Page 70 of Play On

Noah turns to me again. “Back to the rules. I thought they were to keep your phone on silent and no talking.”

“I can see you need to be educated in therealrules of going to the cinema.”

He grins. “Oh, you mean the Butterfly Rules?”

My pulse immediately quickens when he says that. His hand glides slowly up and down my back, his eyes locked with mine.

“You know what I mean by that,” he says, his voice gentle. “I want to know your rules, as Violet. As the ButterflyIknow.”

I can’t find the words. I can’t.

Noah is making it clear he doesn’t see me in the way my family does.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, “for making the butterfly label a good thing.”

“It is,” he says, his voice low. “Averygood thing.”

I want to kiss him. But that would be a bit weird in the middle of a cinema lobby, so I refrain.

“So tell me the Butterfly Rules,” Noah says, still rubbing my back.

Right. Cinema rules.

“Well,” I say, working very hard to focus on our conversation, “you must eat at the cinema, or it’s a wasted experience.”

“Got it.”

“You have to arrive in time for the previews. Because previews are fun,” I declare.

“Okay. What else?”

“Well, you know the other one. Pick and mix enhances any cinema-going experience.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I did my due diligence and confirmed this cinema had pick and mix.” He inclines his head to the right, and sure enough, I see the small pick and mix station set up against the wall.

I feel nothing but pure elation inside. Noah did all of this for me. He looked for a unique place to watch a movie to make ourdate special, but also made sure it had the sweets I mentioned in the first conversation we shared together.

“You are making this the best first dateever,” I tell him happily.

“Good,” Noah says, smiling at me. “Besides, I’m determined to pass this test. Come on, let’s go get some.”

I swear I’m floating as we purchase our pick and mix cups and drinks—a water for Noah and a frozen Coke for me—and then walk across the small lobby towards the sweets. My mind is buzzing with happiness the entire time.

How is Noah real? How is a professional footballer so thoughtful and so attentive? Hell, how is any man this way? I think back to old boyfriends I had at St. Andrews and guys I’ve dated since graduation.

None of them were anything close to being like Noah.

We reach the pick and mix display and set our drinks down on a bench not far from it. Then we stand in front of the bins, with all kinds of sweetie goodness beckoning to be selected.

“All right. The moment of truth has come. You are the judge and jury of my pick and mix choices. Will I pass your test?”

He. Is. So. Cute.

“Now, keep in mind I already know your thoughts on stretchy snakes and milk teeth,” I say. “I approve of those, but because I know them, they cannot count towards your final score.”

“Oh, there’s scoring?” Noah asks, now looking really amused.

“Absolutely. For every correct sweet, you get a point. For every poor choice, I deduct a point. You should score at least five to pass the Butterfly Test.”

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