Chapter Twelve

Candice spends an evening with Adam, the first alone time she's had with him since being branded "Candy Corn".

“Sing for me.” It’s three simple words, and the lips that they’re leaving certainly garner my attention. Still, I’m not going to cave. I have willpower and I am not about to let something as stupid a dimples break me now.

                “No,” my response is stern, and I don’t even look away from the sheet of printed lyrics that are resting on my thighs.

                “Oh, come on,” he says again as he snatches the sheet, holding it behind his back.

                “Adam Shepherd!” Despite the volume I’m shouting at, I can’t help but smile as I roll over on the couch, reaching around the boy’s body in an attempt to retrieve my abducted lyrics.

                “Sing and I’ll give it back to you.” How one expression can elicit two very different reactions from me is beyond explanation. I huff, exhaling through my nose but my smile manages to grow even larger.

                “You suck,” I cross my arms over my chest as I slump back down into the couch, surrendering my paper over to its captor. “Keep it.”

                He sighs as he drapes his arm over my stomach. It’s such a nonchalant little action on his part, and I’m not entirely sure he realizes this is the biggest step he’s taken with me. Certainly he can feel my pulse accelerate. Hell, I can practically hear it accelerating. Yet he doesn’t remove his arm. He just continues to lay there with his arm on my stomach. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

                And why do you have to be so enticing and conflicting at the same goddamn time? “I am not stubborn.”

                “You’re the queen of stubborn. Candice Stubborn Cornell.”

                “It’s Rose, actually.”

                He picks his head up just slightly and looks at me with a raised brow. “Seriously?”

                “Don’t knock it, okay? I didn’t choose it.”

                “No knocking,” he assures me as he tightens his hold, his hand now resting on my side. If he didn’t feel my pulse before, he sure as hell can now because I can feel it reverberating off of his forearm. “Roses are beautiful, just like you.”

                “Corny line of the century.” I must be growing slightly immune to his charm, because while he’s batting his long lashes at me I seize the opportunity to reclaim my song lyrics, yanking them out of his hand that’s still behind his back.

                “Corny, yet true.” He reaches to take the paper back, but I reach my arm out until it’s dangling off the couch and over the floor. “Give it back!” he shouts as he reaches out, his arm parallel above mine. He can’t quite reach since he’s on the other side of the couch. Rather than giving up, he straightens out my legs and climbs on top of me, extending his reach even further. His weight isn’t on me, it’s on his knees. Which just happen to be on either side of my hips.

                “Not giving you what’s mine!” I promise you I’m just talking about the paper, but I’ll level with you and agree that I phrased it quite poorly given our current positioning.

                “Technically the lyrics are Rogers and Hammerstein’s, now hand it over!” He stretches his arm more, his body starting to lean into his lunge. With his center of gravity now thrown off, I lift my leg up and nudge him off of the couch, sending him tumbling onto the floor.

                It’s only a temporary victory. Since my arm is still dangling over the edge, he grabs my wrist and pulls me down on top of him. I drop the paper, and he grabs it and holds it up above our heads.

                I sit up on his stomach and start to reach for it, but he quickly grabs my shoulders and pulls me back down until our faces are only inches apart.

                Due to the game of keep-away, my natural shyness has been lying dormant. Candy Corn has been out and going with the flow of the night. But right here, sitting on top of him while he’s looking up at me like this, I can feel my cheeks turning bright red. “Red as a rose,” he says, continuing his comparisons between my middle name and the flower of the same name.

                I lean down even closer, my lips ghosting over his. I’m as caught off guard by my boldness as he is, but I certainly intend to take advantage of it. Just before he can kiss me, I slide up his body and roll onto my back further along the floor. As he lifts he head to get up, I trap his neck between my thighs. Thank you, Lita!

                He begins slapping the sides of my legs, not as if he’s pretending to tap out but if he’s trying to get me to let go without actually hurting me. “Tap!” I shout to no avail.

                He rolls left and right, trying anything to break my hold. He presses his feet firmly on the ground and start to try and stand up that way. As he pushes my legs back as he gains height, I force my thighs downward on his shoulders, sending him right back down to the ground. “Tap!” I repeat my taunt again.

                “Sing and I’ll tap,” he counters, still twisting his body in all different directions.

                That just doesn’t seem like a viable option to me. Instead, I tighten my hold on his neck by flexing my thigh muscles and locking my ankles over his chest.

                This goes on for over a minute. He fights back, I tell him to give up and then we start over. I can sense both of us growing tired, and while I‘ll never admit it I can feel my legs cramping up.

                Sighing deeply, I close my eyes and let the words that are on that sheet in his hand flow from my lips. The words that I can remember without the sheet in front of me, anyway.

                I instantly transform into a siren, the prey between my legs stopping his struggle. He simply lies there, completely still as if he’s in a trance. Role-reversal from when his meditation tactics put me in a similar state in his car not too long ago.

                When I don’t know a word, I just do a little riff on the word before it. I know such a technique won’t be a saving grace come audition time, but it’s subduing my current opponent and that’s all that matters right now.

                Eventually, I run out of words that I know. My throat always feels better after I sing, like that’s the only thing my voice should be used for and when I stay quiet it’s in a state of despair. Then I sing, and it feels strong and healthy.

                I am out of words, and Adam is still motionless. For a split second, I’m afraid that I got lost in the singing and squeezed his neck too hard, but I can feel his chest rising and falling beneath my feet. “Okay, you can tap now.”

                It’s a weak tap, but it’s still a tap. Pulling my legs apart, I free the man from his state of captivity. I expect him to roll away because he’s overwhelmed by the sudden aggression I showed. In all honesty, I don’t even know where it came from. I also partially expect him to just stand up and tell me to leave.

                But in typical Adam Shepherd fashion, he does the unexpected. He rolls over but not away, and he slowly crawls up until he’s hovering over me.

                I f*****g hate his eyes. Okay, that’s a lie. I love them, I just hate the effect the have on me. You know the effect I’m talking about, the one where I feel like I’m melting into the cream-colored carpeting beneath me.

                He’s about to kiss me, and my breath hitches. I’m ready. I’m waiting. Hell, I’m pretty f*****g eager if I do say so myself.

                It wouldn’t be our first kiss. He did peck me the night that Connor and I had our fight. But it was a peck and we both pulled away so quickly I don’t even know if I can count it as my first kiss. This promises to be a memorable one. More intense, more focused.

                That is until the loud beeping of the oven timer goes off and I become aware of the overwhelming aroma of fresh chocolate chip cookies coming from the kitchen.

                Mrs. Shepherd is making us cookies. My mom can’t put down a can of beer long enough to make a can of SpaghettiOs and his mom is baking me homemade cookies.

                I’d look into her adopting me, but then Adam would be my brother and that just wouldn’t work for me…