Page 95 of Wrecked

I pulled my arm back. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” I said.

Nine out of ten times, those were the magic words to get a guy to move on to the next girl.

“What’s he doing, letting his girl dance on a speaker like that?” he asked with a cocky sneer.

He tried to put his hands on my hips again, but I backed away, hitting some girl who was getting her freak on. She gave me a look of annoyance. So was the guy who just wouldn’t leave me alone.

“Get away from me.”

He leaned in closer. “It’s just one dance.”

“She said, get away,” a male voice echoed behind me.

His arms slid around my waist. Where the other guy’s hands felt cold and calloused on my skin, these felt warm and familiar. I put my hand on Adam’s arm that was strongly gripping me.

The guy eyed Adam up. While Adam was tall, he was very lean. Not intimidating when it came to stature, but there must have been something in his stance. The way he was staring the other guy down must have let everyone in that club know I was off-limits.

The guy’s palms went up in the air. “My bad, man.” With a nod, he walked away.

Adam spun me around and placed his hands on the sides of my face. “Are you okay?”

He had this look in his eyes. It was anger but filled with worry. It was the first time I’d seen it—the protector in him.

I pulled on his shirt and yanked him in, forcing my head to fall onto his chest. I let him hold me—but not because I was frightened for my life.

It was the first time I’d noticed how, if you stared directly into his eyes, you could see your own reflection. It was weird, seeing what someone else saw. With Adam, you could. If you stared long enough, he’d show you inside his soul. And, in that moment, the only thing in those eyes was me.

An odd sensation passed through me. It was peace. Even though we were standing in a loud club, sweaty bodies all around, I felt serene and safe in the way Adam cradled my head in his palm. Safer when he ran his thumb in circles on my cheek. The comforting touch made me look toward his mouth and how it parted, taking controlled deep breaths.

“Where’s Brad?” he asked.

I shook my head. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd, away from the dance floor and the mob of people, and around the side, heading toward the bar. I liked the way my hand felt inside his, so I gripped it harder. He squeezed back. He must have liked it, too.

That was when Brad appeared from the back of a speaker. Another large speaker was on the floor, and Brad had just crawled out of it. But this one was hollow in the back. A guy was sitting on the floor inside.

“Who’s that?” Adam asked, referencing the guy in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, sitting inside the black cube.

“Friend from art school,” Brad replied.

“It’s time to go,” Adam said. He wasn’t asking. He was telling.

When I look up, I am in front of Adam’s mom’s house. The Craftsman-style home still bears the olive-green siding and dark wood shutters. The freestanding basketball hoop is still there in the driveway. Landon probably uses it these days. Not that long ago, Adam and I played here.

“We have to talk.”

It had been three days since Adam and I had that moment on the school basketball court. The moment I wanted to kiss him. The moment we almost did.

I’d tried to talk to him at school, but he was always walking in the other direction. I had a feeling it was on purpose.

“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.

“Yes.” He had the keys to his mom’s car in his hand.

With my hands on my hips, I demanded, “Why?”

“You know why.”