Adrian Lessons (7 page)

“The Sex King is the least of no one’s concerns,” says Elise in a hushed voice, and I wonder if a cult has been initiated in my absence.

“Cleo. Honey. Darling. Sweetpea.” June-Ann sits up, shakes a few bits of grass off her back, and takes me by both shoulders. “You need to think about the rest of womankind here.”

“It’s like how they say beautiful words of art belong in a museum for all of humanity. Like the Mona Lisa. Adrian’s cock belongs to us all,” says Elise in her sweet Catholic schoolgirl voice.

I blink. “You’re saying his cock is like the Mona Lisa?”

“No, because everyone’s always surprised at how small the Mona Lisa is.” June-Ann licks her lips. “I bet Adrian’s sweet piece of meat is huge.”

The girl’s all sigh as the mental image of Lower Adrian floats to them on a golden cloud, winged cupids trumpeting its arrival. I bat my hands around my head to drive away any unwanted imagery. “One—ew. Two—what are you guys even talking about? I haven’t cast a spell on him or anything.”

“Oh, but you have,” says Tanisha tragically. “You haven’t heard? He’s sworn off other girls.”

They all nod solemnly.

I laugh. “No way. The Sex King would swear off sex like I’d swear off Netflix. Isn’t sex like, his whole personality?”

Elise pouts. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Tanisha shoves the latest copy of the Statham Blotter at me. “Read it and weep. We all did.”

It’s the corner between sports and Westby Eats, the one usually saved for the Sex King’s column. But instead of a question-and-answer, there’s a little letter.

To my readers,

Thank you guys for everything. Really. But I’m going to be shutting down my column for now. Truth is, I’ve met a girl who I want to save all my time for, and so I don’t have any to spare on this column. So I’ll leave off with a question.

C—dinner on Friday?

“He’s basically confessing his love to you,” says Elise in awe.

June-Ann takes my shoulders again. “All our hopes ride with you now. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Two words—dick pics,” adds Tanisha. “Actually, no. Seven words. How did you pull this off?”

“I don’t know!” I explode. Everyone stares at me. Soon they’ll be staring a lot harder, because I’m about to start tearing my hair out and doing a monkey dance. “I have no idea what I did. I’ve known the guy for literally five minutes. He saw my boobs, I volunteered to let him taste me in Psych Lab, I proceeded to taste him, and suddenly it’s his holy mission to get me to go on a date with him. He’s probably on crack. I’m probably on crack. We’re
all
on crack, because there’s no way this is real.”

I’m panting now like a maniac, and Tanisha slowly raises one finger and does the universal crazy sign around her temple, but I’m right. There’s no way this is real.

Except…it
is
real. Adrian King is into me, for absolutely no reason at all.

A tiny smile comes to my lips, and I banish it fast. I vanquish that smile with swords and fire. Begone, beast.

Because Adrian and I are complete opposites. It would never work.

I’m about to announce this to the group at large when my phone rings. I dive into my bag for it, praying to the gods of friendship that it’s Marie, finally relenting.

But it’s not—it’s my sister, Therese.

“Baby sis!” she trills into the phone, and I wave a hasty goodbye to the Cult of Adrian, formerly known as the Psychology Club. “How are you?”

“Oh, fine. My roommate hates my guts for spilling her deepest secret to the school Sex King, who is now asking me out in a manner verging on the obsessive. How’s your Thursday going?”

“Amazingly,” she gushes, not hearing a word I said. “Your life will be hell for the next couple weeks.”

Which is not, in fact, what she says. What she says is, “I’ve met someone.”

Same thing.

“Great,” I say in the cheery tone of someone having each tooth slowly pulled out and then fed to them.

“He’s not like all the others, Cleo. He’s sweet and kind and he has a great sense of humor!”

She’s doomed.

“And he’s drop-dead gorgeous. You’ll love him!”

I wince. “That’s great, Therese.”

“You’ve always so supportive,” she says in a singsong-y voice. “I have to run now because my phone’s about to die, but I wanted to let you know about my new squeeze.”

“Okay,” I say. For a second I consider asking her advice about the Cosmann Grant, but then I realize I might as well ask my big toe.

“Tootles, love.”

And she hangs up.

I let a long sigh escape through my teeth. The sigh doesn’t want to be around when Therese’s latest romance blows up any more than I do. And it will blow up. You know when you stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave and you don’t know exactly when the first kernel will pop, but you will know it’ll be soon, and you expect it, but it startles you anyway? And then suddenly everything’s exploding at once?

Therese’s romances are like that, but without the buttery reward at the end.

And I’m the one who has to pick up all the pieces off the floor after the bowl turns over when someone gets a little too excited watching
Grey’s Anatomy
.

This popcorn metaphor has gone on long enough.

I pick up Marie’s favorite decaf chai latte at the campus café and make the short trek to our apartment building just outside the school, looking both ways before I make a run for the elevator.

I’ve been on Adrian high alert ever since Monday. In fact, I’ve perfected diving into the nearest bush whenever he walks by. The campus landscape architect had to pull me aside and tell me to stop damaging the shrubbery. My tuition dollars paid for it, after all.

But it’s starting to look like they won’t be paying for next semester’s roses. Between Marie’s quiet simmering and Adrian’s inexplicable affection, I haven’t written a word since Friday afternoon, when the sexy-yet-troubled Jonathan turned into a giant lizard mid-makeout.

Poor Jonathan. My rut doesn’t feel any less rut-ish and the next time I get my hands on him, he’ll probably turn into a large taco.

Which Adrian will not be tasting.

I steal a sip of chai in the elevator before getting off on the third floor and heading to my apartment door, steeling myself for another confrontation with my nonverbal roommate.

“Oh dearest most excellent and not to mention stupendous best friend, I brought you—” I announce, stepping into the kitchen with a flourish, only to be brought up short. “
Adrian
?”

“Actually,
I
brought Adrian.”

Marie is standing beside her desk, smirking. Most definitely not a good sign. And Adrian King is sitting at our kitchen table. He is also smirking. Being smirked at by the Sex King and my most-recently-furious-now-probably-scheming roommate is not what I wanted from this evening.

I hold out my cup. “I have a hot chai and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“I have a hot boy and I’m not afraid to use it,” Marie counters. The first thing she’s said to me all week and I can’t believe it just came out of her mouth.

“I don’t mind being used, if it’s by the right person.” Adrian’s smirk gets bigger. “Although I resent the use of ‘it’.”

I point at him with my chai-free hand. “What is
it
doing here, Marie?”

“I see,” Adrian muses. “You’ll only do what I don’t want. In that case, I definitely don’t want you to go on a date with me this Friday.”

I groan. “Marie…”

“Silence,” she says like a medieval queen. Marie would win the game of thrones, for sure. “Here’s the situation. You’ve told our lovely Mr. King here, whom I’ve spent the afternoon getting to know, my secret.
Our
secret. The one you swore up and down on with your hand on your favorite burrito that you would keep. Remember that secret?”

“I’m really really sorry, though, like the most sorry out of all the sorry people—”

“I know.” She smiles, and her face is the face of evil. I’m now aware how Harry Potter felt when he stared down Voldemort for the first time. Maybe Adrian will lend me his wand… “Which is why I’m going to forgive you. On one condition.”

“Why do I have the feeling that Adrian has something to do with the condition,” I mumble.

He leans back in my foldout camping chair that I use as a table seat, munching on an apology cookie that I baked Marie yesterday. “Marie said you made these,” he chokes out. “They’re amazing.”

My eyes widen. Those cookies could be used as chemical warfare. He must really want that new notch in his bedpost.

Marie stalks around the table. Business Marie has leveled up, to be known from now on as Evil Business Marie. “Your writing mojo has dried up. Kaput. All gone. Correct?”

“Correct.” My fingers inch toward my cell, in case I need to call an ambulance for Adrian, who has finished the cookie with a grimace.

“But we still have a book’s worth of sex scenes to write. Correct?”

She doesn’t even blush, despite the use of the word ‘sex’ in front of a boy. Adrian really is good at putting people at ease. “Correct.”

“This is my career,” says Marie firmly. “My future. And you need the money to pay for next semester at Statham, so it’s your future too. Consequently, we need to do everything we can to get you some writing inspiration, stat.”

“You totally rehearsed this,” I say, accusing.

“I did.” She waltzes up to me, swipes the apology chai, and hands it off to Adrian, who pretends like he’s not gulping it to get the taste of my cookies out of his mouth. “With Adrian.”

What the actual fuck. “How are you two suddenly best friends slash partners in crime?”

Adrian opens his mouth, but Marie cuts him off. “It’s not like I didn’t know that the Sex King has sworn off other girls in order to chase you. It’s all anyone’s talking about, and…” She blushes. “I read his column. Anyway, he showed up this morning asking for you, and we got to talking.”

Adrian shoots me a boy smile full of apologetic charm. It’s possible that the microwave behind me groans in longing. I’m not having it.

Okay, maybe I’m having it a little.

But that’s no reason to let him know. “Just tell me. What’s going on? Let me guess, you’re both axe murderers and you’re both about to reenact the plot of the first Saw movie?”

“Better,” says Marie happily. “You and Adrian are you going to act out all the erotic scenes in my book. Then you’re going to write them.”

My jaw falls to the center of the earth. “I think I’d prefer the Saw scenario.”

Adrian leans languidly on the table. “You didn’t tell me she was that kinky, Marie.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says, elbowing him.

I hate her. I hate her entire line of descendants. I hate her great-great-grandmother’s ghost. “Have you lost your freaking mind? No, no way, NO on a biscuit with ham and gravy—”

I’m shaking my head so hard that I don’t see Adrian get up. In a flash, he’s before me, pressing a finger to my lips. His touch sends an electric shiver down my whole body. “You don’t have to,” he says softly. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

At the moment, the only thing I want to do is pop his finger in my mouth and suck it, but that’s my uterus speaking over my brain.

“Clothes on,” says Marie quickly. “Obviously. Like, you won’t actually be doing it. It’s just to get a feel for what you’re writing about.”

I open my mouth to refuse again, but I hesitate. Marie’s right. I need cash bad. It’s not like we’ll actually be hooking up, and maybe it really will help. I can’t deny how my body is responding to Adrian’s barest touch. For the first time in weeks, for a brief moment, I feel like I could sit down and write.

It’s not like I’m selling my body for money, or auctioning off endangered tiger pelts, or anything awful. It’s just a creative exercise. That’s all.

Adrian lets his finger trail down my lips until he’s no longer touching me at all. My skin crackles, wanting him back. “I could help you,” he says.

“You owe me,” adds Marie from behind us. “Do this and I promise I’ll forgive you.”

The word that escapes my mouth next is, “Okay.”

A slow, easy smile spreads over Adrian’s face.

“We’ll try it once,” I correct. “And if it doesn’t help my writing, no more.”

“There’s one more condition.” Adrian won’t look away from my eyes, not once. “Have dinner with me on Friday.”

“Adrian—”

“Just one dinner,” he amends. “After that, I’ll stop begging. Promise.”

“I’m surprised you’ve been begging,” I say, probing the edge of the question that’s been hounding me all week. “You don’t seem like a guy who normally begs.”

“I’m not.” His gaze sizzles over my body. I suddenly wish I was wearing something more attractive than jeans and a T-shirt, but he looks at me like I’m wearing sexy lingerie. “Only for you.”

“Well, that’s settled then.” Marie claps twice, shattering whatever was building between us. Adrian steps back and I can catch my breath.

“Whatever we’re eating, it better be damn delicious,” I say, to hide my shiver.      “It’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” he promises.

It’s just one dinner. Just one measly little dinner with the sexiest man I’ve ever met, who has an uncanny ability to turn me into a sweaty mess with just one look, who is absolutely and completely not an option for me.

He’s experienced. Confident. In control. And I’m—

“Let’s do this, then,” Marie says suddenly, slipping on her shoes.

“What?” I squawk. “Now? Right this second in this universe right here?”

“No, in eighteenth century Britain.” She rolls her eyes. “My draft is due in two months, Cleo. We need to get it done.”

“Then why are you putting your shoes on? There’s a bed upstairs.” I refuse to look at Adrian. Not that my face is red. My skin is a perfectly normal flesh-colored tone. Promise.

Marie winks at me, and I’m left to wonder again which science lab this evil clone of my mild-mannered roommate has recently escaped from. “The first hookup in my book doesn’t happen in a bed, Cleo.”

I am no longer a normal flesh-colored tone. At the moment, I’m approximately ghost-colored. “No.”