“It’s me they’re after. I stole their tiny car. You’re collateral damage.”
“Why did you steal their car?”
“I did it for their own good. Have you seen the way they cram themselves into those little subcompacts? It’s a safety hazard.”
The laughter spreads through the class, but Adam stays focused. He sticks his head up, like he’s looking over the imaginary counter we’re pretending to hide behind, and scans the room, his eyes darting from one corner to another. Then he ducks back down and clasps a hand on my shoulder.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Is there a back exit in this place?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his palm, down my arm, and into my chest, where it settles and takes root. Apparently, my body hasn’t gotten the message that we aren’t doing that anymore.
“Yeah,” I say finally, at least remembering this time to follow the improv rules and agree with him. “It leads to the alley.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“What about my laundry? My lucky socks are in there.”
“Seriously, dude? You’re about to be murdered by clowns, and you’re worried about socks?”
The music changes to something slow and sad.
“It’s just—” I make my lower lip quiver and pretend to blink back tears. “My grandfather gave me those socks. They were his. He wore them at the Battle of Burlington Bay. They’re all I have left of him after he was murdered by pirates on Lake Champlain.”
Adam rolls his eyes. “I don’t know whether that’s touching or terrifying.”
Professor Frost hits a button on his iPhone, and the music switches again, this time to the pan flute version of “My Heart Will Go On” fromTitanic. Every muscle in my body tenses. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t fake a love scene with Adam. Not when my feelings for him are still so raw. And so real. Very, very real.
I risk a glance at him, and my breath catches in my throat. The way he’s looking at me is—well, the only word I can think of is hungry. But not in a Christian Grey, creepy stalker way. More like an if-I-don’t-kiss-you-in-the-next-ten-seconds-I’m-going-to-combust kind of way. Either he’s the next Marlon Brando, or he still wants me as much as I still want him.
He takes my face in his hands, his eyes burning into mine. His breath stirs the hair at my temples, and the scent of his soap threatens to drown me. I don’t know what he uses, but it’s something clean, fresh, and sporty. In short, totally Adam.
“What we’re about to do is very dangerous,” he says, his voice gravelly and oh so sexy. “These clowns mean business. In case anything happens to me, there’s something I have to tell you.”
I lower my voice. “You might want to tone it down or people are going to talk.”
“Let them talk,” he says, not toning it down one notch. If anything, he gets louder, and his grip on my face gets strangely both tighter and more tender at the same time. “I don’t care who knows how I feel about you.”
Are we acting now? I’m not sure. No, that’s only half true. I know I’m not acting. It’s Adam I’m not sure about.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. My heart is hammering so hard I swear the whole class must be able to hear it.
He closes the space between our mouths so they’re practically—but not quite—touching. “What I should have done when I saw you after the hockey game Friday night.”
Okay, so not acting.
That’s my last coherent thought before his lips crash down onto mine. I barely register the hoots and hollers of our classmates as he kisses me. It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. This kiss is a claiming, a message to me and everyone watching that I’m his and he’s mine.
It’s hard and it’s fast and it’s over way too quickly, before I can even respond. Adam lifts his head, and the hoots and hollers around us get louder. Or maybe it’s that I’m really fully hearing them for the first time as I come down from the high of our kiss.
“Now do you trust me?” His hands leave my face and drift down to my shoulders, where they come to rest, squeezing and holding me tight. “Because if that wasn’t good enough, I can kiss you again. With tongue this time, if that helps.”
“Go for the tongue,” Ian shouts from the audience.
I will. Later. When we’re alone. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate Adam’s grand gesture. But PDA has its limits. And if he starts kissing me again, I’m not sure either one of us will be able to stop.
“Hey,” Ian whines. I turn to him, breaking the moment with Adam Ian’s rubbing his arm and glaring at Courtney. “That hurt.”
Courtney smacks him again.
