Adam refilled our glasses as his lips curled into a smirk that told me I was in trouble.
“Are you nervous?” he said, leaning back in his chair in a way that made me stare at his chest.
He knew that if I weren’t, his question would make me nervous, and it pissed me off.
“Why should I be nervous?” I countered. “Unless you poisoned the stew.”
“Mmm,” he hummed noncommittally, never taking his eyes off me.
I leaned back in my chair, mimicking his posture. “What is this? A staring contest? Am I allowed to blink?”
Adam smiled, giving me a blunt, hungry-ish once-over.
“Yeah, you dressed up for me. I can tell.”
“Fuck off,” I exclaimed, warm in the face. “I did not.”
“Yeah, you have that…” He snapped his fingers a few times, as if he was trying to remember the word. “You have that needy look about you. Like a freshly groomed puppy that wants to be petted.”
Well, fuck him. Two could play that game.
“And you underdressed because you didn’t want this to seem like a date,” I countered. “But you showered longer thannecessary, cooked this stew for three hours to impress me, and considered texting me to make sure I was coming. Am I right?”
Adam shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Does it seem less like a date?”
“I don’t know,” he mused. “I have never been on one.”
The faint light coming from the kitchen disguised the look in his blue eyes, making it trickier to read him.
“Well, let me enlighten you,” I informed him. “It looks like one. How does that make you feel?”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Yeah, me?”
“That means I’m the first person you cooked for, the first man you ever kissed, and your first date.” I provoked him deliberately. “I feel flattered.”
“You should.”
“Should I be jealous of Verna?”
Adam laughed. “Jesus. Of course not.”
“Maria?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Who do you care about?”
“No one.”
“What about Rusty?”
His expression didn’t change, but the way his eyelashes fluttered told me I’d struck a nerve.
