Free The Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen

immediately turned back around and his hands slid off her arms.
    "I should be going," she leaned over and said to Chloe.
    Chloe looked from Josey to Adam, then back again. "Are you okay?"
    "Yes, I'm fine. I just have to go."
    "Okay. Adam, will you walk Josey to her car?"
    "No!" Josey said frantically. Then she tried to smile. They were both looking at her like she'd lost her marbles. "No, I'm fine. Really. To walk. To my car. Thank you. I'll see you soon."
    Stupid, stupid, stupid, she said to herself as she walked away.

    Adam and Chloe watched Josey disappear into the crowd.
    "You know what that was all about, don't you?" Chloe
    said.
    Adam shook his head. "That's just Josey." "She's in love with you." He paused. "Excuse me?"
    "Josey Cirrini is in love with you," she said in a louder voice, as if he hadn't heard her over the band the first time. Oh, he'd heard her. He just didn't believe her. "That's ridiculous."
    "She told me. She said she's been in love with you since the first day she saw you. Open your eyes for once, Adam. That mountain didn't kill your libido. Don't mess this up. Why do men have to mess things up?" Chloe turned and left him there.
    He watched her go, stunned.
    He'd always liked the way Josey smelled. He thought about how she was wearing her curly black hair down that night, how she was in that tight sweater he'd seen her in so many times, the red so striking against her pale skin. And he wasn't the only man here who had noticed. And damn if she wasn't wearing makeup. Was it for him?
    He suddenly felt uneasy, the way he felt about anything that involved chance. Oh, hell.
    His leg was hurting. It was time to go home.

    The next morning, Adam got up and went to the kitchen of his small home, which was around the corner from the high school. It had taken him months of searching to find just the right place, with just the right view. He wanted a place that would let him see Bald Slope Mountain, like he had to keep an eye on it.
    His brother Brett, thankful that Adam had at least stopped risking his life for sport, called him every week and said the same thing. "Why Bald Slope? You always have a place here. Get the hell out of that town and come home."
    He groggily made coffee, strong, bitter coffee for a morning like this when his leg burned like a red-hot poker. He'd grown up in the California Sierras. He'd been a competitive skier in high school. He loved the cold and he especially loved the snow, but he was paying now for standing out in it last night. Enjoying snow was yet another thing the mountain had taken from him. Every day, he woke up humbled by that mountain, his aching leg a constant reminder of what you got when you teased fate to the point of payback. That was it for him. No more taking chances. He'd settled down in the place that had broken him. He was safe here. As long as he was here, he was away from all the temptation out there in the world, the cliffs to jump from, the oceans to swim.
    He knew he couldn't go back to practicing law. His brother was ten years older than Adam and had an established law firm, so the job was waiting for Adam when he graduated. But he'd hated it. It had only been a way to make the kind of money he needed to do what he wanted on vacations.
    Now he didn't know what else to do, so he just stayed still. Nothing could happen to him if he stayed still, right?
    He turned, startled, when he heard Jake stumble down the hall. It was hard to get used to having someone else in the house. But he liked Jake, ironic considering Jake's profession. It was hard not to like him, and Adam had tried for a while.
    He didn't want friends, he didn't want any sort of connection after his accident. He just wanted to be alone. But he found that Jake and Chloe actually made staying here bearable.
    When Jake appeared in the kitchen doorway, Adam said, "You look like hell."
    "That's a relief. It's not all in my head. Give it to me straight. How big of an ass did I make of myself last