Page 153 of Bitter When He Begs

“You can’t just kidnap me.”

“I literally just did.”

“This is why people hate you.”

“You don’t hate me, baby.”

“Debatable.”

I smirk and keep driving, dodging all his questions while he glares out the window, arms crossed, fully pouting. He hates not knowing things, and I’m using that to my full advantage.

By the time we reach the old theater house, the sun is setting, casting everything in this soft golden hue. The building is ancient, a burnt-out shell of what it used to be, standing in the middle of a wide, empty field. It’s been abandoned for years, but the skeleton of it is still intact, and it has this eerie, nostalgic charm to it.

Sage frowns, looking around as I pull the truck up next to the field. “What the hell is this?”

I kill the engine, then tilt my head toward the back. “Go look.”

He gives me a look, clearly skeptical as hell, but climbs out anyway, adjusting his glasses as he circles around to the truck bed.

And then, he sees everything I did—the projector I set up earlier, the makeshift screen stretched across the side of the old theater, the blankets, pillows, and mattress laid out in the truck bed, and the full spread of snacks I specifically made sure were his favorites.

Sage just stares.

“What… the actual fuck,” he says slowly, his voice just barely above a whisper.

I lean against the truck, watching his reaction carefully, trying not to let my nerves show. “Figured we could have a proper movie night,” I say casually, even though my entire stomach is tight. “No distractions. Just you, me, and your favorite movie.”

He still hasn’t moved or said anything else, and now I’m sweating.

“Luca,” he says finally, still looking at everything like he can’t quite believe it. “This is… you did all of this?”

“Well, I didn’t build the fucking theater, Sage,” I deadpan. “But, yeah.”

He finally turns to look at me, and I hate that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “How do you even know what my favorite movie is?”

I grin, stepping closer. “Been talking to your dad.”

His eyes widen. “You’ve been what?”

“Yeah, we’re besties now,” I smirk. “We braid each other’s hair and shit.”

“Luca.”

“What?” I shrug. “Told him I wanted to do something nice for you, and he told me you’ve been obsessed withCasablanca since you were a kid.”

Sage gapes.

Like fully gapes.

“Casablanca,” he repeats, voice faint, like he can’t wrap his head around it.

I nod, trying to act like my pulse isn’t going a million miles a minute. “Casablanca.”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Luca, you—” He swallows, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you—”

Then he full-on blushes. And fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved in my life because the look on his face makes all that damn nervous energy worth it.

“You’re such a fucking sap,” he mutters, but his voice is soft, his lips twitching as he looks away.

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