Page 35 of The Write Off

I nod. Exactly.

As we turn the final corner and my apartment building comes into view, I realize I’m no closer to understanding what’s happening between us. I need a plan and I need one now.

“I just can’t believe you haven’t seen the holy trinity of fantasy films. It’s unnatural and wrong. We’re having a movie night.”

“A movie night?”

“Yes.” I’m not asking him; I’m telling him. “Movies, comfy clothes, snacks. Possibly a pillow fort. I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t know a Brandybuck from a Took.”

“So we’re friends?” The deep baritone sends shivers up my spine.

“Of course we are. Best friends, remember?”

“Right.”

“Movie night at my place. Saturday night. We need to right this wrong before it damages our friendship.”

We stop at the steps in front of my building. He looks up at the apartment thoughtfully, like he’s considering my offer and I allow myself the unguarded opportunity to just gape at him. In the soft street lamp light he looks like a young Christopher Plummer. And there are few men in history that compare to Captain Von Trapp.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says eventually. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself. And some snacks. I’ll get back up snacks because you won’t buy the right ones.”

“I can do that.” His eyes linger on my mouth and I find myself hoping they don’t appear chapped from the cold. He doesn’t close the distance between us. Instead, he takes a step back, saying, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I’ll see you then.” I watch him start to walk away and call out, “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had fun.”

He turns and smiles, still moving further away from me. “It was my pleasure.”

I think it was mine. I float up the stairs to my apartment, my thoughts and feelings swirling like a stream that has suddenly picked up speed right before it becomes a waterfall. I’m no longer freaked out that this may have been a date, but rocked by the sudden realization that I want it to have been.

Chapter 17

Logan

“So he’s an elf, too?”

“Yes. Well, half-elf, actually. We don’t need to get into that right now.” Rilla leans forward to grab another handful of Skittles before settling back on the couch next to me. Apparently I did bring the right snacks. As she pulls her legs in and crosses them in front of her, her thigh brushes mine and my cock notices.

I shift ever so slightly away from the contact, hoping she doesn’t notice. She appears not to, completely engrossed in some sort of council meeting on the screen. I lean back into the well-worn couch cushions once again wishing that I wasn’t so aware of her.

But I am. I notice something new every time I’m with her. When I walked her home after the hockey game, it was how blonde the tips of her eyelashes were. Now as I watch her from the corner of my eye, I can see a small scar on her earlobe. The faint white line almost glows in the light from the television. I want to know when and how she got it so I can add it to the growing file of all things Rilla I’m keeping in my head.

Ever since she kissed me at the hockey game, I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything else. Hard being a key word because, Jesus: I haven’t gotten this many erections since high school. My hand travels to my neck to loosen the tie I’m not wearing.

I’ve always been hyper-aware where Rilla is concerned, but never had a clear idea why. I do now.

I want her.

A team of theorists working around the clock couldn’t come up with a feasible explanation. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever met who is less like me. She’s brilliant and funny, but she’s also stubborn and petty. And yes, she’s gorgeous, but she is also temperamental and unpredictable.

And I want her.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I reach for my beer. My hand collides with Rilla’s as she reaches for more candy. It’s warm and the slightest bit sticky.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing softly when I pull my hand back sharply. “You seem a bit on-edge tonight, Carmichael.”

“I’m fine,” I reply, not sure at all that I am. From the moment I got here, I’ve felt out of my element.

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