I’m dismantling every single expectation anyone ever had of me, one video at a time. The whole thing feels very liberating—and terrifying.
After the clip is posted, I set my phone on the coffee table and pull Sage’s feet back into my lap. With my legs propped up, I rest my head on the back of the sofa and fall asleep with ease.
Twenty-One
Sage
T he first thing I register before I peel my eyes open is the familiar scent of rich cologne. The second thing I notice is that I’m not alone. Normally I have space on this deep-set couch, but today, I’m sandwiched between a hard body and the cushions.
As I open my eyes, I see his familiar dark beard and tan skin. Then I realize that I’m almost naked, in nothing but my bra and panties.
Although I vaguely remember Adam sitting at my feet, he must have moved in the night. He is now holding me tight in his arms as he sleeps, and the events of last night come flooding back to my mind.
Dammit, Gladys and her strong-ass margaritas.
Very carefully, I try to maneuver into a sitting position, but there’s no room, and I don’t want to wake him. So I just surrender and fall back against his body, swallowed up by the couch and his tall frame.
While lying in silence, I stare at Adam, wondering what version of him I’ll get when he wakes up. Will I get the version that looks as if the world is breaking down around him? Or the one that smiles, with the dimples and soft wrinkles around his eyes instead of between his brows?
Or the dark side that lets me wear his hand like a necklace?
He’s been so broken by someone he was meant to trust. I can see the torment radiating from him with every mood swing, every grimace, and every smile. His world has been ripped out of his hands, his self-identity with it, and I can’t help but wish I could just wrap my arms around him and put him back together.
Only a few minutes pass before he starts to stir too. And he seems just as perplexed by this unexpected sleeping
arrangement when his eyes open and he notices my half-naked body pressed against his.
Leaning back, he stares at me for a moment before letting out a yawn. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I reply. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
“Of course,” he says. He climbs off the couch and turns his body away from me. “It was…interesting.”
“You mean the book club?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
It would seem I’m getting the guarded Adam, who keeps his emotions walled up and secret, achieved with a blank expression and one-word answers in a flat tone.
“You can just say it was fun, Adam,” I say as I climb off the couch and head toward the kitchen.
I only make it two steps before a hand grips my arm, steering me around to face him. His face is only inches from mine as he stares down into my eyes as if he’s ready to say something. I wait one long second after another before he finally gives in and mumbles quietly, “It was fun. Thank you for letting me stick around.”
I’m lost in his eyes, feeling them look right into my soul.
“Well, we have to look like a couple, right?” I say, quietly.
My eyes dance from his eyes to his lips and back up. Morning breath be damned. I think he might kiss me right now, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.
I need to know what to expect. Maybe that’s why I’ve stuck around with shitty boyfriends for so long—no surprises.
They were simple, predictable and made my emotions easy to define.
But with Adam, nothing makes sense. Desire and attraction have always felt very one-sided. Of course, I like him. Of course, I want him. Look at him.
But he never lets himself want me—even when he clearly does. And now…lines are getting blurry and it’s making me panic.
His hand drops away from my arm as he steps backward.
“That’s right. We have to make everyone believe it.”
I slip away, going quietly to the bedroom to get dressed.
The apartment is tense and quiet as I start making coffee.
Adam uses the bathroom and comes back with Roscoe in his arms. Then, without me even having to ask, he climbs out the fire escape window and takes him outside.
While he’s gone, I pull out my phone. The scent of brewing coffee fills the room as I start to scroll. And the first thing I notice is that I have more notifications than usual. It only takes a moment before I realize it’s because I’ve been tagged, and when I click on what I’ve been tagged in, my heart nearly stops.
It’s a video of me sleeping on my couch. Subtle light filters in from a small lamp in the corner. Then, Adam’s face enters the frame, and he leans down, pressing his lips to my cheek.
My jaw nearly hits the floor.
Adam took this while I was sleeping. People are sharing it, tagging me, clearly invested in our relationship.
Fake relationship, Sage. Fake.
I have to keep reminding myself of that because I swear my heart doesn’t know the difference when it sees stuff like this and starts fluttering in excitement regardless.
Being on Adam’s account suddenly has me scrolling, and I can’t help but notice how hard it is to hold back my smile as I pass picture after picture of him looking handsome as hell every time. Some of the photos are clearly modeled by a photographer and some are candid of him and his brothers or his mother.
There’s one of him that’s clearly a selfie, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, holding a cup of coffee in some outdoor café.
He looks like the kind of man supermodels fight over and
absolutely nothing like the guys I date. He doesn’t even have a single tattoo on his body.
For no reason at all, I screenshot that photo and keep it in my camera roll. Then I scroll a little further and come across a video on his feed. Immediately, I press play.
It’s Adam in a deep-blue button-down shirt and dark-brown slacks. He’s standing at the front of the church, holding a microphone in his hand. As he walks, he preaches, and while I’m not focusing so much on his words, I can’t take my eyes off the way he looks in that role. He’s so natural, pacing around the stage, inflecting on all the right words, keeping the attention of his audience. He’s clearly gifted in public speaking. Hell, even I want to believe in God after listening to this.
“What are you listening to?” he asks as he climbs back in the window, setting Roscoe down on the floor.
I hold up my phone to show him. “I didn’t know you were a preacher too.”
His face tightens in a grimace. “I’m not.”
“This looks like preaching to me.”
Without letting the expression relax, he walks over to me and takes my phone. Staring down at his own video, he scrutinizes it for a moment. “I’ve only done it a few times.”
“Did you like it?” I ask.
A beat of silence goes by before he nods. “Yeah, I did.”
Then he lifts his head and looks at me as if he’s been struck by an idea.
“You know…I was thinking,” Adam says. “We should film somewhere different.”
I slip my phone into my back pocket. “What’s wrong with my apartment?”
“Your apartment is fine, but I just figure we need to mix it up. Really give them something to talk about.”
I pour coffee into each cup on the counter, then a little cream in each, handing Adam’s to him. “You sound like you have something in mind,” I say with a playful smirk.