Page 62 of Set on You

“Oh, I’m a die-hard fan,” I lie, just to get a rise out of him.

He tries not to laugh. “Yeah? Do you even dress up in character and go to conventions?”

“Biannually. There’s one next week, actually. Was gonna see if you want to come with me.”

“Oh, uh—” He’s not quite sure where to go from here, so I let him off the hook.

“Scott, I’m kidding. I’m not really a fan. It was the longest movie I could think of.”Which means more time with you, I leave out.

Clearly relieved, he chuckles, running a hand over his stubble. “Hey, I would have gone. I would have hated every minute and judged you just a tiny bit, but I’d go.”

“Really?”

“If it was something you really liked, of course I would.” My heart turns to goo instantly. “Maybe I’d even let you dress me up.” He bounces his brow and I can’t help but laugh at the overtly sexy mental image of Scott with long silky locks, wielding a sword. It’s less ethereal Orlando Bloom and more haven’t-bathed-in-weeks Henry Cavill inThe Witcher, and I’m very much here for it.

After we queue up the movie, I turn sideways to stretch out my legs. But there’s no room with him directly beside me in themiddle cushion. Instead of scooting over, he drapes my legs over his lap.

He doesn’t look at me, or acknowledge it. It’s just casual, as if this is the norm. And it feels like it is.

“Can I make a prediction?” he asks as Frodo departs on his quest.

“Go for it.”

“The uncle is Frodo’s real dad.”

I give him a sarcastic stare. “Really?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No. Not even close. This isn’tStar Wars.”

He ponders for a moment. “Okay. Gandalf is Frodo’s father.”

“Scott, rest assured. There is no baby daddy drama.”

He fake pouts. “Well, that’s a missed opportunity.”

Scott’s plethora of outlandish theories doesn’t stop at Frodo’s father. They’re far ranging, like “the blond elf” and Gandalf are secretly in love, or Samwise Gamgee is going to betray Frodo, or the ring is a covert listening device for Sauron. In fact, the only correct theory he’s thrown out is that Aragorn is the rightful king.

Truthfully, paying an iota of attention to the movie is humanly impossible while he runs his hand over my legs. I’m answering all his questions from straight memory. In fact, the only thing that keeps me sane and distracted from the blooming heat in my lower half is aggressively peeling clementines. By the time the fellowship forms, I hold out a freshly peeled clementine to a confused Scott.

He’s too busy gesturing to the TV like an outraged sports fan to notice straight away. “How is that little weirdo with the bug eyes still following them?” His eyes widen and his mouth falls openwhen he takes stock of the clementine in my hand. “You peeled that for me?”

I nod. “I painstakingly peeled off every last bit of the white stuff for you.”

He presses his palm to his heart with an openmouthed smile. “Holy shit.” He takes it from my hand gently, inspecting its juicy bareness before giving me an approving look.

He adjusts my legs on his lap, giving my thigh a squeeze before popping a slice into his mouth. Then, he turns to place one into mine. It’s almost erotic how his fingertips graze my lower lip, sending a spark rippling down my spine. My entire mouth tingles with heat.

I channel my sexiest, most sultry self, going in for a slow, seductive bite. I’m basically vintage bikini-clad Paris Hilton, rubbing my soapy bits over a Bentley before indulging in a Texas BBQ Carl’s Jr. burger, as one does. Unexpectedly, a spray of citrus launches out. As if in slow motion, it soars upward, landing directly in Scott’s left eye.

Smooth, Crystal. Smooth.

He immediately lurches forward, pressing his eye closed.

“Oh, crap.” I swing my legs off his lap, covering my mouth with my hands.

He squints at me through splayed fingers, shuddering with silent laughter. “It’s cool. I’m just blind. It’s no big deal.”

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