Rebound (Boomerang #2)(42)

He insists on paying the bill, and we weave our way toward the street, passing Adam’s table. I feel his eyes on me as Paul hooks his arm around my waist, shoring me up. A cab is a great idea.

Paul and I stand on the street for what feels like hours, watching cars crisscross the busy road—but no taxi.

“Why don’t you go on?” I tell him. “I’ll grab my cell phone from my car and call someone for a ride.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I promise, I’ll be fine.”

He nods and gives me another kiss on the cheek and a long hug. It feels amazing to be touched by someone, and I find myself holding on for a second. But I’m also so aware of how close all my feelings are to the edge, of how unseemly it would be to peel aside a gay man’s jacket and burrow in like a mole.

We part ways, and I wander down Alden toward my car. The ground tilts a bit, and I stop for a second, pressing a hand to my eyes to try to stave off my dizzy feeling.

“You have great taste,” says a voice right beside me.

I turn to find Adam standing on the curb, hands thrust into his pockets, smiling at me.

“What?”

He motions to the sleek, smoke-colored sports car a foot or so away. “That’s mine.”

I straighten up, taking in the car’s aerodynamic lines. It is exactly the car that Adam should have—powerful, sexy, and in a color that matches his eyes.

“I thought you were getting a cab.”

“I am,” I tell him. “I thought you were placating your date.”

“That ship has sailed, sorry to say.” But he doesn’t look sorry at all.

“Where’d everyone else go?”

“I sent them with Brooks. They’re fine. Let me drive you.”

Not one part of me feels like launching even a token protest, so I just say, “That would be great, thanks.”

The car alarm chirps, and he leans down and opens the passenger door.

I fold onto the seat. The inside of the car smells like leather and like Adam’s cologne. Again, the scent of him hollows my stomach. I want to curl into it, but I buckle my seat belt and focus on keeping my hands to myself, instead.

We discover we’re both in Malibu, which seems impossible and perfect at the same time. I imagine Adam walking along the surf at sunset, water drenching the hem of his pants, breeze blowing his shirt against his lean frame.

God, he better get me home.

We wind along the side streets, zipping around traffic. Adam lives on the beach north of Point Dume, while I’m up on the canyon side, with all the ranch properties. We compare notes on our favorite restaurants and the best coffee spots. I hear us talking, and we sound so normal. But I don’t feel normal. I feel drugged, swimming in the feeling of just being close to him.

I sense something gathering inside Adam, a tension in his forearms, his face. His focus hones as the road starts to clear. When there’s nothing but winding open asphalt ahead of us, he looks at me. “You ready?”

The next thing I know, my back thuds against the seat.

Zero to sixty in less than three seconds feels like taking off in a rocket.

The car cuts left and right as we weave along the coast at a speed that I didn’t think was possible, the ocean blurring on my left, the canyon walls on my right. It’s a thrill, a thousand times more exhilarating than any rollercoaster ride. I squeal with the pleasure of it and then laugh because I’ve never been the squealing type.

I glance at Adam. He’s so zoned in, so lost in what he’s doing. Watching him, I feel like I’m seeing something deeply revealing, almost intimate, and the sight lights every part of me.

He decelerates after a few more seconds and looks at me. “Highway Patrol always sets up around the next bend,” he says. The intensity leaves his eyes, and he smiles. “So what did you think?”

“I think I’ve never had so much fun in a car.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks, grinning. “Never?”

My face heats as I remember.

I have had more fun in a car. A lot more fun.

I don’t answer, because there’s no need. I know we’re both thinking about it, both remembering our bodies together, the perfection of our hands and lips on each other. I smile to myself, because even though we can’t have that again, we can have this—this wild, exhilarating ride.





Chapter 24



Adam


As we fly through a yellow light passing Malibu Inn, I downshift and glance at Ali. I find her watching me with an expression like she’s dreaming with her eyes open.

“What’s on your mind, Ms. Quick?”

“You love this, don’t you?”

It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about driving the Bugatti—not about being with her.

I nod. “Cars are something my dad and I always did together. He runs a few restaurants and bars back East. He was always busy. I didn’t see him at all during the week or on Saturdays, but Sundays we spent together. We went on drives or to car shows. We took care of his car collection.”

She’s still watching me, like she wants to hear more. I let myself keep going.

“When I was thirteen, he bought a Shelby Cobra kit, and we spent that entire year building the car from scratch on Sundays. It turned out perfect. Well, almost.”