Page 113 of Blacklist

“Sorry.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Where were you?” She asks barely concealing the suspicious way her eyes rove across me like she’s looking for clues.

“The library. I needed to catch up.”

She scrunches up her freckled nose. “You went to the library on a Saturday.”

“Not all of us have a dad to write a tuition check,” I snap. I instantly regret it. She flinches like I bit her. I know she doesn’t mean to be a snob. She’s actually remarkably kind in comparison to some of the people I’ve met in Valmont. “Sorry. I’m just stressed. You want to come in? We can order some food. I tracked down some cupcakes and I promise not to sing.” I’d actually swiped them from the cafeteria earlier today. She might not want to celebrate her birthday, but I’m not going to let her ignore it entirely. Baby steps. Next year will be easier.

She pauses and I wonder just how badly I fucked up. “Actually…”

Fan-fucking-tastic, Sterling. You’ve screwed up her birthday.

“My dad had to go out of town this morning. I thought we could go to my place.”

Other than the time we went riding, she’s never invited me to her house before. I assume she doesn’t want to deal with her father’s disapproval. I can’t blame her.

When I don’t answer immediately, she clears her throat.

“I thought we could be alone,” she says.

“Cyrus is out at some party.”

“What if he comes home?” she presses.

“He won’t bother us,” I begin.

Adair lets out a frustrated shriek that stops me. Her cheeks flush and she glues her eyes to the steering wheel. “I mean alone alone.”

“Oh.” This processes more slowly than it should. It’s not like I’ve never slept with someone. I’ve banged plenty of chicks back home. But this is different. Adair is different.

“We don’t have to,” she says quickly, misreading my hesitance. She unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for the door handle. “We’ll just hang out. I just thought…”

I grab her hand before she can open the door. “Of course, I want to be alone with you.”

I pray I’ve averted crisis. For all her confidence, I sense she needs a little encouragement.

“Cool. Um, we can go now if you want.”

“Let me drop my stuff off.” I hold up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

I brush my teeth in my room and consider grabbing extra clothes. That seems a little too presumptuous so I settle for changing into one of my nicer shirts—a long-sleeved white thermal that Francie sent in a care package. It’s nicer than the hoodie I’d been wearing but still casual. It’s not every day someone like Adair MacLaine asks you to take her to bed. I grab her present and stick it in my pocket, so she won’t complain. She told me not to get her anything and it’s not like it’s anything special. But I couldn’t ignore her birthday entirely.

She’s drumming the steering wheel nervously when I come back.

“You want to drive?” She asks when I get into the passenger’s seat. “I…I don’t want to.”

“Okay,” I agree slowly. Jumping out, I round the car to open her door before she can beat me to it.

As soon as she steps out of the car, I’m glad I changed. Usually, we hang out in jeans on the couch. Tonight, Adair is in a tight black dress that stops so short the length should be illegal. Long sleeves cover her arms but the neckline dips down between her breasts. She’s piled her hair on top of her head, a few strands fluttering freely around her face. Her skin is bare but her lips are glossy. If I had any doubt what she meant about being alone, I don’t anymore.

I rush to the other side of the car to help her into her seat—and also, so I can savor another few seconds of her in this outfit.

It’s not until we begin to drive that I realize she’s shaking.

“Are you okay?” I slow the car a little.

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “I’m just a little cold.”