I stab my thumb against the red button on the screen, cutting my sister off before giving her the chance to finish her sentence. I just want to get this over with.
Twisting the doorknob, I push the door open and find him sitting exactly where I expect him to be: slouched on the sofa, long legs spread apart, hands lazily draped between them. One hand is cupping his admittedly small bulge under his gray sweatpants.
Such a waste considering what gray sweatpants can do to a woman’s imagination.
My eyes rake over his whole body, and I somehow resist the urge to roll them dramatically when he turns his head in my direction, and his tired eyes find mine. His hair is disheveled and unkempt, and his five o’clock shadow has stayed well past its welcome.
“Hot water isn’t working again.” He raises his arm lazily, gesturing down the hallway.
“Great,” I mutter, dropping my purse on the end table near the front door. “Thanks for letting me know.” Brushing my hair off my face, I cross over to the kitchen and pour myself a fresh glass of water.
Adam watching me the entire time, burning a hole in my back and my brain.
My silence is deafening. I know it’s driving him crazy that I’m not giving him the sort of reaction he wants. The only reaction I have is wishing he was anywhere else but here in my apartment.
I swallow a huge gulp of water and finally eye himover my glass. He doesn’t move from his position, his admittedly pretty eyes still staring at me.
I place my glass on the counter and inhale a deep breath. I guess we need to have a talk. Begrudgingly, I plant both my hands on the counter and straighten my arms, using them as an anchor. I know Adam won’t leave willingly or easily. If he was even the slightest bit considerate and understanding, he wouldn’t be here in the first place, taking up space in my apartment.
“Well?” His eyebrows rise. “You’re not going to say anything about the burst water pipe? I couldn’t take a shower, Selene.”
I scoff, taking in the acrid scent surrounding him and his overall greasy appearance settling in the small space of my tiny New York apartment. “Obviously.”
“Wow.” He tucks his chin in and shakes his head. While pulling himself to a stand, he blows out a hot breath and angrily parks both his hands on his hips. Chip crumbs tumble down his chest, falling to my floor, getting lost in the fibers of my living room carpet. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t insult my ego just then. It isn’t my fault I couldn’t shower.”
I stare at him with pinched brows, gripping the edge of the counter tighter. My broken pipes have nothing to do with his lack of cleanliness and self-care.It’s just him.
I can feel my head expanding, ready to explode. Not because I’m heartbroken over him. I’m just annoyed by the fact he’s still here. I open my mouth to point out the obvious, but I wait to see if the light bulb will flick on above that greasy head of his. I scan my apartment and see empty soda cans and chip bags littering the floor. A mysterious, dried brown liquid is caked to the wooden surface of the coffee table. I already know it will take entirely too much time and muscle for me to scrub it clean. Sure, I’m aware my place isn’t the best and is on the verge of falling apart, but the fact Adam thinks he can crash at myplace like it’s some college frat house during rush week, sets me off.
“Adam.” I close my eyes and force myself to focus on my breathing before the next words find their way out of my mouth. When I crack my eyes open, I find him standing in the same position, refusing to budge. “You don’t live here. This isn’t your apartment and this isn’t your food. We also aren’t together anymore, remember?”
He jerks his head back again, brows rising. He looks like a wounded puppy. His eyes soften as he rakes his fingers through his greasy hair. It doesn’t budge when his arm drops to his side. “I thought you were joking when you said things were over between us.”
I curl my lip, wondering how I could be any clearer when I told him only last night, using the most straightforward language you can to break-up with someone.
We’re over, Adam. I can’t date you anymore.
“I honestly don’t know how you’re confused. I made my intentions very clear.” I shrug and tear off a piece of paper towel from the holder next to the sink. I fish a bottle of spray cleaner out from under it and move to the coffee table. I spray a good amount of the pungent, citrus-scented liquid on the sticky-brown stain and wait for it to soak in.
Adam’s hand lands on my back, and I freeze.
“I figured you were only saying that because you’ve been going through a lot lately.” His voice is soft and tender. “With your grandmother passing and all.”
I stand, blinking back the tears welling in my eyes. The familiar knot of grief winds itself into my chest.
Dammit, Adam
I look at him and know I made the right decision in ending things with him last night. I first met him a few months ago through a book blogging account. He sent me a message—thefirst to strike up a conversation. I found his forwardness endearing. I’d never been big on relationships, and I’d most definitely never been the most outgoing person. After talking for days through social media, we agreed to meet at a coffee shop. He was kind and soft, with an innocent charm about him, despite him being in his late twenties. Most men our age are all sharp lines and edges made for intimidation. Adam wasn’t that.
It was then, at that first meeting, he’d told me the truth about how he’d lied to me in our messages. He wasn’t a writer, per se.According to him.He was an editor for the New York Times. I’d brushed off his lie, excited by the idea of finally talking literature with someone other than my eighty-nine-year-old grandmother.
That day in the coffee shop, he’d quickly inserted himself into my bubble. A bubble I’ve been careful about protecting and monitoring who gets access to my whole life. I let him in too easily. Maybe it was the common ground I found with him in that moment. As a rising New York Times editor, we connected on a level most others in my life haven’t been able to.
But I had been a fool, blind to all the other qualities he possessed, including the one where he only thought of himself. Oh, and the fact that he looks like he’s just crawled out of a trash can unless he is forced to get cleaned up for the sake of work.
He pushes out his bottom lip, and his eyes soften even deeper, looking at me with pity.
My stomach turns. “Adam…”
