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“Could I…uh…ask you about the RA you’re working with?” Tallulah chewed her lip. “Those articles get like…the best click rate…but if you don’t want to—that’s okay—”
“No, we can talk about her,” I said with the first real grin of the evening. “I’m always down to talk about my babysitter.”
56
Piper
All Hypothetical
What is Adam doing here?
Every two minutes, I tried to yawn or stretch or drop my phone on the table, anything for a chance to check out Adam in his interview. He knew I’d be here tonight. As well as I knew he liked all his interviews after seven o’clock because he refused any that messed with his eating schedule.
“You’re staring again,” my mother said.
“Huh? What?”
My dad raised an eyebrow. “So, who is this man?”
I debated telling them for a long moment, but I had to say something. My neck was starting to cramp from how many stolen looks I’d attempted. And he wasn’t easy to ignore.
I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Adam in a suit. Maybe the RA conference? But even then, it’d only been dry for a couple of minutes before I shoved him in the pool. And this one looked so much better. Clean-cut, form-fitting, it showed off his broad shoulders and his muscles. Complete eye candy.
For…anyone else here.
“He’s a resident on my floor,” I explained. My parents looked at me expectantly, waiting for the other end of the sentence, but I couldn’t tell them everything. I bit the inside of my cheek. “And I’m…I’m a little…worried about him.”
“About him?” my dad repeated, surprised. “He looks like he can take care of himself.”
My mom took my hand in hers. “That’s very sweet of you. You’ve always been like that. Who you got it from, I have no idea.”
Always being attracted to emotionally unavailable men? Thanks, mom.
But that wasn’t the whole truth either. Because I was worried about him. I dug my fingers in my palm, wrestling with an inner question. What could I tell my parents that I knew they could keep secret?
“I have something to ask you guys, but you have to promise to never tell anyone, ever,” I said.
“So serious.” My mom laughed. “What has gotten into you?”
“You’ve got it, kiddo,” my dad agreed.
I twisted my hands in my lap. There was no one else I could talk about this with, and it’d been sitting heavily on my mind for a while. “Let’s say I did a sport in high school…”
It was my mom’s turn to grin. “A reading sport?”
“My allergies are terrible, but I would’ve shown up to support,” my dad said. “I can’t say how grateful I am that you never did the throwing ball activities. You know, the fact that the allergies are so bad is because they choose to only plant—”
I couldn’t get my brainiac parents on a roll with warmer temperatures and how drought and dryness affected seasonal allergies. I held up a hand and both of them fell quiet. “What if I did a sport in high school and I got hurt during practice? Like hurt, really, really badly.”
My mom straightened up. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about an injury that I probably would’ve needed surgery for,” I blurted out. “Something really bad. And my coach told me that I had to walk through it. If I didn’t, I was kicked off the team. What would you two have done?”
For a moment, they were quiet. They glanced at each other and I could see how worried they were, how long the lines on their faces stretched.
“Kiddo.” My dad took his elbows off the table. “If someone hurt you, you need to tell us.”
“Not me,” I said quickly. “All hypothetical.”
