eyes again. “You know,” he says, “I thought a lot about what would happen if I ever ran into you again. I definitely never thought you’d bulldoze me into going on a blind date.”
“I guess you’re not psychic, either.”
“Guess not.”
He stares at me across the table. I can’t help but think of what Adam said to me before he sent me back to 1997. I’ll do it because I’ll think you’re pretty. Does he still think I’m pretty? Enough so that he’ll agree to do what I want?
Adam tugs on his earlobe, the same nervous habit he has in 2013. Another fun fact about my Adam: he goes completely crazy when I suck on his earlobes. I just discovered it by accident once, when I was exploring his upper body, trying to figure out what turned him on the most. As soon as my tongue touched his earlobe, I knew I had hit the money spot. He squirmed and groaned, completely losing control of himself.
As Adam’s eyes meet mine, I know he doesn’t have a clue what I’m thinking about and I’m very grateful for that. Can you imagine if he knew I was thinking about sucking on his earlobes? That wouldn’t do at all.
Anyway, after what feels like an hour, he finally breaks the silence: “This fantastic girl … what’s her name?”
“Claudia,” I say.
“Claudia?” he snorts. “What is she—French?”
“I think it’s a nice name,” I say defensively, and he shrugs.
“And she’d be okay with my whole … situation?” Adam asks. His brows knit together and my heart aches just a tiny bit for him. I can see how easy it must have been for The Bitch to break him.
“Absolutely,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. You’re right about, you know, the horse and all. Getting back on it. I should.”
Wow, that was … well, not easy , but not as bad as it could have been. I almost expected to have scalding hot coffee thrown in my face by now.
“So let me get your cell number,” I say to Adam.
He stares at me blankly. “My … what?”
Oh right, hardly anybody had cell phones back in 1999. God, how did we live like that? We were like cavemen. “Your phone number, I mean.”
He scribbles it down for me on a napkin and I promise I’ll give him a call. Now all I have to do is convince the girl to go out with him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I vividly remember my first date with Adam. My Adam, that is.
He called the day after the party where we first met. I recognized his voice right away when he called me. “Adam, right?” I said. I was glad he’d called the next day and hadn’t waited the obligatory three days in order to pretend he couldn’t care less about me.
“Right!” He sounded really pleased I remembered him. “Okay, how’s this? You, me, Indian food, Friday night.”
“Sounds great.”
We were all set to have dinner that Friday, but there was a meeting at school that ran late and I ended up having to cancel. The second time we were supposed to go out, there was a blizzard, believe it or not. When we talked on the phone to reschedule, I joked, “Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”
“ No,” Adam said firmly. “It is meant to be. Let’s try again.”
Third time was a charm. Adam met me at my building carrying a single rose on his lap. It probably cost a few dollars only, but the gesture really touched me. I also loved that he wore a navy blue tie over his crisp white shirt. It showed that he was making an effort on my behalf. Plus I know how damn uncomfortable ties are, so I felt extra flattered. That said, his shirt was kind of wrinkled, although he at least managed to button it correctly that day.
“ So how did Nancy convince you to agree to go out with me?” Adam asked when we were seated in the Indian restaurant. There was a live musician playing some sort of flute in the corner of the room, and Adam had to raise his voice slightly to make himself heard over the music.
I laughed at his question. “You suspect treachery?”
“ A
“I guess you’re not psychic, either.”
“Guess not.”
He stares at me across the table. I can’t help but think of what Adam said to me before he sent me back to 1997. I’ll do it because I’ll think you’re pretty. Does he still think I’m pretty? Enough so that he’ll agree to do what I want?
Adam tugs on his earlobe, the same nervous habit he has in 2013. Another fun fact about my Adam: he goes completely crazy when I suck on his earlobes. I just discovered it by accident once, when I was exploring his upper body, trying to figure out what turned him on the most. As soon as my tongue touched his earlobe, I knew I had hit the money spot. He squirmed and groaned, completely losing control of himself.
As Adam’s eyes meet mine, I know he doesn’t have a clue what I’m thinking about and I’m very grateful for that. Can you imagine if he knew I was thinking about sucking on his earlobes? That wouldn’t do at all.
Anyway, after what feels like an hour, he finally breaks the silence: “This fantastic girl … what’s her name?”
“Claudia,” I say.
“Claudia?” he snorts. “What is she—French?”
“I think it’s a nice name,” I say defensively, and he shrugs.
“And she’d be okay with my whole … situation?” Adam asks. His brows knit together and my heart aches just a tiny bit for him. I can see how easy it must have been for The Bitch to break him.
“Absolutely,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. You’re right about, you know, the horse and all. Getting back on it. I should.”
Wow, that was … well, not easy , but not as bad as it could have been. I almost expected to have scalding hot coffee thrown in my face by now.
“So let me get your cell number,” I say to Adam.
He stares at me blankly. “My … what?”
Oh right, hardly anybody had cell phones back in 1999. God, how did we live like that? We were like cavemen. “Your phone number, I mean.”
He scribbles it down for me on a napkin and I promise I’ll give him a call. Now all I have to do is convince the girl to go out with him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I vividly remember my first date with Adam. My Adam, that is.
He called the day after the party where we first met. I recognized his voice right away when he called me. “Adam, right?” I said. I was glad he’d called the next day and hadn’t waited the obligatory three days in order to pretend he couldn’t care less about me.
“Right!” He sounded really pleased I remembered him. “Okay, how’s this? You, me, Indian food, Friday night.”
“Sounds great.”
We were all set to have dinner that Friday, but there was a meeting at school that ran late and I ended up having to cancel. The second time we were supposed to go out, there was a blizzard, believe it or not. When we talked on the phone to reschedule, I joked, “Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”
“ No,” Adam said firmly. “It is meant to be. Let’s try again.”
Third time was a charm. Adam met me at my building carrying a single rose on his lap. It probably cost a few dollars only, but the gesture really touched me. I also loved that he wore a navy blue tie over his crisp white shirt. It showed that he was making an effort on my behalf. Plus I know how damn uncomfortable ties are, so I felt extra flattered. That said, his shirt was kind of wrinkled, although he at least managed to button it correctly that day.
“ So how did Nancy convince you to agree to go out with me?” Adam asked when we were seated in the Indian restaurant. There was a live musician playing some sort of flute in the corner of the room, and Adam had to raise his voice slightly to make himself heard over the music.
I laughed at his question. “You suspect treachery?”
“ A
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