Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(60)

Adam came to pick me up around 6:00, and when I saw him standing in the entrance to my apartment complex, I immediately felt underdressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. “Why are you so dressed up? I thought we were just gonna order Chinese and watch a movie.”

“I’m not that dressed up. Just khakis and a sweater. I couldn’t look like a slob to take Eva to her pictures before the dance.”

Of course. I was such a moron. I should have known that Adam would have dropped Eva off and taken a few pictures of her and her friends. There would have been other parents there, and he would never just wear sweats to that. “Ah, pictures. I totally forgot. I would have gone with you. Of course, looking a little better than this,” I added, tugging at my Ocean City sweatshirt. “I would’ve liked to have seen some of my old students dressed up.”

When we arrived at the car, Adam shifted to put his seatbelt on, started the car, and turned the heat on high. “It’ll warm up in a few minutes,” he said. “Just give it some time.”

“I know how heaters work, Adam.” The car was already warm since he’d just been driving it. Clearly, he was trying to avoid responding to my comment about seeing Eva and her friends before the dance, so I figured it was better I dropped it. “How’d Eva look? Was she excited?”

“She looked so grown up. It was so weird. Her date kept trying to put his arm too low on her waist for the pictures. I had to put him in his place a few times,” he said, his voice intentionally stern as he mocked the way he spoke to Eva’s date. "Is it wrong to punch a thirteen-year-old?” he asked with a laugh, though I could tell he was only partially kidding.

“Who was her date? I didn’t even ask before.”

“Uh . . . Christian Grey or something like that.”

The laugh that burst out of me was the hardest I’d laughed around Adam in as long as I could remember. “Well, if that’s the case, you better turn around and go get her,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“Why,” he asked sternly. “What type of kid is he?”

“He’s not a kid, Adam. He’s a fictional character from a book, and one who’s into BDSM. I don't think you want him taking out your thirteen-year-old daughter."

“Oh,” he replied, a little embarrassed. “I knew that name sounded familiar.”

“I think you meant Chris Greyston, as in Christopher. He’s a nice kid. He plays soccer, I think. He gets good grades . . . the responsible type. No need to be worried.”

“Oh, okay. He sounds like my kinda guy then.”

“Yeah, though I’d probably pick a Christian Grey type over a nice guy any day. I like a little mystery and danger in my life.”

“Danger, huh?” Adam asked, looking over at me with a slight twinkle in his eye. “I’m dangerous,” he said stepping on the gas until he accelerated to a few miles over the speed limit. “You like that?” he asked. “I do that shit all the time. I’ve also been known to go swimming only a few minutes after I eat,” he said with a laugh. “And I always hold scissors by the handle when I walk.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Scissors, really? That sounds dangerous,” I said lowering my voice seductively and leaning in to put a hand on his thigh.

“Yeah, well, ya know . . . not too dangerous. I never run with them. Walk quickly at most,” he said with a wink.

***

As we pulled into his driveway, it occurred to me that the last time I’d been to Adam’s house—the only time I’d been there actually—had been under very different circumstances. We’d hit a breaking point from which it seemed impossible to return. And now, here we were, months later, back.

After he unlocked the door, Adam held it for me to go inside. The act was just as symbolic as it was literal. Adam had opened the door to his life and, at last, let me in. Even when we’d dated months ago, we’d kept our relationship somewhat secretive. Or at least Adam had, and that was understandable because of Eva. But now, with our feelings for each other out in the open, we could finally begin to intertwine our lives into one.

“Make yourself at home,” Adam said. “I’m just gonna hop in the shower. I didn’t have time to take one after work before I had to take Eva out for pictures.”

“Hmm . . . make myself at home,” I said, glancing around the foyer and peeking into the adjacent room like I was deep in thought. I was. “Does that mean I can look through your medicine cabinet and lie around in my underwear?”

“Uh . . . not sure what you’d want to do the first one for, but the second sounds like a great option.” He leaned in to kiss me gently, cupping my chin in his hand before heading upstairs.

Why the hell did I say the medicine cabinet thing? He probably thinks I’m some kind of a creepy voyeur hoping to spy on his private life. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the irony that I was part of his private life sunk in. Adam had nothing to hide from me, and the thought put me at ease.

I shuffled from room to room, taking note of the home’s decor. Modern touches adorned each room of the downstairs. Granite counters wrapped around the kitchen’s perimeter and tall cherry cabinets stretched to the ceiling. Light hickory floors complemented the beautiful cool tones of the walls: deep cream in the living room, soft blue in the foyer spanning to the upstairs hallway, crisp white with a hint of gray to pick up the specks of silver in the black countertops. But the more traditional structural elements—archways between rooms, crown molding in the living room, wainscoting in the foyer and stairway—provided a nice contrast. Adam clearly had good taste.