Page 71 of Why Not Both?

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m offering.”

The idea of his hands on me, rubbing my legs, sends tingles to my core. I’m left in a fifty/fifty split on whether I want to let him or not.

“It’s fine,” I say, eventually.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re sitting too far away, then. How are you supposed to keep me warm from way over there?”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You want me—the icicle—to keep you—the human heater—warm?”

“Yes. Get over here.”

Alarm bells go off in my head. Flashing neon lights scream, Warning! Warning! This is not how friends act. This is flirting 101.

But the since the kiss a few nights ago, that line has become more and more blurry. Plus, I am cold, as usual, and it’ll be easier to share the popcorn if we’re closer. I move until my body is pressed along his, fully aware that I’m just coming up with any justifications I can to do what I want, and then I pull the blanket down off the back of the couch. We spread it over our laps, and I trade my mug for the remote. Before I can start the movie, Spencer grabs my hand. He’s silent for a moment and I notice the haunted look has returned to his eyes.

“About before,” he says. “The tattoo.”

“You don’t need to explain anything, Spencer.”

His eyes meet mine. “I want to.” Then he looks away, seemingly lost in memories. “It was the last thing my mom said to me. It happened really fast. One day, everything was fine and then she was sick and then she was gone.”

Without thinking, I interlace our fingers. He looks down at them as though confused how it happened.

“I was at the hospital, and we knew it was the end. She said she didn’t want me to be there when it happened, so I gave her a hug and a kiss and I told her I loved her and she said she loved me, too. Then she said, ‘We may meet again in another life, but not again in this one.’ And then my dad’s assistant took me home.”

A hole opens up in my heart and a tear slides down my cheek. I don’t bother to brush it away. Then I blink.

“Wait. Your dad’s assistant?”

He nods, still looking at our entwined hands.

“Where was your dad?”

He snorts. “Where he always is.” He shakes his head, finally looking at me again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all dark and gloomy.” He wipes the tear from my face with his thumb. “I don’t really think of that tattoo very often. I never see it. So when you brought it up…”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You couldn’t have known. I just didn’t want you to think I was mad or anything.”

That sadness is back in his eyes, and I want to wipe it away. I climb onto my knees on the couch so our eyes are level. I want to say the exact right thing, but what can I say? Nothing can erase a hurt like that. So I just wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me. His arms come around my waist and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. He takes a shuddering breath.

When he sits back, the sadness is still there, but less. “We should get started.” He nods toward the TV.

I settle next to him, my legs tucked under me, my knees resting on his thigh. He keeps an arm around me, and though my thoughts are spinning, telling me this is not the way friends sit, I don’t move. I tell myself I stay because he’s sad and I want to offer comfort. But I know the truth: I don’t want to move. I want to sit in his arms where I feel safe and warm.

We drink our hot chocolate, eat our popcorn, and watch the movie. It tries to be scary but ends up being funny. When the first person is possessed, I cringe and turn my face into his chest when she stabs someone in the ankle with a pencil. “Have I mentioned that I’m not usually a fan of horror movies?” I say.

Spencer laughs, his arm tightening around my waist. “Then why did you want to watch this?”

I peek up at him. “I make an exception for Evil Dead. There’s only a few parts I don’t like. And I’ve been wearing a hoodie lately that advertises it.”

I don’t mean to be snuggled right into his chest, but by the time the hands pop out of the chests of the possessed people at the end of the movie, that’s where I am. And when I jump, I end up moving even closer, helped in small part by the arm he keeps around me. He’s looking at me as the movie ends—his clear, blue eyes bright with laughter, his lips tilted up in a mischievous smile.

“Wanna watch the next one?”

“Not today.”

His head shifts closer to mine and my eyes drop to his mouth. I don’t need to move much and I’ll be able to take another kiss. The kiss at the rehearsal dinner was so brief and has been on my mind so often in the last few days. The friendship line would be destroyed. But it’s blurred so much, I’m not entirely sure I remember where it is, or why I put it there in the first place.

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