Page 71 of Burn

Not once.

It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.

And I think I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to hearit again.

Curious

Lex

“You really didn’t need to come,” I tell Adrian as we drive to the rehearsal dinner. I fidget nervously in my seat, pulling at the hem of my skirt, checking my reflection too many times. Adrian is in the driver’s seat, leaning back with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. I can’t wrap my head around how relaxed he is when we’re speeding toward what my nerves are telling me will be an uncomfortable evening.

I sneak a glance at him. He’s wearing a dark gray button-down shirt with rolled sleeves and black dress pants. He ditched his usual ball cap, so I can see his eyes as he focuses on the road. If he’s nervous, he hides it well, making me more anxious.

“You could drop me off and head back to the motel if you want,” I ramble.

Shut up.

Silence stretches between us, spiking my heart rate. “I can get a cab back. You could sleep or do literally anything else. Really, I don’t mind.” I clasp my hands together, trying to stop myself from rechecking my makeup.

The drive is only a few minutes — everything in this town only takes a few minutes — but it takes us past the house I grew up in, and I guess I wasn’t expecting a reaction because the wave of sadness that hits me hits hard. Adrian doesn’t reply, and I don’t speak again. I allow myself to drift away into memories of my last days in that house. Some of the last times I saw my mother outside of the institution walls, unmedicated.

I don’t mention it to Adrian, and I wonder if he knows the significance of this street and house. If he does, he doesn’t mention it.

The restaurant parking lot is jam-packed, and we’re twenty minutes late. I struggled to pick an outfit and had to change several times before Adrian grabbed my shoulders and told me I looked beautiful in whatever I decided to wear. Now, sitting in this parking lot, I hate what I selected and consider asking him to head back to the motel so I can change.

“I want to be here,” Adrian’s voice cuts through my internal critic, and the most unusual sense of calm replaces the sadness.

This is gonna be okay.

When he reaches out and gently squeezes my bare thigh, I look back at his face. He’s smiling. It’s warm, soft, and gives me the courage to unbuckle my belt. He does the same, motions for me to wait, and hurries out of the car to my door, opening it and helping me out. Like second nature, he drops his hand, capturing mine, and we head toward the party.

Blake spots us immediately and rushes over, wrapping her arms around me. She never got any taller, and I’m at least a head taller. She smells like jasmine or lilacs. Something floral and bright. I scan the table over her shoulder, recognizing not one person.

Her voice is light when she whispers, “I’m not even going to give you shit for being late.”

Next to me, Adrian chuckles, and Blake releases me, turning to face him. As her gaze travels up from his chest to his face, her eyes go wide, and I bite back a laugh. He holds out his hand, the one that enveloped mine on our walk inside, and says, “It’s great to meet you, Blake. I’m Adrian.”

Her eyes flick to mine before she makes a face and launches herself at him, wrapping her slim arms around his broadshoulders. Adrian goes stiff for a beat before he wraps one arm around her. I still barely know this man, but I’ve come to realize physical contact isn’t something he gives out casually. Every touch is intentional.

“Thanks for bringing her, Adrian,” Blake says when she steps back. He nods in response, and she grabs my hand, dragging me down the row toward the table. The restaurant is small, rustic, and filled with diners. There’s so much laughter and movement, but the group that’s here for the rehearsal is small. There are two seats open next to Blake, clearly reserved for us, and as we slide in, Blake announces, “Everyone! This is my best friend, Morgan, and her…” she pauses, and looks at me for a title we haven’t put on our situation. When I draw a blank and stare back awkwardly, she shrugs and says, “Adrian. This is her Adrian.”

A good-looking guy with neat blonde hair stands and holds his hand out to Adrian. “Nice to meet you, man. I’m Charlie.”

“Thanks for having me,” Adrian replies in a low tone that’s almost too quiet to hear. “Congratulations.”

I offer a small wave to the table and drop into the seat next to Blake. Adrian slides in next to me, and the table is so small that his body presses against mine. I lean into him, soaking in his body heat and stability.

It takes fifteen minutes for the waiter to return to the table to take our drink orders, and Blake regales the table about our ‘origin story,’ as she calls it. My cheeks heat with embarrassment when she explains how I followed her home from school one day and asked to hang out. Everyone at the table laughs, except the man I’m currently leaning my body into, so I turn to look at Adrian.

His attention is locked onto Charlie as Charlie watches Blake speak. His expression is neutral, but there’s no denyingsomething is up. I nudge him gently with my shoulder and angle myself to whisper, “Everything okay?”

His eyes drop to mine, then flick to my mouth. He responds with a small smile, then leans his head to press a quick kiss to my lips. He lifts his arm from the back of my chair and sets his hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth. The intimate contact paired with the open display of affection sends a flurry of chills through my body, and I remain locked on him until he looks back at Charlie and casually says, “So, Charlie. Where you from, man?”

Too casually.

Charlie, who was mid-sentence with an older man across the table who looks strikingly similar, turns to Adrian. “Me? I grew up on the East Coast, actually. Moved out here a couple of years ago.”

Adrian nods and smiles, and asks, “Oh yeah? Whereabouts?”

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