That was probably for the best. There was no important conversation that could be had while Adaline was like this, and even with all that unknown hanging over us like a cloud, I found myself completely okay with that.
I got time with her. Something I’d been craving for months.
Without the ability to fill that craving, it grew and grew. Mushrooming into something bigger than I was capable of handling.
Did everyone feel like this when they found who they wanted to spend the rest of their life with?
Or maybe it’s because I’d known her for so many years. Because even before I was drafted, I liked her. But like … that wasn’t the fireworks and lightning and bigness that I always thought would accompany falling in love with someone.
Adaline wasn’t fireworks and lightning. She was something softer, sneaking up on me until I couldn’t look away. A sunrise, maybe. A beginning point that changed so gradually you hardly noticed until the brightest, most vivid colors you’ve ever seen dominated the entire horizon.
Adaline stayed quiet as we drove. And I was glad.
Her eyes never wavered from my face, and I didn’t ask her any questions. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I did. But if she was telling the truth and she had no filter when she’d been drinking, then it felt like pressing an advantage I wasn’t supposed to have.
By the time I pulled into her parking lot, the silence between us was thick with tension. Weighed down with all those things I wanted to ask, and things she probably wasn’t ready to answer.
I got out of the car and walked slowly around the front so I could open her door. Her eyes tracked me the entire time.
When she stood out of the vehicle, I noticed her green and gold sneakers with a smile.
“I like those,” I told her.
She pointed a toe out. “Thank you. They were an emotional purchase. I’m still not sure if they made me feel better or not, but they are really fucking cute.”
With a laugh, I closed the passenger door and gestured for her to lead the way to her apartment. That stray piece of hair fluttered across her face, and she slid it behind her ear as she gave me a curious look.
“You’re coming in?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not tonight. Just making sure you get in safely.”
Adaline didn’t answer right away. We approached the door to the lobby, and instead of swiping her key fob in front of the lock, she turned and braced her back against the wall. Her eyes still held the look of someone happily buzzed.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my cargo shorts and clenched my teeth against the desire to kiss her.
It was almost impossible to ignore, with the soft curve of her lips and the sweet scent of her shampoo in the air.
“Are you sure you can’t come up?” she asked. Her hand reached out, and she wrapped a finger into the hem of my shirt, tugging gently until I took a step.
I braced a hand on the wall above her head, settling my nose at the crown of her hair. Just once. When I pulled in a deep lungful of that smell, I hardly held back a ragged groan. “I can’t,” I growled. “Not when you’ve been drinking.”
“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered. Adaline pinched her eyes shut. “I know I shouldn’t tell you that. I’m the one who only wanted one night.”
There was a devil on one shoulder, whispering all the things that I could ask her, could do to her. She’d be so sweet to kiss, so warm and soft and wet in the places I wanted to dig my hands and fingers and tongue.
“I missed you too,” I told her.
Adaline let out a shuddering breath, her hand skating up the plane of my chest. The button-down shirt I was wearing was flimsy protection, and when her finger toyed with the top button, the skin at the base of my throat, I rolled my neck to the side and fought through every snapping, snarling instinct to take her inside and find the nearest flat surface.