I steal a peek at my buddy. He’s busy chatting with Ally, so I bend my neck closer to Dani, and speak softly in her ear. “But I’d rather be watching yours.” She shivers, and just like that I veer back in a direction I shouldn’t go. But we’re in a theater. Nothing dangerous can happen here, so I keep going. “Touching you.” A small gasp falls from her mouth. “Kissing those lips.” A sharp inhale. “Undressing you and spreading you out on my bed.”
She closes her eyes, breathes in, and grabs the armrest between us. I can only imagine her body is on fire right now, just like mine.
When she opens her eyes, she meets my gaze and says, “Funny. I’d rather be doing that too.”
The movie begins and I watch it with a raging fucking hard-on.
Dani
Watching the movie next to Drew is not the toughest thing I’ve ever done. After all, I did run a marathon when I was twenty-five. I graduated from law school with honors. I also nabbed a fantastic job, beating out many applicants.
Those were all pretty tough on the scale of challenging tasks.
But this? Sitting close enough to Drew that I can smell the clean, masculine scent of him is a tall order. Add in the fact that I have a birds’-eye view of his gorgeous arms, and the challenge mounts. Even though I desperately want to wrap my hand around his bicep, then his tricep, then his forearms.
I manage to survive all that desire.
But then he does the sweetest thing. He mouths some of the lines along with the screen, including one the butler says about pretending to give the hero cocoa.
And then Drew smiles. Not to anyone. Just to himself. Because he’s happy, truly happy, watching this movie.
When Warren Beatty can’t take his eyes off Julie Christie in the car, Drew speaks under his breath, saying the lines with the film’s star about how he can’t stop looking at her.
A little flutter begins in my chest when I hear that. There’s something ridiculously endearing about a guy who knows the lines to this movie.
The flutter intensifies when he turns his face toward me, and the corner of his lips curves up. My stomach cartwheels, and I wish we were alone in this theater, because I could so make out with him right now. Like high schoolers. And I’m half hoping he drapes an arm over my shoulder, or reaches for my hand, like he did that first day we met. Only, I know that can’t happen now. And it’s not because my sister is here. I’m not worried she’d see us and blab to the press, or my boss. I doubt Jason would stand in the way either.
It can’t happen because I’m pretty sure Drew and I both know where hand-holding would lead. The same place any sort of touch seems to go between the two of us. To more.
If he touched me in any way, I’d unravel. I’d melt. I’d want all the things I can’t have.
And. I. Can’t. Have. Him.
I dip my hand into the popcorn bucket, hunting for the final remains of the snack. I grab some kernels, eat them, then reach for more. This time Drew’s big fingers brush mine, and I gasp. I cover my mouth with my other hand at the same time Drew turns to me and mouths shhh.
I manage a small nod as he threads his fingers through mine. And we hold hands inside a popcorn bucket. It’s weird, and strange, but completely wonderful too. Because this man not only knows how to kiss, how to touch me in intimate ways, but he also knows how to hold hands. He squeezes my fingers, then gently strokes his thumb across my palm, brushing light circles over my skin that shouldn’t feel as good as they do. But they do, oh God they do. Somehow, he’s made holding my hand into a kind of erotic foreplay. And the simple act of a tender touch has set my heart to flames.
By the time the credits roll, I’m not sure I can stand. My legs are noodles. My panties are damp. My skin sizzles. Somehow I manage to let go of his hand and rise. I blink, like I’m reconnecting to the world, reentering its atmosphere of normalcy when I’d much rather be in the extraordinary realm of erotic hand-holding with this sexy, sweet man.
As we make our way up the aisle, he clears his throat. “Awesome movie,” he says.
“Absolutely the best football movie.”
“Maybe only The Blind Side comes close.”
“Or Varsity Blues as a distant second. But not just for the whipped-cream scene.”
He holds up his big hands. “I swear I don’t even remember a whipped-cream scene.”
“Right,” I say, teasing.
“But they all taste better with popcorn,” he says, and his eyes linger on mine.
It’s not just physical. There’s the start of something more between us. The flicker of feelings.
We have a secret, only this time it goes deeper than it did before.
And it’s way more dangerous.
Chapter Eight
Drew
The next morning Jason joins me at the team gym for a workout.
He tips his chin at Elkins, who’s at the leg press. “Hey Elk. How’s your mom doing?” Jason asks. “Is she feeling better?”
Elkins salutes him and smiles widely. “Much better. Doc’s got her on some new thyroid meds.”
Jason gives a thumbs-up. “Awesome. Glad to hear.”
Elkins wipes his forehead on the hem of his shirt. “Thanks for asking, man.”
Jason nods a you’re welcome, then strokes his chin. “You growing that out?”
Elkins stands up from the machine. “I look good in fur, don’t you think?”
I clap Jason on the back. “If you ever decide to shave, you know this man will find a razor company who’d happily endorse you,” I say with a wink, knowing that Elkin’s hairy look is precious to him.