But I wouldn’t ever know what his intention was, because seconds later, a guy double my size fell on top of me, spilling more beer onto my shirt as his beer poured over my head.
“Fuck, Conway!” Adam exclaimed, pulling Ben Conway off of me as I adjusted to the cool shock of the beer completely soaking my tank and dripping down my face. “Get a handle on yourself.”
Ben was obviously drunk, based on the way he swayed violently to the side, nearly falling over until Seth, the party host himself, righted him. “Fuck you, Adam,” Ben said, but the words were slurred together. He pushed back at Adam, but his hands had the effect of dead fish and Adam didn’t budge. He shoved Ben again, and he fell back into his crowd of friends.
I was completely still, feeling the sting of embarrassment on my chest and neck—all of which were visible in this tank. I could feel a dozen people staring at me, but the shock of being completely soaked rendered me unable to stand up and