Page 56 of The Emerson Effect
“Oh, that smells delicious,” she says, breathing deep.
I barely register the words, though, because her “comfies” consist of a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a tank top that leaves a wide strip of her midriff bare. Her hair is tied up into a messy bun, and her face is clean and fresh, revealing a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Shaking myself out of the catatonic state her appearance instigated, I clear my throat and head for the couch. “Does anything smell better than freshly popped popcorn?”
“Hmm,” she hums, sitting next to me, her hand snaking out to snag a handful of popcorn from the bag I’m still holding. “Fresh baked bread?”
I nod slowly, offering, “Sautéed onions?”
“Good one,” she says after swallowing a mouthful of popcorn. “Cinnamon rolls.”
“Cotton candy,” I say, and her eyes widen as her nostrils flare.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and the message she sent in response to my picture at the Santa Monica Pier suddenly flashes through my brain.
I wish I could taste that spun sugar on your lips.
Twila’s tongue peeks out to wet her lips, making my heartrate spike. Then she clears her throat and looks away, ending the charged moment.
“So, what kind of movie are you in the mood for?” I ask to break any leftover tension, picking up the remote and holding it out to her.
She shakes her head. “You choose.”
“I insist,” I say, pushing the remote closer to her hand, but she pulls it away and shakes her head again.
“I want to see what kind of movies you like,” she says, her lips hitching up. “Pick something you want to see, and I’ll know if thisrelationshipis doomed, or not.”
She may have said the word “relationship” like it was a misnomer, but I can see the challenge in her eyes. This is a test. Twila wants to see if our tastes in movies line up. And though her tone is teasing, I can feel the importance of this analysis in her expression.
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word as I point the remote at the television and navigate the menu to a list of only movies and no shows.
I navigate past the romantic comedies and dramas, because while I can enjoy those types of films, they aren’t my first choice. I’m more of a horror, sci-fi, and thriller kind of guy. Some action movies are okay, but psychological warfare and end of the world scenarios get my blood pumping way more than bombs, guns, and machetes.
“This is my favorite movie,” I say, stopping on the tile depicting a picture of the Statue of Liberty’s torch visible above a massive wave.
“Shut up,” Twila says, looking over at me with wide eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve seenThe Day After Tomorrowat least twenty times. It’s my favorite, too.”
“No way,” I say, shaking my head.
“Sir, I am president of the Electronics Club, the Math Club, and the Chess Club. Now, if there’s a bigger nerd in here, please, point him out,”she quotes perfectly, and a laugh bursts out of me.
“Okay,The Day After Tomorrowit is, then,” I say, starting the movie.
Twila grabs another handful of popcorn in one hand before grabbing a soda off the table and leaning back. And, God, it’s the perfect choice.
We spend the next two hours trying to outdo each other by reciting lines along with the actors, tossing popcorn toward each other’s mouths, and bantering about what we’d do in that kind of natural disaster scenario.
When Jack finally finds Sam and his small group of survivors at the end, I see Twila swiping her fingers beneath her eyes before sniffing quietly. I don’t look directly at her or acknowledge her tears in any way, but her sensitivity warms my chest. She’s still affected by the scene even after seeing the movie enough times to be able to quote most of it.
Twila Greene is a big old softy, and I kind of love that.
And damn, I want to kiss her right now.
I silently berate myself for the thought.This is fake, dipshit. If anything, Twila and I are just friends. Buddies. And friends don’t put their tongues in other friends’ mouths.
