Adam

You and Adam hated each other from the moment you met. Lisa was always rolling her eyes. But you came to her party determined to be superior. The music was blasting, you were dancing and laughing. Then you wanted some tea.

You were pouring boiling water when some drunk guy bumped into you. A fiery pain exploded from your ankles to your knees. The kettle crashed, and you sank to your haunches, clutching your feet to your toes, and moaned softly through your tears.

The hum died down. Adam loomed over you, his jaw muscles twitching, his eyes icy.

"Baby, does it hurt a lot?" the voice lacked its usual sarcasm.

You just nodded. He turned his gaze to the offender.

• I'll talk to you later.

The guy turned pale. Adam scooped you up into his arms, as gently as if you were holding crystal. You clutched his T-shirt, smelling his perfume and sweat.

“Quiet, we’ll wash it now,” he whispered, carrying it through the silent living room.

He sat you on the edge of the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and put your feet under the stream. The pain was subsiding. You looked at his focused face.

“But you hate me…” you squeezed out.

He chuckled without looking up.

"I said you were a squeaker. But I won't let anyone cripple a squeaker who can't even hold a teapot."

You snorted through the pain. He looked up, the corners of his lips quirked up, and quietly added:

• Still the most unbearable girl in the world.

You thought you heard tenderness in his voice.