Page 30 of One More Round

“What do you mean, TV is your specialty?” I ask this realizing that I don’t know what it is she even does for a living. Immediately I’m struck with two opposing feelings: sadness that I used to know everything about this girl next to me and now know very little, but also resentment at the reasons I don’t know her anymore.

She turns her head toward me with a shocked look on her face. “You don’t know what I do, do you?”

“Erm, I don’t.”

“Hmph.” She considers me for a moment. “Well, I’m a freelance writer. I blog for several news and entertainment sites. I write a lot of TV reviews and TV news pieces.”

“A writer. You always wanted to do that.” I smile at her. I’m thrilled that she is doing what she wanted to do.

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky. In college I worked for the school newspaper and got a nice internship with the news conglomerate in Indy. Set me up for some good experience. While Morgan and I were getting settled in here, I took a few freelance gigs while I tried to find a job. But as I got into them, I realized how much I loved the freedom of working from home. The jobs paid well, and they kept coming. So, I decided to do that. I’ve written for a lot of sites over the years, but there’s a small few that I solely work for now.” She shovels some popcorn in her mouth and watches the screen.

“Well, that’s really cool, G. Here I thought I had it good in the job path.”

She smiles at me as the lights dim and the trailers start to play.

We haven’t even made it through the first trailer when we both reach into the popcorn bucket at the same time, accidentally brushing hands.

I smirk at her noticeable blush even in the darkened room. She mutters an apology as her hand falls to her lap. She’s holding the popcorn, so I have to reach over the middle armrest which is kind of annoying. Plus, knowing that I made her blush makes me want to do it some more. So, I lift the armrest to scoot a little closer. Since her arm was leaning against it, she falls toward me because I gave her no warning. I’m an asshole like that. I put a hand out and steady her at the waist.

“Easy there. Sorry, I didn’t know you were using it and I didn’t want to reach so far for the popcorn.”

“Oh, no worries.” She straightens up and I know she is uber-aware that we are super close now. Our thighs are only inches from each other. And our arms brush when we move.

The movie starts, and all goes well. About 45 minutes in, she leans in close to my ear.

“I’m done with the popcorn, are you?”

I get an unexpected rush at feeling her warm breath on my face. I turn toward her bringing our faces so close that our noses almost touch.

“Yeah. Even if I wasn’t, there isn’t much left. You always could put away a lot of that stuff.”

I’m grinning, but I can’t help glancing down at her lips, which she must notice because she pulls her bottom lip through her teeth.

“Be nice,” she scolds but turns and places the popcorn on the floor beside her.

Now sans bucket, she wraps her arms around her middle and watches the movie.

But, damn it. Now all I can think about is her mouth. And how it’s bound to taste like buttered popcorn.

And her breath on my face. And how close our legs are to pressing against one another. I could just reach out my hand and lay it on her thigh.

I realize I’m staring at her legs from the corner of my eye. She must feel it because I can feel the tension radiating off her. I have an overwhelming need to put my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. What would she do? Would she rest her head on my shoulder and snuggle in? Would she place her hand on my chest? And now I’m thinking about where else she could put her hand.

What the hell, Simon?

Why am I having these thoughts? This is not a date.

We are trying to be friends. Friends don’t have thoughts about where their friend's hands could go on their body.

Shit. Now I’m starting to get hard thinking about her hand and where I’d like for it to go in this dark, somewhat crowded theater.

She moves a little in her seat. I’m probably projecting my inappropriate thoughts. She lays her hand on her thigh and shifts in her seat, just enough that I can now feel the heat of her leg on my denim-covered one.

Her hand is just … right … there. I could grab it and just … hold it.

I sound like a sixteen-year-old on his first date.

Get it together, man.

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