Limits (6 page)

“That’s very unlikely, Adam,” I say, taking a long sip of soda to cool the furious flush I know is igniting my cheeks. But I suck too many bubbles down my throat and wind up gasping and choking.

Adam comes around to pound his hand between my shoulder blades as I hack and choke, wishing this had all gone down very differently.

In a parallel universe, Adam offered tons of late night tutoring sessions to get me through these merciless differential sets, we wound up meeting at his dorm (where he’d ordered in delicious food and lit candles everywhere...also, he maybe wasn’t wearing a shirt with Yoda on it), things started out strictly business, but, before we knew it, we were kissing. And then kissing turned into something more, and then it was only a matter of time before I was bringing home to meet my parents.

The fantasy ends there, because I’ve stopped choking and Adam is back in his seat, looking worried. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” I sigh. “So I really have to do these all on my own?” I lean forward, letting my low-cut shirt do the work for me.

Adam’s gaze dips and his eyes widen, but he snaps his focus back to my face. “Yes. And it’s for your own good. I’d never tell you to do this alone if I didn’t think you could. Ready for class?”

I sigh again and help him pick up the wrappers and empty cups. He drives me right up to my lecture hall and we make it in plenty of time, since he has a faculty parking permit.

“Thanks for lunch.” I smile and tuck my insane Calc extra credit packet safely into the depths of my folder, where I don’t have to look at it.

“No problem at all. So, are we on for Thursday?” He hooks his thumbs along the bottom of the steering wheel and stares at the gauges.

“Sure. Do you eat In-N-Out twice a week?” I look over at him. He doesn’t have a single extra ounce of fat on his entire body. Or, at least, it seems that way. I haven’t seen him undressed.

Yet.

“No.” He moves the steering wheel back and forth a few times like a little boy playing driving. “I’d say it’s more like five or six times.”

“Five or six?” I gasp. “Burgers are delicious, but you’re going to die.” I know it’s not remotely coy, but I don’t care at all. Adam goes out of his way to take care of my academic health. Cooking for him is the least I can do. “You need a meal. Like a real meal with ingredients other than beef patties and fried starches.”

“You’re making some very appetizing points.” He squints at me. “Does Ramen count?”

“Ugh! No!” I laugh.

“SpaghettiO’s?”

“You’re just making me sad now. Listen, what are you doing after class?” I watch as his fingers tighten over the steering wheel.

“After this class?” he asks, looking at me with eyes that are a little wild. I nod and he stutters. “Uh, one more class. At four. It’s over by quarter after five.”

“Perfect. Almost dinnertime.” That will give me exactly enough time to make and pack a meal that will save him from death by fast foods. “Can you pick me up? We can go back to your place.”

“Oh.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks nervous. “My place? Right. It’s a little...antiseptic.” He leans my way and explains, “Not even because I’m a scientist. They just have this insane asylum vibe going, and, you know, there’s so many amazing places to go around here. Why don’t we go up to Griffith Observatory? Or is that too much like a date?” he rushes to add.

What’s wrong with this being ‘too much like a date’?

“No. Griffith is great. I haven’t been since I was just a kid. This will be fun.” I check my phone. “Okay, I’m going to be to class five minutes early today. But I’ll text you my address. Give me your number?”

Adam stutters through the ten digits like he’s lost his mind. I tilt my head to one side and really look at him. His sort of messy dark hair, the green eyes that feel warm on my skin when he looks my way, the jaw that’s kind of shockingly male.

He’s
kind of shockingly male.

Maybe it’s just because I always tended to date guys who prided themselves on being rough around the edges, blaring their masculinity like a raw badge of honor, that I didn’t immediately realize how much more of a man Adam is.

He’s quiet, but that’s because listens. To everyone, from his advisors to his lowly tutoring student.

He has a little bit of a dorky mad-scientist vibe going on, but he swept me in his arms like I weighed nothing when I tripped on my heels and growled at me like a testosterone-crazed wild man.

He works, hard. He makes sure little old couples get their kosher treats, even when he wants to run after crazy me. When he finds a girl so tipsy she can barely walk, he gets her home in one piece, makes no attempt to try anything funny with her, and helps her with her problems in Calculus while he’ at it.

He’s a man. The best kind of man. The kind of man I’ve never even attempted to date before.

But I’m more than ready to try now.

I hug my folder to my chest as Adam walks me to class, careful to keep a few inches of distance between the two of us. Which is adorable and fine for now...but it’s all going to change tonight.

The Griffith observatory? My poached spinach and walnut pesto chicken? A starry night spent laughing and getting to know each other? Adam won’t be able to keep his hands off of me by the time the night is over. I have a plan.

I never leave class early, and Shapiro loves to jaw with me about whatever article caught her interest in the latest scientific journal. She’s smart as hell, and I can usually stay a good forty minutes after class is over just debating the role of physics coaching in extreme sports or whether it makes sense to extend the dietician program so it encompasses classes beyond the physics core. It’s not my specific discipline, but I love getting her take on things in general.

And, with the way my yeast trays are going, I’m beginning to wonder if I might have chosen the wrong focus.

But, today, I can’t spare any time. Because I’m going on a date. I guess. Or not a date. Just two people eating food in a scenic location. Though it’s highly probable that things between Genevieve and the beach bum fizzled, especially after the way he left her the other night. So maybe a date?

I expect Dr. Shapiro to be bummed when I break the news to her, but she’s smiling wide. “You have—what was that phrase again— a ‘previous commitment,’ is it?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Something like that.”

“Hmm. Does she have a name?” She puts her folders into her briefcase and we leave the
lecture hall.

“Genevieve.” Her name sounds beautiful—exotic even—when I say it to someone else.

“I bet she’s lovely. I’m glad you’re coming out of your shell, Adam,” Dr. Shapiro says. “Science is wonderful, but it can be isolating, can’t it? Enjoy your date. You do know that’s what this is, right?” She winks and laughs over her shoulder as she leaves me on the sidewalk.

So it is a date.

I drive back to the dorm and strip off my work clothes. I put on the only decent jeans I own, a dark sweater, and my good sneakers. I use gel. I brush my teeth twice and gargle with mouthwash.

I
did
eat a double-double with extra onion for lunch.

I follow Genevieve’s directions and pull up at a nice house with a million plants on the wide front porch and a homey, crowded feel, like dozens of people are probably running through it and around it at any given second. Nothing like the neat, Spartan apartment I grew up in. Genevieve flies out the door before I can knock, both hands wrapped around a basket she can barely lift. I get out to help her and she stops short on the steps.

“Wow.” She looks me up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but khakis and a button down.”

I heft the basket into my arms, glad it weighs around a metric ton. I’m starved.

“I’m usually dressed for work,” I explain. She’s wearing another impossibly tiny top that barely covers her. Not that I’m complaining. She looks amazing. But it must be uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to wear those shoes?”

She looks down at the shoes that are green, like limes, with little bows over the place where her toes poke out. The heels are at least four inches high, and there’s only this tiny green strap around her ankle holding them on.

“Aren’t they cute?” she asks.

“I don’t know how qualified I am to answer that.” I peer down at them, wondering what would possess her to torture her feet that much, no matter how ‘cute’ the shoes are. “I think you look great. But I think you’re forgetting what a hike it is to the observatory. I don’t want you to twist your ankle or anything.”

She smiles brightly and waves her hand back and forth. “It’s not going to be a problem.” She walks to the car, graceful as a gazelle. Of course she only had to walk a hundred feet on a flat, paved driveway.

I decide keeping my mouth shut is probably the best way to start this...date. Is this a date? I have no idea.

She’s definitely dressed for a date. She’s wearing that sexy little top, black with lime green ribbons that match those shoes, and a tight skirt. That’s dressed up, right? Or it’s Genevieve. She dresses like this all the time.

“Did you get a chance to look over the problems Eidelberg made for you?” I ask, and she flips a hot look my way.

Not hot like bedrooms and sexy: hot like she’s attempting to blister through my skin with her eyeballs.

“Do you have any idea just how much food I stuffed into that picnic basket?” she asks, her voice sweet.
Dangerously sweet. Too sweet. “Broccoli salad with feta dressing, cheddar cornmeal biscuits, poached spinach and walnut pesto chicken, and chocolate chip cookies. All homemade. And I had to run to the store for a few ingredients
before
I started cooking.”

“Oh.” I feel like an ass, but I was thinking the basket was filled with tuna fish sandwiches and sliced apples or something. So this
is
a date.

“It’s not this huge deal,” she rushes to explain. “I mean, I love cooking. It kind of relaxes me. You know, like when I’m about to fail calculus and stressed, it helps me calm down. So, it’s not like...any big deal.”

So...
not
a date?

“That’s amazing. When I’m stressed, I play video games for hours on end. Your destressing is way more productive. And it sounds delicious. All of it,” I insist.

Her smile puts me at ease. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be.”

We drive the rest of the way talking about things that don’t really matter: who won the latest singing talent show she watches, how things are going at her parents’ furniture store, and then she asks about my yeast experiments. I’m just about to tell her the entire saga, but I don’t want to ruin my appetite thinking about it, so instead I say it’s all good and focus on finding a parking space along the dusty, curving road.

“I love this place,” I tell her as I parallel park with a respectable amount of skill. “And we got a decent spot.”

“Wait. Where’s the observatory?” she asks, opening her car door slowly. I point. Those soft gray eyes follow the direction of my arm and turn back on me, so wide I’m afraid they’ll pop out.

“I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing the picnic basket. “Do you think you can make it? I could always drop you up there and come back to park.”

She looks down at her green shoes and back up at me, her face determined. “I’m walking it. And I’ll be fine. Lead the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, she’s pushing her sweat-damn hair back off her forehead and grabbing onto my arm. I’m trying not to let her see how my arms are shaking, especially because if she decides to let go of me, I have a bad feeling she’s going to trip on those stupid heels and plummet into the ravine below. When we get to the first picnic table, I’ve never been so glad to see a surface to sit down on in my life. I drop the basket and brace my arms on the rough wood, trying to catch my breath.

I expect to see Genevieve at my side, but she’s walking to the little clump of trees at the edge of the ravine. I get up and follow her, wishing I could slide my arm around her waist to make sure she keeps her balance, but she grabs onto my arm and squeezes before I go crazy worrying. Her voice is just this breathy whisper.

“Look at that, Adam. Look.”

I do. The sun is setting, casting the entire sky above the ravine in a soft purple light streaked with orange and this glint of silver stars. The bright white letters of the Hollywood sign are offset by the dark trees, bending slightly as the wind picks up. It moves Genevieve’s silky black hair, pressing it back from her face as she looks out. Below the ravine, all of LA winks in the night with thousands of milky twinkling lights.

“It’s amazing,” I say, my voice low in this moment that feels so private, even though there are people milling all over and a city of millions below us. “When I first moved here, I was so damn homesick. All the time. Funny, because the only thing I ever wanted to do growing up was leave Tel Aviv—leave Israel, actually—for good. I never expected to miss it. I have no idea why, but coming here made me miss it less.”

“I’ve lived right by this place my whole life, but I hardly ever come here. Stupid. That’s just stupid, right? It’s like...it’s like you take for granted what’s right in front of you, like this place. That it’ll always be here, just like this.” She turns to look at me, brushing back stray pieces of hair that fly around her face.