There’s a pause so heavy I swear it brings the night crashing down on us. Maybe I hadn’t noticed the sky fading to midnight blue, or the stars coming out overhead. Or maybe darkness finally caught up with me. She doesn’t speak. She only studies me, her face as blank as fresh paper. When she finally opens her mouth, her voice hitches on her question. “Was I on that list?”
I tell myself it’s the only way to keep her, but I know it’s not true. There’s nothing I can say that won’t cost me Adair MacLaine’s love, so I choose the path I should have taken years ago. “You were on the very top of it.”
21
Sterling
The Past
The rest of the week is spent in my dorm room, failing to watch any movies. We put them on, but we’re distracted before the opening scene. We pause for bathroom breaks and food delivery, which Adair keeps ordering behind my back.
“You need your stamina,” she tells me.
And I never want it to end. I don’t know where her family thinks she is, but no one has checked on her. That only proves she belongs here with me, instead of there with them. When Friday rolls around, I’m dreading the Christmas party at Windfall for two reasons. The first is that it involves getting dressed, and I’ve grown pretty attached to Adair’s naked body. I’d rather she never put clothes on again, actually. The second is that the party marks our last night together. I leave on a redeye for New York in the morning.
Adair manages to pry herself away early that afternoon, to return home to get ready.
“It will not take you six hours to get ready,” I say, grabbing her around the waist and dropping her on the bed. I pounce on top of her, pinning her to the spot.
“I need to run an errand, if you must know.” She cranes to kiss me, and the next thing I know her pants are off and I’m buried inside her.
The girl is a serious over-achiever, because she can’t keep her hands off me. When I suggested it would take time for her body to adjust to sex, she initiated it every second she could. Crawling on top of me in the night and waking me up with her pretty mouth on me. Refusing to wear a stitch of clothing for entire days. I have to give it to her. By day three, we fit together like our bodies were carved from the same block of marble.
Her head lolls back against the pillow, her breathing coming in shallow pants, small whimpers escaping her lips until she cries out, her legs snapping around me like a spring. I don’t make it long after that—I never do.
She seizes the opportunity to grab her clothes while I pull off the spent condom and toss it in the trash. A quick look in my bedside drawer shows me I only have one of the bounty provided by Campus Health Services left. Apparently, I need to run an errand, too.
“You’ll be there at seven?” she asks, pulling on the clothes she wore over here last Friday. It’s the first time she’s bothered to pick them up off the floor since then.
“Cy is picking me up at six-thirty.” My roommate did us the courtesy of staying away for the week to apologize for the mistake at the hotel. I’m pretty sure that I got the better end of the deal.
Adair pauses, her hand on the door knob. “I love you.”
I start toward her and she squeaks. We both know she’ll never leave if I kiss her goodbye. She already tried leaving twice this week and somehow wound up right back in my bed. She even went as far as to have new sheets delivered to the room, so we didn’t have to go out for them.
“I love you,” I say, stopping at a safe distance.
The door closes, and the room feels empty without her. For the first time in a week, I have a moment to process what has happened between us. Adair MacLaine loves me. Impossible, but true.
I’m still mulling that over when I pull out the old suit Francie brought me during her trip. I’d left it in my closet in New York. The truth is, I hate the thing. It’s a hand-me-down from her brother-in-law. He gave it to me so I could attend a parole hearing for my father. I testified against him in this suit. May he rot in prison. But I don’t have anything else appropriate for the spectacle of a MacLaine Christmas party.
I put it on at six and stay away from a mirror. When Cyrus walks in, I know I was right to worry. His look says it all.
“That all you got, Sterling?” Cyrus says, taking one look at my polyester navy suit before going to check his closet.
I check my watch. We need to leave in a few minutes, and it’s not like I have options. Even if I had his money, I doubt there’s a place to pick up a tailored tuxedo that’s open at this time of night, even in Nashville.
“That bad, huh?” It must be if he’s saying something. Cyrus usually tries to massage my ego where money is concerned.
“Trust me, you’ll want to make a good impression with these people.”
“It’s this or jeans, man.” I wait for his response. “Which will her dad prefer?”
“A tuxedo.” He emerges from his closet holding a gray garment bag. Cyrus might be better than most of his clique of Valmont trust-funders, but he isn’t immune to obsessing over appearance. Naturally, he stashed a tux here.
I’m not sure why? In case of a black-tie emergency? “Really?”
“It should fit you. We’re about the same size. Just be sure to get it dry-cleaned before you give it back. In fact, remind me
