Page 79 of Wicked Little Game
It would be suspicious.
I can’t speak for Sam, but that certainly isn’t my primary motivation for dragging out the time we have left.
After we are done forging our plan, he leaves. Just like he promised to. And the spark of self-doubt in the back of my mind flares up again, telling me he leaves because all of his efforts have nothing to do with me.
That it was never about me.
But the next evening, he stands in front of my door again, two bowls of ice cream in his hands and the sweetest half-smile on his face.
At that moment, I stop being mad at him.
I decide to just keep on living in fantasy land until reality catches up to me. It’s all going to shit anyway, so why not enjoy it while I can?
“You wanna watch a movie?” he asks with a smile.
I shove myself past him, nudging him softly with my shoulder, and this time, he’s the one who hurries behind me like a lost duckling.
“Look, I even put fresh strawberries in there,” he says as he hands me my bowl. He gives me the remote and in some kind of attempted peace offering, I start License to Kill.
That’s the closest I get to voicing my emotions, not that I’m very good at that to begin with. The last few days had been a deep dive into my psyche, into a few of my self-destructive behavioral ways, and I didn’t enjoy that at all.
But my decision stands and somehow, Sam's seems to stand too. Looks like we are going to completely ignore the dark clouds that loom over our heads.
He takes my movie choice for the very thing it’s supposedto be and pulls me in his lap. God, how much I missed feeling his touch.
“At least I managed to force a bit of culture into your pretty head,” he says with a laugh. I grumble in protest, and he kisses the top of my head in response.
I’m fucking doomed.
My heart hurts as if he’s squeezing it in his hand, and still, I can’t bring myself to keep my distance. I’m too touch-starved, too desperate for his affection to tear myself away.
I don’t care if it kills me in the end.
Somehow, we form a silent agreement on blissful ignorance. His arm is around my waist, keeping me close to him while we eat our ice cream.
“What is it with you and those movies? Did they send you on this mission just for you to live out your James Bond fantasies?” He scoffs behind me, his breath tickling my ear. “Oh God, please don’t tell me that’s why you said your name is James.”
“Dipshit,” he says with a sigh, softly squeezing my waist. “Maybe. And no, my captain thought I needed a break. Told me I should view this as a vacation.”
I chuckle, tilting my head back to look at him.
“Worst vacation ever,” he whispers, smirking down at me before the smile vanishes from his face.
“I was a bit—,” he struggles as if he doesn’t know how to say it.
“Samuel, I think the word you are looking for is incompetent.”
“You’re a horrible person, Ruby Barron,” he says, holding his hand over my mouth. As if this could keep me from talking.
“You know, I can be your Bond girl,” I muffle from beneath his hand, and he only pulls it away as I lick it.
“You’re way too annoying to be a Bond girl.” There’s noreal venom in his voice as he wipes his hand dry on my shirt. I don’t complain, it’s only fair.
He puts his arms around me again, absentmindedly playing with our bracelets as we watch the movie, and I wish I could ignore how much all of this still hurts.
Hours pass as we sit there, snuggled up. The movie ends but none of us wants the night to end, so Sam starts up GoldenEye, his hands never leaving my body.
Usually, he prefers devout silence when Mr. Bond is talking, but this time, he explains to me in great detail how this one is his favorite Bond movie.
