Pieces of Perfect (9 page)

Seventeen
 

The next two weeks passed quickly. My days were filled by Max, but they all ran together and became a hazy blur in my memory. We were spontaneous, and slightly sex-crazed. And even though I still hadn't called him Max to his face, we knew each other intimately. I couldn't deny my attraction to him. I was definitely addicted to sex with Max.

But despite the heated desire that bloomed between us, there were other moments, still moments. Moments where time slowed and I found myself looking at him differently: not as an object of my wildest desires, but as something more. Something resembling a good friend. I caught myself lost in staring matches with him, like we were having an entire conversation without uttering a word, especially during our lunches together, as he
often joined us in the teachers’ lounge now. There were also instances where our need to touch one another seemed to represent something beyond the physical. It was almost emotional, a support the other could count on. I found myself often brushing my shoulder against his arm, wanting to feel him there. I began to realize that the sex wasn’t going to last forever, but maybe the friendship we had forged could.  
 

While I had found a friend in Max, I hoped I had found a boyfriend in Adam.
 My time with him was a stark contrast from Max. Everything about Adam was deliberate, focused. He wanted to make the most of every moment we spent together and I adored him for it. Our conversations covered a wide expanse of things: fond memories, our past relationships, our hopes and dreams for the future. All of the things you talk about in order to ensure compatibility. And Adam and I were compatible.
 

It was more so the small, unsaid things that assured me of this, though. Last week, he had taken me to a Philadelphia 76ers game. We sat damn near on the court, watching the Sixers get trounced by the Miami Heat.
 

“Do you come to basketball games often?” I had asked about midway through the first quarter.
 

“All the time. I’m a season ticket holder.”

“Wow, really?” I asked. What came out of my mouth next was somethin
g I instantly wished I hadn’t said. “Why?”
 

Adam smiled at me, showing that he understood why I was asking. The team was terrible. How much fun could it be watching losing season after losing season.
 

“I grew up watching basketball with my dad,” he explained. “He brought me to games often and we had the best times watching Julius Erving, Maurice Cheeks, and Charles Barkley. I guess I want to recreate those great memories with Eva. The family that plays together stays together, right? Besides, I’m not a bandwagon jumper. I’m a Philly sports supporter through the
good, the bad, and the downright ugly.”
 

I warmed at his explanation. I thought back to my own childhood and while I could recall good times, nothing I would describe as the “best” came to mind. I hooked my arm through his as I thought about what a tremendous father he was. I wondered if Eva knew what she had.

I’ve heard that a woman subconsciously examines potential mates for the things she most wants present in her offspring. But even though this was supposedly done without the woman ever realizing that she was doing it, I always noted the things that I would want passed down to my children. Adam’s capacity to love was definitely one of them. But he demonstrated another just this past weekend, at a Killers’ concert in the city.

Of course, Adam being Adam, the evening was first class all the way. We took a black stretch limo into the city, had front row seating, and backstage passes. I loved the Killers and was so excited to go, I could barely sit still for the entire ride there. And since traffic on 76 was awful, the ride seemed interminable. We arrived, got drinks and took our seats just as the show was beginning.
 

I had to hand it to Adam. For such a gentleman, he could definitely let loose and enjoy himself freely. It was a duality I found extremely attractive. About midway through the show, people started working their way forward, trying to crowd the barricade that denied them access to the stage. It was such a gradual filling, I barely noticed until we were pushed together, asshole to belly button. The crowd grew rowdier and Adam put his arm protectively around my waist.
 

Then, out of nowhere, I felt a pair of large, slimy hands on me, trying to pull me backward. I jerked away and turned to where the hands had come from. They belonged to a sweaty, slovenly, drunk prick who looked to be about my age.

“Come over here and finish what we started,” he slurred, reaching for me again. I tried to move back, but there was nowhere to go. Just as the man was about to make contact with me again, Adam stepped in front of me, shielding me from the groping hands.
 

“Walk away,” was all Adam said. His tone was calm, but menacing and I could hear the rage behind it as his back muscles tensed against my breasts.

“Fuck you. That little tease was rubbing up on me and
. . .” The man’s sentence was cut off by a punishing blow to the jaw, inflicted by Adam. The disgusting man fell to the ground, knocked out cold. As the audience began to realize what had just occurred, Adam grabbed my hand and led me through the chaos.
 

He led me through the concert arena, out the exit, and back to the safety of our limo before he spoke.
 

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?”
 His eyes were filled with worry, his brow furrowed.

I nodded.  “Are you?” I asked, gesturing toward his hand.  I could already see a bruise forming at his knuckles. He had hit the man with such force, I actually expected to see blood running down Adam’s hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  He sat back and drew me to him, draping his arm around my shoulders.  He told the driver to start home, and then we sat in silence for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes.
 

“Not quite the evening I had envisioned,” he said with a slight smile, the twinkle returning to his eyes.
 

“No, but I have to say, you were a real badass.”  I returned his smile.  
 

“I was, wasn’t I?”
he said with a laugh.  “Guess all those kickboxing classes really came in handy.  I should write the instructor a thank-you note.”  

I was happy to have the humor between us again, but it didn’t capture how I was truly feeling.  Laughter wasn’t where I wanted this moment to go.

I put my fingertips on Adam’s cheek and slowly turned his face toward mine.  

“Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.
 

“My pleasure.”

Eighteen
 

Since the concert, all I could think about was Adam and how hot it was that he had protected me. He had even called me Sunday morning to see if I was okay because he knew that I’d been a bit shaken up from everything that happened the night before. No one had ever gotten into a fight for me. Ever.
 And I was completely turned on by it. By him really.  It was becoming difficult to hold myself back. Our make out sessions were great, but we needed to turn up the heat. Now!

I wanted, or rather needed, some sort of sexual contact with him. I had to know what it was like for Adam Carter to get me off.  But more than that, I wanted to feel close to him, closer than I did now.  He seemed so timid at times, somewhat uncertain of how fast we should be moving.  So I made a vow to myself that the next time I saw him I would make the first move. Until then, I would be fucking the daylights out of Max.
A girl still had needs.
 

On Tuesday, I beamed when I saw I had a text from Adam:

I was hoping you might want to see a movie Thurs
day night with me. Your pick. I was thinking of dropping Eva with my parents for the night and going late. But I know you have to be up bright and early to teach, and I wouldn’t want to wear you out.  Let me know.

My eyes were drawn to his use of the phrase “wear you out.” Did he mean what I thought (or hoped) he meant, or was he just being considerate of my need to sleep?  Damn text messages! I responded with something I thought would work no matter what his intentions were.
 

How about Warm Bodies at 10:50? I
’m fine with you wearing me out : )

*              *              *

Thursday night finally arrived, and with it, Adam. He was dressed in dark jeans that were intentionally worn at the knee, a four pocket khaki jacket, and a crisp, button-down white shirt that he left untucked.  Revealing a peek at his smooth chest because his top two shirt buttons were undone, he looked like he should be on the cover of
GQ
instead of my front steps.
 

I wanted to skip the movie and make our own version of
Warm Bodies
in my bedroom. It was all I could do to keep from pulling him inside my apartment and then inside of
me
.
 

As we walked to his car, he told me I looked beautiful.
I blushed at his compliment, appreciative of it his thoughtfulness. I had tried on about fifteen different outfits before settling on a loose black shirt, skinny jeans and knee-high boots. At least the wardrobe changes had been worth it!

Adam ordered us a large popcorn to split and two iced teas. With the exception of two other couples and three teenagers toward the front of the theater, it was empty. I picked at the popcorn slowly for the first half hour or so, my hand grazing against his every now and then.
 

Each time I felt his skin against mine, my chest clenched at the anticipation of what I hoped would happen later. I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the movie as, out of my peripheral vision, I was busy focusing on Adam slowly licking the butter off of his fingers. One. By. One. I squirmed in my seat at the thought of those same fingers moving inside me, that tongue licking up and down the insides of my thighs. My stomach tightened in response to my daydream.
Christ, Lily, focus on the movie, you hornball.
 

Adam reached over to put his arm around me and began to rub my bicep softly. I leaned into him and rested my head against his shoulder. I could smell that same aftershave that I remembered so well from our first date. I needed to find out what it was so I could get a bottle and smell it when I needed an Adam fix.
 

From this angle, it was easier (and much more fun) to stare at his lap than it was to watch any of the zombies on screen. I placed a hand just above his knee, and he began to trace his fingers across my forearm with his other hand. As he moved his hand back and forth, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and picture him touching himself while he thought of me. Like Max had.
 But Adam was nothing like Max, so his doing it would mean so much more.

As I subtly stroked his leg, I thought I could see him get slightly hard at my touch. He shifted in his seat involuntarily and cleared his throat. After all that I had done with Max (and the places we had done it), it was strange to find myself wondering if I could work up the nerve to do this. After all, I was just going to touch him above his jeans. Feel how stiff he was and make him even harder so I knew I could have him later.  Eva was sleeping at Adam’s parents’ house. Tonight would be perfect.

Just do it, Lily.
 

I couldn’t wait for courage that would never arrive, so I just acted. If I could attribute one piece of solid advice to my mother it would be that "action comes before motivation."
 If only she would have known that her words of wisdom would lead me to this. I laughed internally at the thought and placed my hand firmly on his dick, beginning to massage him over his jeans. I only got far enough to confirm that I had been right about his erection when he put my hand in his to stop me.
 

Until this moment, I had never realized that one silent gesture had the power to make me feel so physically and emotionally broken. I had been rejected. And this time it hadn't been by some stranger who had moved my hand away just so he could fuck me later in an airport hallway.

*
              *              *
 

Silence filled the car like smoke on the ride home. With every breath, I could feel my chest tighten as the air seemed to thicken. Even on this cold February night, the warmth of the
heater burned my cheeks.  And the early morning darkness made me wish I could just close my eyes and forget this had ever happened.

What have
I done?  What kind of person tries to give someone a hand job in a fucking movie theater?  

I didn't have to look far for the answer:

Probably the same type of person who uses her lunch break to get a piece of ass instead of a piece of pizza.
 

But if I were being honest with myself, I knew why I had wanted to do that in the movie theater. I wanted Adam to be a little adventurous. I wanted him to know how much I couldn't resist him. And I wanted him to feel as aroused as I felt constantly
when I was with him. But most of all, I had just wanted him to
want
me.