He wasn’t wrong. I felt safer on the sidelines, a member of the audience than a player. “That’s true. But if you were in my position, you might be the same way.”
“And what position is that?”
I winced, not wanting to talk about my dad. Talk about a buzzkill. “I have an image I have to maintain. At least until college.”
“And why do you have to maintain it? Why can’t you be your own person?”
“I am my own person.” But was I? He was right; I did follow the crowd. I stayed in the back, largely forgotten. There was safety in that. For myself and for the reputation my family expected me to uphold.
“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t like talking about yourself?”
I knew I blushed then; could feel the warmth flood my cheeks as I fumbled over what to say. When words failed me, I just nodded and looked down at my beer.
“It’s okay, Hollis. Here, I made an unfair assumption of you. Let’s even the score: you make one of me.”
Oh, no. This was going to creep on dangerous territory. I couldn’t make any assumptions about him without revealing how I viewed him. I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. I get it. I understand why you might think I’m like them.” I looked over at the handful of guys egging each other on to drink more, to obliterate themselves. “I can admit that I probably get swallowed up by those kinds of people.”
“Yeah, because you don’t use your voice.”
It was something Tori always told me. She urged me not to let her steamroll right over me, to stand up for myself. But it was easier to fall into the crowd, even if you didn’t agree with them all the time. “I’m working on it.”
“I can tell. This is the most we’ve spoken since, when? Elementary school.”
“Probably.” I took a sip of my beer, hoping it’d help calm my nerves around him.
“So, Hollis,” Adam began before I could swallow. “What awaits you after high school?”
Was he genuinely interested? I wondered. Or was it just a way to avoid awkward silence?
Someone stumbled against the side of the railing, sending reverberations down to where we sat. “I don’t know,” I said, leaning forward. “I mean, I know what’s expected of me, but I haven’t made any definite plans. You?”
“I’m getting the hell out of here.” It didn’t surprise me. I knew—everyone knew—that Adam possessed too much talent to just waste away in our modest little city. He was destined for more, for bigger things, and I ached to have that same kind of calling. “I think Los Angeles is what everyone expects, but I want to go east.”
“New York?” I asked, trying not to let disappointment color my voice. In all the years Adam Oliver and I had attended school together, I had never once had a conversation with him the way I was now. I didn’t need to feel some misplaced sense of loss when there was nothing for me to grieve.
“Maybe not that far. I’ve got a kid sister and my gram to look after here.”
I knew better than to ask about his parents. His mom had died a couple of years back and everyone talked about his dad. In middle school, the stop sign at the crosswalk had been taken out by Adam’s dad one night when he’d had too many drinks. Being that Amber Lake was a smallish town, everyone knew who’d caused it. And Adam, being the son of the guy who had messed up, publicly, many times, had been the butt of many jokes.
I never engaged in that kind of gossip myself, but I hadn’t ever taken action to shut it down either. I felt shame, knowing how many conversations I had listened to and remained silent. Too afraid to rock the boat, to even so much as whisper my disagreement.
“You went quiet.” His voice was low and beckoning. I met his eyes, saw them searching mine. Much like he had when we’d he’d first greeted me that night, though with none of the contempt he’d held then.
I licked my lips, feeling my breath go heavy as he continued to stare at me. His arm was resting behind me, along the railing. If I leaned back just a few inches, I knew I would feel his arm on my back, the skin that was bared by this pathetic excuse for a tank top. But I couldn’t be that brazen, could I? I licked my lips again and this time, his eyes dipped to them and then slowly he looked back into my eyes. I took a breath in, feeling my chest lift and fall in an irregular cadence and every single inch of me came alive like a firework. He looked back at my lips and when he met my eyes again, the crooked smile on his lips nearly undid me. Holy Hannah. Was this sexual tension? I had never felt anything like this. I had little practice in romance, and even less in sexual contact of any kind. My inexperience caused a flurry of feeling to gather in my head: indecision, excitement, and impatience.
When we first sat beside each other, there hadn’t been anything intimate about our position. But at some point in our conversation, I had turned my body his way and he’d turned his way to me. In the few inches that separated our thighs rested his hand, close enough that I could feel the cool condensation of his glass wetting my jeans.
But then, in the lightest of touches, I felt his thumb graze my spine. And I did something unheard of for me, I leaned into it.
His head moved in closer—maybe not for a kiss, maybe just for conversation. But I wouldn’t ever know what his intention was, because seconds later, a guy double my size fell on top of me, spilling more beer onto my shirt as his beer poured over my head.
“Fuck, Conway!” Adam exclaimed, pulling Ben Conway off of me as I adjusted to the cool shock of the beer completely soaking my tank and dripping down my face. “Get a handle on yourself.”
Ben was obviously drunk, based on the way he swayed violently to the side, nearly falling over until Seth, the party host himself, righted him. “Fuck you, Adam,” Ben said, but the words were slurred together. He pushed back at Adam, but his hands had the effect of dead fish and Adam didn’t budge. He shoved Ben again, and he fell back into his crowd of friends.
I was completely still, feeling the sting of embarrassment on my chest and neck—all of which were visible in this tank. I could feel a dozen people staring at me, but the shock of being completely soaked rendered me unable to stand up and brush it off. I didn’t have a spare shirt, and I knew I must reek now. I wanted to go home. I couldn’t take the stares, the gossip that was already brewing.
Before I could say anything, Adam was draping his leather jacket over my shoulders and steering me away from the people on the deck. Even with the jacket as protection, I couldn’t seem to control my reaction. My eyes filled for a moment, even as I blinked the tears back.
“Asshole,” Adam said under his breath as we moved to the front yard, right by a tree that was illuminated by a flood light. “I’m so sorry, Hollis.”
“Why are you apologizing?” I said, my lips trembling from cold and humiliation. I couldn’t reconcile this Adam, this caring and sincere Adam, with the Adam I’d spoken to hours earlier. He’d switched so fast that even if I hadn’t just been doused in beer, I might still be a little shell-shocked.
I couldn’t even look at him. I knew my hair was soaked, my shirt was soaked, and I had no idea how I was going to sneak this by my parents. Beer dripped into my eyes and stung, so I squeezed them tight but then a tear slipped out. This was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. And the one guy I had crushed on forever got to witness it and the impending emotional explosion. I turned away from him, my fingers pulling the leather jacket tight around me. I wanted to burrow in it, to hide from everyone. But the smooth leather smelled like him and I was brought momentarily back to what just had happened. “Here,” I said, reluctantly pulling the jacket off of me. “I don’t want this to be ruined.”