He wraps an arm around me, and I lean against him as we watch the fishermen. Adam doesn’t recoil from my touch, doesn’t run away or look at me like I’m a monster. I can’t believe he would accept me, knowing what’s in my past and what I have the potential to become tomorrow—but somehow he does.
17:30
We return to Future-Adam’s house and spread our supplies across his massive kitchen island. An assortment of cleaning products. Baking soda and sugar. A party-sized bag of ice. I lean against the counter and try to imagine what we’ll use them for but come up blank.
“Now what?” Chris asks.
Adam takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair. “Now we put those chemistry classes to good use.”
“Uh, I failed chemistry,” Trent says.
“That’s okay. We’ll need your cooking skills too.”
Over the next hour, Adam puts all of us to work. With Trent, he makes smoke bombs by cooking sugar and baking soda in a skillet with some other chemicals. This makes a smooth, brown mixture that they form into little round blobs and bake in the oven like cookie dough.
Meanwhile, Adam and Chris make chloroform using the cleaning products and all of the ice we bought. They work so fast I can barely keep up, but Zoe and I assist them with whatever they need, providing an extra hand or bringing them more supplies. In the downtime, we sketch a map of the building’s lobby and sixth floor, using my memory and her drawing skills to create a rough estimate of the layout.
When we’re finished, we have eight caramel-colored blobs and five wet rags doused in chloroform. Adam swears they’ll all work. I just hope it will be enough to get us inside.
I check my watch. “We still have a few hours before we meet Lynne. We should get some sleep.”
“Not sure I can sleep,” Chris says. “I’m too amped up.”
“Me too.” Trent says, but he yawns. “Okay, maybe sleep does sound pretty good.”
We split up and shuffle off to different bedrooms. Adam and I lock eyes, and without a word, he slips his fingers into mine. We don’t speak as we walk down the hallway and find an empty room with a queen-sized bed, then shut the door.
I remove my jacket and slip off my shoes. My clothes are still damp underneath, as are Adam’s. There’s no way we can sleep in them.
I’m not shy. I slide off my shirt, leaving me in only my bra and jeans, and hear his sharp intake of breath. He removes his own shirt and tosses it aside, giving me another look at his toned chest.
I lead him to the bed and sit on the edge, looking up at him. I’m tired and I know I should rest, but now that we’re alone, the last thing I want to do is sleep. These might be my last few hours alive. My last few hours with Adam.
He stands in front of me and runs his hands through my hair before touching my cheek, my chin, my neck. My muscles tense with anticipation but not fear. Never fear, not with Adam. I close my eyes and let him explore. I expect him to kiss me, but his fingers brush my arms. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at the ink on them.
“I love your tattoos.” He traces the vines running down my forearm that wrap around a pink flower, a dahlia, with a name written below the petals. “‘Esperanza,’” he reads. “What does it mean?”
“It’s my mother’s name. It means ‘hope’ in Spanish.”
“Hope.” He touches the other tattoos on my arms—the spiderwebs, the black stars, the blue waves. His hands trail across my shoulders and to my back, finding the last of my tattoos. A flock of birds, inked across my back as though they are flying up into the sky. “And this one?”
“It symbolizes freedom.” Turning eighteen and escaping the foster care system. Being free and independent. Being able to live without fear.
He leans down and presses his lips to my back, over the lowest bird on my spine, and I gasp. I’m frozen in place as he kisses each of the birds, moving up to my neck.
I can’t take it anymore. I turn around and pull his mouth to mine. Our lips meet and fire dances between us. We fall back on the bed, our legs twisting together, my bare skin pressing against his. Somehow his glasses come off. I kiss his face, his neck, his shoulders, and everything in between. His hands tangle in my long hair, his hips rub against mine, and I moan against his mouth.