Adam doesn’t look convinced, but Thomas keeps rubbing circles on my leg. Adam’s eyes drop to my leg, and I watch his nostrils flare.
Shaking my head, I hold his gaze.
He huffs in agitation, but turns his attention back to the road.
When we finally get tomy parents’ house, Adam is cranky. Beyond cranky. He snapped at Danielle for changing a song he was in the middle of listening to. Then at Thomas, because he turned the AC on in the back, and it was too loud for him to be able to concentrate on the road.
He’s definitely cranky, but he still smiles at me when he helps me get the bags out of the back of his car. My parents aren’t home, so I unlock the door and prop it open for everyone to trickle in behind me. The fresh plate of baked cookies my momleft out for us is waiting perfectly in the center of their coffee table.
Danielle walks in and immediately begins dragging her stuff into my room, staking her claim on it. And I can’t blame her, because the other option would be sleeping in the living room with two guys.
Instead, it’s going to be me sharing the living room with two guys. And not in a hot way. In awhy me, why does it have to be me,way.
“So what’s the plan?” Thomas asks, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. I can see Adam’s eyes over Thomas’s shoulder, glaring at him. I roll mine heavenward, already regretting making plans for this weekend.
“We have the house to ourselves tonight; my parents aren’t coming back until tomorrow morning. Then, I was thinking tomorrow we could explore downtown a little bit, they’re having a fair with carnival rides and lots of food vendors.” My mouth starts to water when I think of the abundance of food I’m going to consume tomorrow. Funnel cakes, fried Oreos, street tacos. The options are endless. “Saturday, my parents talked about driving us to the lake and renting a boat for us, and then camping Saturday night.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Thomas says, insincerely, and I tilt my head to the side looking at him.
“What? What’s wrong?” he shrugs, sitting down on the couch and pulling his shoes off.
Adam brushes past me, rubbing his hand across mine as he walks to grab a cookie off the plate, shoving the whole thing in his mouth.
“Do you have water?” he asks me, mouth full and the crumbs falling onto the table.
“Tap.” I gesture at the faucet in the kitchen with the filter attached to it. It’s still tap water, but it’s clean tap water andpractically the same thing as bottled water. I don’t know why he’s so anal about bottled drinks, they’re literally the exact same. Stupid rich guy who’s used to wasting so much plastic.
“You don’t have any bottles?”
“No.”
“But last time, your mom handed me a water bottle when I asked for one.” I huff, a headache thrumming in my temples. The combination of Thomas and Adam this weekend is going to send me to an early grave.
“Okay, that was last time. Just get a cup out of the cabinet and get water. It’s all the same, I swear.” His Adam’s apple bobs and his footsteps are light as he hesitantly creeps across the kitchen. “On your left, three shelves up.” I watch as he wraps his hand around the blue glass cup, the crystal shining bright like his eyes. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop staring at them all the time, they remind me of home. Of cups from my childhood that my mom would fill to the brim with iced lemonade on the hot days, and milk to drink with my cookies while she would sit on the couch with me, both of us absorbed in whatever we were doing. Reading or drawing for me, and reading or working on something on her laptop. My dad never complained, he just watched his sports games with the volume on low so we could concentrate. It’s what worked best for all of us in our own time.
A crash snaps me out of my thoughts as the beloved crystal glass shatters on the hard tile.
“Fuck,” Adam hisses, squatting down to pick up the pieces. I snap into action, rushing over to him and grabbing him by the shoulder. He’s shaking.
“Hey, let me go grab a broom. You’ll get glass in your hand.” I rub my hand across the nape of his neck, feeling the goosebumps and fine sheen of sweat there.
“Come on.” I pull him with more urgency to the table. He lets me lead him, not saying a word as I push him into the chair. Iwet a washcloth and rub it across the back of his neck and his forehead. “Hold this here and I’ll be right back.”
My mom keeps the broom in the garage, so people don’t see it. Heaven forbid someone knows we actually sweep our house.
Back inside, Adam’s face is pale, and his finger is tapping out a rhythm on his upper thigh, lost in his own thoughts. At least he kept the rag on his forehead. I really hope he’s not getting sick.
I sweep up the glass, throwing it away in the trash can, and wet a paper towel to wipe across the floor to get the minuscule pieces.
Adam is still where I left him, his blue eyes wide and unseeing at the floor in front of him.
“What’s wrong?” I get on my knees in front of him and tilt his chin up so he can look at me. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s still shaking. His eyes are unfocused, staring through me.
“Adam,” I speak his name softly, trying to get him to look at me.
I can hear Thomas watching a video on his phone in the living room, and I’m so glad he’s not paying attention to what’s going on in here because even I can’t figure out what’s happening.
“Adam, love, look at me. What’s wrong?” I move my hand off his chin and stroke the back of my fingers down his cheek, feeling the cool, clammy skin. Maybe he was only bitchy earlier because he doesn’t feel good, and now I feel awful for how I treated him over drinking tap water. I should have just checked the fridge for him.
