Adam has absolutely no idea what he’s thinking, none at all, when the next words tumble out of his mouth. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of anger, or the (completely rational) burst of fury, but it’s still nothing but insane.
“Who the hell do you think you are, you son of a bitch? You think you got me all figured out by applying some generic formula to exactly who you think I should be?” Blake says nothing, does nothing, and Adam’s just searching for something to even surprise the guy, now. “In case you hadn’t noticed, sunshine, we’re not in Kansas anymore, and it’s not just the girls who wanna date me.” Nothing. Adam is talking in shouted whispers, trying not to attract the attention of those around them. “I’m not some stereotype, alright, and not that it’s any of your business, but I’m bisexual. So let me know how that fits in with the nice little picture you’ve painted yourself.”
Adam doesn’t wait for a response. He gets out of his chair, moves a couple of rows back, and spends the rest of the class cursing himself for that entire conversation, and the guy that had provoked him into it.
And then he spends the next week, freaking out about the possibility that Blake Shelton may well have told half the school about his little revelation. He’s not sure why he cares; Carson knows. Christina knows. Quite a lot of people know, and he’s never hidden it. But there’s something that makes him uncomfortable about the possibility of this guy going around and talking to people about it. Adam’s not an idiot, he knows that it’s not exactly unusual for people from Shelton’s part of the country to take offence at same-sex relationships, and the fact that this guy might be going around mocking him behind his back, it riles him.
So he sits with Carson at lunch, makes an effort with painstaking extensivity to avoid sitting anywhere near Blake Shelton, not even risking looking into the guy’s eyes.
Adam’s just starting to accept the fact that maybe Shelton might have kept his mouth shut, might not have spread his negativity about the issue, when he ends up sitting next to the guy again. It’s another business class, and Adam makes a mental note to be more careful, because there’s something about this particular class, this particular room, apparently.
The giant doesn’t ask this time, he just helps himself to the seat that conveniently leaves Adam blocked in unless he’s up for asking Blake to scoot in a little. “Adam,” he says, and the emphasis on that first part of the name reminds him once again how easy on the ears this guy’s accent is proving to be. The fact that he’s also easy on the eyes is just plain annoying. “Listen, I just wanted to clear the air, y’know. Because I didn’t mean…” He hesitates, frowns, continues. “…What I meant, y’know?”
Adam shakes his head, really wishes that Carson had taken business this semester, because then he could have avoided this situation entirely. “No, I don’t fucking know Shelton. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Because I can’t understand a single word of your stupid-ass accent,” -- lie -- “because I’m finding it hard to look past your stupid-ass clothes,” -- lie -- “and because I’m waiting for the moment that you inevitably give away just how drunk you are.”
Blake smiles, looks down and closes his eyes for a moment longer than a blink. Then he’s grinning, pointing at Adam. “That’s funny. I see what you did there, applying a southern stereotype to me. Fair play, brother.”
Adam fights hard against the instinct to smile (that grin is so damn infectious), maintains his straight face for the few seconds that it takes for the teacher to call for their attention. Ignoring Shelton is slightly easier after that, with something else to focus on.
But apparently he was naïve in thinking he might be able to get out quick once the class had finished. Blake has made no effort to move, barely an effort at packing up his things. Adam clears his throat, looks across to find him staring right back at him.
