Own Me Page 6

  “Hey.” He waves when he sees me and walks over.

  It’s like I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands or what to say or how to stop smoothing my skirt and touching my hair.

  “Hey.” I try to smile, but I feel stiff and unsure. “So, um, are you hungry?”

  “Starving. Why don’t I order? You can find us a seat?” When I don’t immediately answer, he squints at me like he’s wondering why I’ve suddenly become an idiotic mute.

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll find us a seat.” I start to walk to the tables, but he catches my hand and draws me to his side. My skin heats up, and my lips tremble.

  The way he dresses is all neat and nerdy professor, but the way he smells? It’s this wild mix of cologne and something I can’t put my finger on.

  Something that smells like leaning too far over the side of a bridge feels. Or the way the ocean sounds when it crashes during a storm. He smells the way I want to live, and I can’t inhale him fast enough.

  “What do you want me to order you?” His eyes are clear green under dark eyebrows that lift a little bit, because he’s laughing at me.

  “Whatever you’re having,” I say.

  “Double-double? Extra onion?” One side of his mouth quirks up.

  I don’t like raw onions. I’m fairly sure I’ve mentioned this to him before, but I doubt he’ll remember.

  “Perfect.”

  Because I want to kiss him again, and it’s a rule your breath should match. Right?

  I’ve done this dozens of times with guys way more intimidating than Adam. Why does this feel so specifically strange?

  Maybe because I’ve never done this with a friend. Someone who I’d miss desperately if he weren’t a part of my life.

  He lets go of my hand and waits for me to walk away before he orders. I sit at the tiny red table and wait for him to join me. He does, bringing two Cokes and fries with the burgers. I’m glad we don’t have to stumble through talking, since I’ve been making such a mess of that lately. I take a big bite of burger and cringe when the acidic snap of onion fills my mouth with its pungent flavor. A white ring falls onto the wax paper my burger was wrapped in, and I glare at it.

  “Genevieve?” Adam puts his burger down, and I do the same with mine. He points to my burger. “Why would you order onions if you don’t like onions?”

  “I…” I want to kiss you. On the mouth. With my tongue. Because the way we kissed the other night and the way you sucked icing off my finger and the way you look at me and the way you never stop fighting for me makes me think we’d be awesome together if we’re brave enough to actually take this chance. “I didn’t realize how much I don’t like them, I guess,” I say instead.

  “May I?” He points to my burger and I just nod. He lifts the bun, looks at me, and says, “I washed my hands. Promise.” He hooks a finger through the onions and pulls them off my burger, deposits them on his, and smiles at me. “Better, right?”

  I pick up the burger and bite into it. Now it’s all savory and crunchy minus the onion punch. “Perfect.”

  “Good. As an added bonus, there won’t be any annoying undergrads hanging around, asking me a million questions after lecture. So there’s one plus to onion breath, anyway.”

  He takes a huge bite, and I feel a little sting of jealousy. Who exactly are these undergrads who hang around to ask Adam questions?

  As soon as I ask myself the question, the answer presents itself, clear as a freshly wiped windowpane. Just because it took me years to see just how amazing Adam is doesn’t mean my classmates have been so dense.

  “How have your classes been?” I ask, even though it feels weird talking about classes and work like it’s any other day we’re meeting for lunch. Like this isn’t the first time we’ve gotten together since I sort of proposed to him.

  “Classes? I’m, like, two weeks behind on grading, but that’s not too weird. I like to think I help them build character by making them wait to get grades back. Or maybe they just think I’m a huge dick. Probably that.” He meets my eyes when I laugh, and for some reason the laugh sticks hard in my throat. “Um, speaking of classes, I had a chance to stop by Eidelberg’s office. I did a summer workshop with him. Anyway, I pulled a few strings on behalf of my very favorite tutee, and he offered to let you do this.”

  Adam wipes his hands on a napkin and pulls a thick stack of stapled papers out of his bag, then slides them across the table to me.

  I barely have time to look at them before my eyes start swimming.

  “What are they?”

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you, Genevieve. These are differential equations that you really need to apply multiple techniques to if you have any hope of solving them. And, seriously, they’re not worth much credit. He’s not handing you free points here. But, if you complete this packet, and it’s done well, that last C will be pushed up to a B-.”

  He leans back, arms crossed, and waits for my answer.

  “You did this all for me?” I ask.

  My gut feeling about him was so damn right. And Marigold’s reading? It’s all making so much sense now. How could I have been so stupid for so long? Why did I waste so much time?

  “Well, Eidelberg did this for you,” Adam says, picking his burger back up. “And, actually, no one did anything for you yet. You’ll wind up doing this for yourself. And, no lie, these are going to be torture. They actually scare me a little. But if anyone can do them, you can.”

  “What if I need some help?” I ask, batting my lashes just enough so he almost chokes on the enormous bite he just took.

  He swallows and clears his throat. “Help. Right. Part of the deal is that I only offer you very minimal tutoring on this. Which is fair, really. You don’t need a ton of help from me. And this is extra credit, so it’s supposed to make you sweat a little.”

  Not the response I was looking for.

  I wanted him to say, Help you? I’ll do anything you need, Genevieve. Anything.

  He’s raising an eyebrow my way from across the table. “Problem?”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “No.” We quietly chew for a few seconds before I finally say, “You know what. Kind of yes. I mean, you’re my tutor, Adam. But you’re also my friend. I’m not asking for you to do the work for me, but you could have offered to give me a hand. You’re just throwing me to the wolves here.”

  I flip through some of the pages, and the most excruciatingly scary differentials I’ve ever seen flutter in front of my eyes.

  I’m more than a little freaked. But I’m kind of glad to be freaked about these problems and avoid facing what’s really freaking me out: the thought of talking about wedding plans with Adam.

  “Throwing you to the wolves?” He shakes his head, those eyes all deep and green and fixed right on me. “You are one of the wolves, Genevieve. I believe in you. Don’t you get that? I believe you’re going to work your ass off, and when this packet is done, you’ll have mastered some of the skills you’re already pretty decent at. And pretty soon you’ll realize you don’t even need a tutor for any of this.”

  “That’s very unlikely,” I say, taking a long sip of soda to cool the furious flush I know is igniting my cheeks. But I suck too many bubbles down my throat and wind up gasping and choking.

  Adam comes around to pound his hand between my shoulder blades as I hack and choke, wishing this had all gone down very differently.

  Because we’re on a line right now, balanced between friends and…something more.

  Or not. Maybe I need to define what this whole marriage things means for us. Maybe it doesn’t include anything other than friendship with a guy I really care about.

  In a parallel universe, Adam offers me tons of late night tutoring sessions to get me through these merciless differential sets. Maybe we wind up meeting at his dorm, where he’s ordered in delicious food and has lit candles everywhere. Also, he maybe isn’t wearing a shirt with Yoda on it. Things start out strictly friendly, but, before we
know it, we’re kissing, the way we kissed the other night. And then kissing turns into something more…

  The fantasy ends there, because I’ve stopped choking and Adam is back in his seat, looking worried. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine.” I sigh. “So I really have to do these all on my own?” I lean forward, letting my low-cut shirt do the work for me.

  Adam’s gaze dips and his eyes widen, but he snaps his focus back to my face. “Yes. And it’s for your own good, Gen. I’d never tell you to do this alone if I didn’t think you could.”

  “Fine,” I mutter. “You’d think my future husband would be nicer.”

  There’s a frozen silence between the us. Adam puts down his burger.

  “So,” he says, and it’s a little worrisome that he doesn’t jump in with a plan or rationale. Adam’s logic is something I’ve come to depend on. “You’ve had time to think this through?”

  “Yes,” I say, licking my lips nervously. “I’ve been thinking the last few days.”

  “And you still think it’s a good idea?” He runs a finger over his thumbnail, bitten to the quick.

  I put my hand out and hold his, the scratch of his gnawed nails biting into my skin. “I do. I think it’s our only answer at this point, unless you’re ready to move back to Israel.”

  “I want to be here.” He squeezes my hand. “Thank you for this, Gen.”

  “Hey, you’re helping me out, too. I hope they have an opening for married suites, because I need out of my parents’ house soon.” I raise my eyebrow. “We’re going to need to talk about details.”

  “I’m seriously cool with whatever you want,” he says, shaking his head a little. “I’m just…”

  “What is it?” I ask when he trails off, sensing there’s something big bothering him.

  “Our friendship means a lot to me,” he says, in an uncharacteristically emotional reveal. “I don’t want us to jump into anything that will ruin that.”

  “I promise you, it won’t,” I tell him, leaning closer. I half hope he’ll lean in so we can kiss again, but he just smiles at me. “Well, I’ll start gathering up whatever we need, paperwork and all that.”

  “Let me know what you need me to get.” He glances at his phone. “We’ve gotta go now, though, or we’ll be late. Ready for class?”

  I sigh again and help him pick up the wrappers and empty cups. He drives me right up to my lecture hall and we make it in plenty of time, since he has a faculty parking permit.

  “Thanks for lunch.” I smile and tuck my insane extra credit packet safely into the depths of my folder, where I don’t have to look at it.

  “No problem at all. So, are we on for Thursday?” He hooks his thumbs on the bottom of the steering wheel and stares at the gauges.

  “Sure. So, do you eat In-N-Out twice a week?” I look over at him. He doesn’t have a single extra ounce of fat on his entire body. Or, at least, it seems that way. I haven’t seen him undressed.

  Yet.

  “No.” He moves the steering wheel back and forth a few times, like a little boy playing at driving. “I’d say it’s more like five or six times.”

  “Five or six?” I gasp. “Burgers are delicious, but you’re going to die.” I know it’s not remotely coy, but I don’t care at all. Adam goes out of his way to take care of my academic health. Cooking for him is the least I can do. “You need a meal. Like a real meal with ingredients other than beef patties and fried starches.”

  “You’re making some very appetizing points.” He squints at me. “Does Ramen count?”

  “Ugh! No!” I laugh.

  “Spaghetti O’s?”

  “You’re just making me sad now. I need you to live long enough to exchange vows. Listen, what are you doing after class?” I watch as his fingers tighten over the steering wheel.

  “After this class?” he asks, looking at me with eyes that are a little wild. I nod and he stutters. “Uh, one more class. At four. It’s over by quarter after five.”

  “Perfect. Almost dinnertime.” That will give me exactly enough time to make and pack a meal that will save him from death by fast foods. “Can you pick me up? We can go back to your place. Come to think of it, I haven’t been to your place since you lived in that scuzzy dorm apartment with those three other guys, back when you were just starting here. I bet the PhD housing is way nicer.”

  “Oh.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks nervous. “My place? Right. It’s a little…antiseptic.” He leans my way and explains, “Not even because I’m a scientist. They just have this insane asylum vibe going, and, you know, there are so many amazing places to go around here. Why don’t we go up to Griffith Observatory? Or is that too much of a hassle?” he rushes to add.

  “No. Griffith is great. I haven’t been since I was just a kid. This will be fun. I mean, as fun as wedding planning for a marriage of convenience can be.” I check my phone. “Okay, I’m going to be to class five minutes early today. But I’ll text you my address.”

  “Cool,” he says, and looks worried.

  I guess wedding planning freaks out even really pumped grooms-to-be. No doubt it’s melting Adam’s logical brain.

  I tilt my head and really look at him—his sort of messy dark hair, the green eyes that feel warm on my skin when he looks my way, the jaw that’s kind of shockingly male.

  He’s kind of shockingly male.

  Maybe it’s just because I always tended to date guys who prided themselves on being rough around the edges, wearing their masculinity like a raw badge of honor, but I didn’t immediately realize how much more of a man Adam is.

  He’s quiet, but that’s because he listens—to everyone, from his advisors to his lowly tutoring students.

  He has a little bit of a dorky mad-scientist vibe going on, but he swept me in his arms like I weighed nothing when I tripped on my heels, and then growled at me like a testosterone-crazed wild man.

  He works, hard. He makes sure little old couples get their kosher treats, even when he wants to run after crazy me.

  He’s a man. The best kind of man. The kind of man I’ve been lucky enough to call a friend.

  And now we’re going to be married. Even if it’s just in name, I feel proud to think of linking my life with Adam’s.

  I hug my folder to my chest as Adam walks me to class, careful to keep a few inches of friendly distance between the two of us. I wonder if that will change.

  Maybe after tonight?

  The Griffith Observatory? My poached spinach and walnut pesto chicken? A starry night spent laughing and getting to know each other?

  This fake marriage is getting off to an oddly real start.

  Chapter Four

  Adam

  I never leave class early, and Shapiro loves to jaw with me about whatever article caught her interest in the latest scientific journal. She’s smart as hell, and I can usually stay a good forty minutes after class is over just debating the role of physics in coaching extreme sports, or whether it makes sense to extend the dietician program so it encompasses classes beyond the physics core. It’s not my specific discipline, but I love getting her take on things in general.

  And with the way my yeast trays are going, I’m beginning to wonder if I might have chosen the wrong focus.

  But today I can’t spare any time. Because I’m going on a date. I guess. Or not a date. Just two friends who might be getting married eating food in a scenic location. Nothing weird about that…

  I expect Dr. Shapiro to be bummed when I break the news to her, but she’s smiling wide. “You have—what’s that phrase?—a ‘previous commitment,’ is it?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Something like that.”

  “Hmm. Does she have a name?” She puts her folders into her briefcase and we leave the lecture hall.

  “Genevieve.” Her name sounds beautiful—exotic even—when I say it to someone else.

  “I bet she’s lovely. I’m glad you’re coming out of your shell, Adam,” Dr. S
hapiro says. “Science is wonderful, but it can be isolating, can’t it? Enjoy your date. You do know that’s what it’s called when you go out with a beautiful woman, right?” She winks and laughs over her shoulder as she leaves me on the sidewalk.

  Should friends who are getting married date? That’s a question for the Sociology Department, and there’s no way in hell I want to go there.

  I drive back to the dorm and strip off my work clothes. I put on the only decent jeans I own, a dark sweater, and my good sneakers. I use gel. I brush my teeth twice and gargle with mouthwash.

  I did eat a double-double with extra onion for lunch.

  I follow Genevieve’s directions and pull up at a nice house with a million plants on the wide front porch and a homey, crowded feel, like dozens of people are probably running through it and around it at any given moment. Nothing like the neat, Spartan apartment I grew up in. Genevieve flies out the door, both hands wrapped around a basket she can barely lift. I get out to help her and she stops short on the steps.

  “Wow.” She looks me up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but khakis and a button down or a nerd T-shirt.”

  I heft the basket into my arms, glad it weighs around a metric ton. I’m starved.

  “You’re just used to seeing me right after work, or at the lab,” I explain, not bothering to add that I rarely feel the need to “dress up” for my friends. Because that makes no sense. Genevieve is still my friend. This whole marriage thing isn’t changing that.

  She’s wearing another impossibly tiny top that barely covers her. Not that I’m complaining. She looks amazing. But it must be uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to wear those shoes?”

  She looks down at the shoes, which are green, like limes, with little bows over the place where her toes poke out. The heels are at least four inches high, and there’s only this tiny green strap around her ankle holding them on.

  “Aren’t they cute?” she asks.

  “I don’t know how qualified I am to answer that.” I peer down at them, wondering what would possess her to torture her feet that much, no matter how “cute” the shoes are. “I think you look great. But I think you’re forgetting what a hike it is to the observatory. I don’t want you to twist your ankle or anything.”