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"Did I get everything?" I push the envelope. I'm nobody's Indiana farm girl. If Adam has been paying attention to anything these last few days, he should know that I don't do passive. I don't do subtle, and I don't like to wait. "You tell me?" He plants his feet like a stubborn mountain man. But I've learned some time ago to step around men that get in my way.
I hop off the stool, papers in one hand, and grab the neck of his guitar with the other. "I think I have everything I need. Why don't you head back to your hotel and get a few hours of rest? I don't expect your brother to arrive for another two hours. More than enough time to figure out if we have anything here worth moving forward with."
Adam crosses his arms in front of him, feet anchored to the floor. "And you don't think you'll need me here to help you come to that decision?"
The clank of magnets being adjusted on the music stand echo in the room as I line up the sheet music. "I think you've given everything you have. Am I right?"
His arms uncross, his lower lip quivers, and I do something I just told myself I wouldn't. I wait.
I wait to see if he's been taking notes. I wait to see if he's learned anything about me over the last few days. I hold my breath and wait to see if he's learned anything about himself.
A non-answer is his answer. Indecision is the enemy of progress. Take a chance, fail fast, pick yourself up, and carry on. Those are my life lessons.
Adam is a nice guy. Maybe too nice. I've done the bad boys who proved to be too bad. Maybe I need a nice guy. But not too nice. I refuse to go to the extremes.
"Thought so. Have a good nap." I strum the first chord, dismissing him. I don't have the patience to wait. It's black or white. If there's something you want, you go for it. It either works out, or it doesn't.
He should know this—he's the one who wrote the words.
I'll never apologize.
Chapter Fourteen
Adam
"You're doing it all wrong," Laredo shouts over my shoulder as I toss the baseball at the dented milk jugs at the carnival stand. Of all the people to find me on the boardwalk after my disaster with Ariel, it's him.
I couldn't return to the hotel and sleep. Not after that. I'm on a Groundhog Day treadmill, repeating the same mistake over and over again.
There's something going on between us. An undeniable spark which keeps getting extinguished the minute it rears its head. Or am I imagining it? I can't get a read on her. One minute, I sense a connection simmering just below the surface. A bubbling cauldron of adrenaline and opportunity. Then the next, I say something or not say something, and it's like a switch flipping. A hot, angry tsunami of disappointment wiping me off the face of the earth.
"Aren't you late for the studio?" I snap, hoping Laredo takes the hint.
"It'll be there when I get there." He shoots the words like a slogan. His typical, self-righteous motto that encapsulates the difference between us and how the world perceives us.
I arrive early everywhere, the dependable one who stays late and helps the host with the post-event clean up when everyone else has left. He's the late to the party guest who arrives without a gift or dish and receives the hero's welcome.
I'll end up in therapy, and he'll wind up on TikTok with a million followers.
"She's out of your league," Laredo doubles down, picking at the exposed wound.
"Who are you even talking about?" I play ignorant, and all it does is cause him to laugh.
"Bro, don't embarrass yourself. I know you. I saw it in your eyes that first night on the boardwalk. You like her, and there's nothing wrong with that." Laredo steps next to me and plucks one baseball from my hand.
"She's incredible." He nudges me from my spot and lines up in front of the bottles. "And freaking hot."
My huff is lost in the ball's crash against the bottles. The three of them bursting in different directions. Of course, he'll step to the plate and deliver while I continue to struggle.
"But like I said, you don't have it in you. Not for someone at her level." He continues to pick at my insecurities, and as much as I want to punch him, I can't because he's not saying anything I haven't already told myself.
I slap a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and look for the attendant to set us up for another game.
A small head of pink and blue hair peeks out from the back counter, resetting the bottles. "I remember you now," the teenaged girl says, scooping up the twenty and resting her hands on her tiny hips. "Last summer, right?"
I nod my head. When I stepped to the counter a few minutes ago and spotted her, I prayed she wouldn't remember me. My life really is Groundhog Day. A year ago, I stood in this same spot, tossing these same balls, seeking a way to relieve stress and anger. I spent over a hundred dollars that day and never found the relief I was seeking, nor the skills to win this stupid game.
"You were here with your sister." She laughs at the memory.
