"What kind of expectations?"
"They want a certain angle. Chaos. Comedy. The relatable disaster approach." He clenched his jaw. "I don't agree with it. I've been trying to give them something different. Something that shows who you actually are."
"So they want me to be a punchline," I said. Not a question.
Adrian's silence was answer enough.
I thought about Marcus Delacroix. Fourth grade. The kid who'd said he'd share his fruit snacks and then ate them all in front of me while his friends laughed. I thought about every scout who'd writtentalented but inconsistent, and every coach who'd called megood energywhen they meanttoo much to build around.
Adrian's company wanted me to be a punchline.
It didn't surprise me.
"Is there more?" I asked.
"I'm handling it," he said again. "I'm in contact with people who might offer a different path." He reached out, fingers brushing my wrist. "I need you to trust that I'm on your side."
I looked at him. I wanted to push. The question was right there—what aren't you telling me—pressing against my tongue.
Before I could ask, I thought about the fact that Adrian was with me. He'd come to the parking lot without his camera, and now he was standing in my messy apartment, looking at me like I was worth waiting for.
Maybe that was enough. For now.
"Okay," I said.
Adrian blinked. "Okay?"
"I believe you're on my side, and I trust that you'll tell me the rest when you're ready." I stepped closer. "Still, if there's more—and I think there's more—don't wait too long. I can handle complicated. I can't handle finding out you didn't think I could."
"I know you can handle it," he said. "I just need a little more time."
"Okay," I said, and this time I smiled. "Stop looking like you're about to make a break for it."
Adrian laughed—a real one.
I moved closer. "Hey. I missed you."
Adrian's armored expression cracked. "I missed you, too. More than I expected."
"That's very emotionally available of you. Gold star." I reached up and touched his jaw. "Now kiss me like you're glad I'm home."
I watched him set down whatever he'd been carrying—the tension and the things he wasn't telling me—and decide that right now, I was more important than the weight of everything else.
He kissed me, and the rest of the world stopped mattering.
It was different from before.
Every other time Adrian had kissed me, there'd been a question in it.Is this okay? How far does this go?
This kiss didn't ask questions. It answered them.
He cupped my face in his hands, and he kissed me like he'd been thinking about it for five days.
I moaned softly against his mouth—embarrassing, needy—and he swallowed it. Pulled me closer. His fingers raked into my hair, gripped, and I felt the tug all the way down my spine.
"Bed," I managed. "Bed is—that direction—probably—"
"Probably?"
