Page 76 of My Cosplay Escape
“Oh, of course. But it was worse than that.” Adam grins. “I said she didn’t look like a runner.”
“Well, she totally doesn’t. Where is her enormous Apple Watch?” Brent asks.
“The tan?” Adam continues.
“The bubbly runner’s high?” Brent goads.
“Fudge off.” I pull up another handful of purple basil.
Dinner is good. Mom is so absorbed in eating her tomatoes that she doesn’t have time to play matchmaker. She has plenty of time to play twenty questions with Adam, though.
“Adam, where are you from?” she asks.
“Here, actually. Well, Del Mar.”
“Doesn’t count,” Brent says.
“I have a little apartment off of Beryl Street while I’m finishing my thesis.”
Mom slices into her burger. She’s one of the only people I know who insists on eating a burger with a knife and fork. “Kinda far from campus.”
“Close to my work, though,” Adam says.
“Adam is an entrepreneur,” I tell Brent. Mom already knows this from meeting Adam the other day, but part of me wants to emphasize it again for her. I suppose I want her to be as impressed by Adam as I am.
“Have you heard of Superhero Escapes on Garnet?” Adam asks.
“You’re the escape room guy?” Brent asks.
“I am. Can’t convince Sarah to come see it.”
“What? Sarah!” Mom says my name like I am the most disappointingly obtuse child in the world. What’s wrong with me? Don’t I understand that life is about spending time with intelligent, successful hotties like Adam?
“School, Mom. Work.” They are excellent excuses—nice and succinct. Unlike the other one about Adam also being my employer/crush/TA/not TA/sometimes make-out buddy.
“And your study groups, I know. Sarah is determined to earn back her scholarship.”
“You don’t earn back a scholarship, Mom, if you’re going to a different school.”
“Who wants cake?” Brent asks.
“You should go tonight,” Mom says.
I choke on my lemonade. “Excuse me?”
“You should go see Adam’s escape room tonight.” Mom directs her next words at Adam. “She’s not telling you this, but it’s the crowds that are keeping her away.”
“He’s not open tonight.”
“True, my cast isn’t there. But I could show you the rooms.”
Mom has Mason jars of cake and pop-top bottles of lemonade packed for us before I can invent an excuse not to go.
“You want to come, Brent?” I ask in a burst of desperation.
Mom looks thunderously put out.
“Yeah,” Brent agrees. “Why not?”
