The Time Traveler's Boyfriend (13 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We spend the entire day at the museum, which is something I haven’t done in ages. Adam asks me where I’d like him to take me to dinner, and I manage to mention Shake Shack and about five other restaurants that don’t exist yet while Adam stares at me. Finally, I just mumble, “Wherever you want.”

We eventually settle on a large chain restaurant that happens to be only a block away from the museum. It’s pretty crowded when we get inside, and the hostess gives Adam a kind smile and tells us that she can offer us a table for two right away, with the caveat that it is way in the back of the dining area.

I look at Adam, who nods and says,
“Okay, let’s do it.”

This turns out to be a dire mistake.
I wouldn’t have predicted it, since my Adam generally has no problem getting across crowded areas. He is great at grabbing onto furniture to help propel him through tight spaces, and moreover, he has a pretty accurate sense of where his wheelchair will fit and where it won’t. However, twenty-four-year-old Adam does not have that sense yet. He really has to struggle to get across the room, to the point where I’m getting embarrassed for him. The highlights include him knocking over an empty chair, and also him catching the legs of a woman’s chair and causing her to spill water all over herself.

“
I am so sorry,” Adam says to her, red-faced.

I thought
the classy thing for her to do would have been to not make him feel bad about it, but it looks like the woman was on a date herself and wasn’t too thrilled about getting her skirt soaked in such a way to make her look like she had peed on herself. She just glares at him and snaps, “It’s fine.”

When we finally got to our table, Adam
’s shoulders slump and he comments, “Sheesh. It was really crowded there.”

“
You’ll get better at it,” I assure him.

He rolls his eyes.
“Thanks. And this, by the way, is why I haven’t been super eager to get set up on dates.”

“
That’s a pretty shitty excuse, if you ask me.”

“
I didn’t ask you.” Adam flips his menu open with a snap to the page with the burgers on it.

By the time our drinks arrive (beer for him, a
margarita for me), he’s considerably less tense. As he takes a long sip of his drink, he says to me, “Sorry. I was being a jerk.”

“
Yeah, a little,” I say, although I’m smiling.

“I just …” He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “Sometimes it sucks that now I’m the guy in the wheelchair.”

I blink at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiles wryly. “You know what I mean. Like, at work, if someone wants to point me out to another person, they’ll say, ‘You know, Adam, the guy in the wheelchair.’ That’s, like, the easiest way to describe me now. And it’s the only thing a lot of people see.”

My heart aches for him. I wonder if that’s what he thinks fourteen years from now too. He’s never said anything like that to me. “That’s not true.”

“It
is
true,” Adam insists. “I’m the same guy I always was, but now people get all awkward when they first meet me. Pretty much everyone does.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, you didn’t,” he says thoughtfully. “Not even for a second, actually. That was why I thought … maybe I had a shot with you.”

I can’t help but think about when I first met Adam in 2012, how I surely showed that awkwardness he described. But after a year, it’s completely gone. “So that’s what you like about me?” I tease him.

“It’s not the only thing.” He takes my hand across the table. “The truth is, I’ve always fantasized about a girl just like you. A sexy, older teacher.”

I raise my eyebrows.
“Older?”

“
Well, older than me,” he says quickly. “You’re not old. At all.”

“
Nice save.”

Adam smiles.
“Seriously, though. I’ve fantasized about that since I was, like, thirteen.”

“
Have you ever fooled around with a professor in college?” I ask.

“
What do you think, Psychic Girl?”

I look Adam over, from his disheveled hair to his shirt with the buttons mismatched.
I don’t need to be psychic to answer this one. “I doubt it.”

He gasps.
“I’m offended.”

I shrug.
“I’m just going with the odds. I mean, you were a computer science major, right? I’m guessing your computer professors were not very sexy.”

“
Mostly,” he admits. “But there was one professor I had a total crush on: my operating systems professor junior year, Dr. Campbell. She was a total MILF.”

“
So how come you didn’t hit that?”

Adam laughs.
“You’re adorable, you know that?”

“
That’s not an answer.”

“
Do you really need an answer?” He shakes his head. “I’m not the kind of guy who hooks up with professors. I was just lucky girls in my own class were occasionally willing to go out with me.”

His self-esteem definitely isn
’t great. Even before the disability, it doesn’t seem like he had a whole lot of confidence in himself, despite the fact that he’s a fairly attractive guy. That’s something that I might be able to fix. Starting right now. “You’re actually very sexy,” I say.

Adam snorts and doesn
’t respond.

“
You are,” I insist. “You just need … a few adjustments.”

I move my chair around to the side of the table so that I
’m right next to him. He inhales sharply as I place my hands on the fabric of his flannel shirt, with the buttons off by one. I start undoing and redoing the buttons for him as he watches, his eyes wide. I leave the top button undone so as not to choke him, and I straighten out the collar. As I do so, I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “There,” I say, brushing off my hands. “Perfect.”

“
Yeah,” he breathes.

We stare at each other for another second,
then he leans forward and starts kissing me. I have to say, Adam in either year is probably the most passionate guy I’ve ever dated, at least when it comes to me. We kiss for several more minutes until we hear the waiter clear his throat to signify that our food is ready. I’m not sure either of us is very hungry, though.

***

When I spend time with Adam, I can’t help but compare him to the older version of himself:

1. My Adam is more comfortable with his disability. Twenty-four-year-old Adam is not comfortable yet. He doesn’t think of himself as disabled, not really. I could see him blush when he asked the guard at the museum where the handicapped exit was located. My Adam wouldn’t have been bothered—for him, it’s a fact of life.

2.
Twenty-four-year-old Adam is younger. Duh. Still, it’s sort of amazing how that little fact accounts for such a difference. At twenty-four, his skin is perfectly smooth and he’s so full of energy. He’s better looking at twenty-four. But at thirty-eight, he’s sexier. The lines on his face and the gray hairs mixed in with the brown only make me want him more.

3.
My Adam is more jaded. I hate to say it, but it’s true. At twenty-four, he isn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. He isn’t telling me I’d be better off without him. He just wants me.

4.
Twenty-four-year-old Adam kind of doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing half the time when it comes to women. He tries, bless his heart, but he isn’t any kind of Casanova and it’s clear he never was. He means well, but he says the wrong thing
a lot
. I’m guessing that when we get further than just kissing, there’s going to be a lot of fumbling. Not that my Adam is a Casanova, but I guess the extra maturity and experience keeps him from acting like a jackass.

I miss my Adam is the truth of it. The twenty-four-year-old version of himself is a nice guy, but he’s not my boyfriend. I miss the guy I fell in love with a year ago. Half the time, I pick up the phone, ready to call him, and then I remember that he doesn’t exist yet. And it almost makes me want to cry.

***

I’m on Adam’s lap by the end of the meal. I’m running my hands through his hair and over his chest, and he’s kissing me like he can’t get enough of me. Ordinarily, I don’t fool around with guys that I’ve been dating less than a week, but technically, I’ve already been with Adam many, many times. So I’m giving myself a free pass here.

“Your place?” I whisper in his ear as a somewhat flustered-looking waiter slides us the check.

He starts to nod, then grimaces. “Shit,” he says.

“What?”

“I’ve got a super important meeting first thing tomorrow morning,” he explains. “Big client. I’ve got to be able to, you know, perform well.” He looks down at his legs. “Especially now.”

I get what he’s saying. Adam always said that he never wanted any extra slack at work because of his disability. But I can’t hide how disappointed I am.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises, squeezing my hand in his.

As much as it pains both of us, we grab a taxi and he insists on taking me back to my apartment. Except I don’t want him to know where I live so I completely make up an address about five blocks from where my parents live. The second I see a building that looks reasonable, I quickly say, “That’s it!”

I figured Adam would just have the taxi drop me off and ride it the rest of the way back since it’s a pain in the neck to get his wheelchair out of the trunk, but instead, he insists on getting out to walk me to the door. Which would be really sweet if I actually lived here, which I don’t.

“You really don’t have to take me to the door,” I tell him.

“Of course I do,” he says. “It’s dark out. What kind of gentleman would I be?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to have to bother with your chair,” I say, like I’m being nice about it. “Then you have to get back in again, right?”

“Nah, don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t live that far away. I can make it without a cab.”

“Are you getting out or not?” the cabbie asks us, obviously a little impatient.

He is. He gets back into his wheelchair, which I retrieve for him from the trunk, and he follows me to the building entrance, where he pulls me into his lap for a really lovely kiss, one that could just go on forever, as far as I’m concerned. It does make me sort of glad that I’m not in front of my parents’ building though, where Claudia would be sure to somehow run into us.

“Good night,” I whisper to him as I shakily get to my feet. For a second, I’m not certain my legs will support me.

“Good night,” he says, still holding my hand as if reluctant to let go.

I figured that would be it, but then he follows me into the building lobby. Where there is a doorman who doesn’t know who the hell I am. I need Adam to leave before this gets awkward. “Good night,” I say again.

“Let me just make sure you get in the elevator all right,” he says.

“I’m not five years old,” I point out. I’m trying not to sound angry, but I’m definitely feeling a little agitated now. Especially since the doorman is giving us a funny look.

“Humor me,” Adam says, smiling at me.

All right, now what the hell am I supposed to do?

The doorman has no idea who I am, but really, do doormen actually recognize all the residents of a building? I’m an attractive, well-dressed, Caucasian woman. I don’t look even remotely suspicious. I bet if I just act confident, I can stroll right past him. Then I’ll kill a little time in the elevators until I’m sure Adam is gone.

I push my shoulders back and move confidently toward the elevators. I don’t get very far before the doorman steps in front of me. “May I help you?” he asks.

I glance back at Adam, who is still freaking sitting there.
Why won’t he leave?
“I’m just going up to my apartment,” I say casually.

The doorman raises his eyebrows at me. “I’m sorry. And that is …?”

“Apartment 5E,” I mumble.

“Are you a guest of the Fosters?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” I manage.

“Let me buzz them for you then.” The doorman goes over to the intercom. I turn around and see Adam still sitting there. If this is a game of chicken, I am totally losing right now. “And what’s your name, miss?”

I swallow hard. “Uh, you know what? Never mind. I, uh … have some things I need to do first.”

I run out of the building, my heart racing. Wow, that was embarrassing. I had no idea that doormen actually served such an important purpose.

Adam follows me out of the building, and when I turn to look at him, he’s frowning at me. “You’re not actually staying in that building, are you?”

Guiltily, I shake my head.

“I
knew
it!” he cries. “You had no clue where that cab was taking us, did you? You were just looking for some building that looked reasonable.”