Page 32 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

As soon as she steps inside, a groan rumbles out of her. The sound sends all the blood in my body straight to my dick, but I manage to ignore the sensation as she rushes over and plops down on the couch. Flipping open the pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of her, she pulls out a piece, groans again, and takes a huge bite.

Her unabashed pleasure at something so simple as pizza is pure, unadulteratedWillow, and I can’t stop the chuckle that bubbles up my throat as I approach. Hearing the sound, she freezes mid-chew and stares up at me.

Holding a palm in front of her mouth, she says, “Sorry. I skipped lunch today, and I’m starving.”

Waving off her apology, I sit next to her––but not too close––and pick up the plates I’d set beside the pizza earlier. She nods in thanks as I hand her one for her slice, then I pull out a piece for myself and plop it onto my own plate.

“Root beer okay?” I ask, pulling a can from the soft-sided cooler I left beside the couch.

She freezes and looks at me with wide eyes, and heat flows up my neck and into my face. Damn it. Did I mess up?

“Or I have wine. Or beer. Or water. Whatever you want,” I add quickly.

“No,” she says softly, reaching out to take the can from me. “Root beer is perfect. I’m just surprised you remembered. And the pizza…”

Her words trail off, and my heart settles back into my chest as I murmur, “I remember everything.”

Her favorite pizza. Her favorite soda. The way her skin smells after a dip in the lake. The color of her hair when backlit by a bonfire.

The softness of her lips…

I clear my throat and the memory, then point at the television. “What sounds good? Comedy? Drama? Horror? I’m good with anything.”

She tilts her head, and her eyes light up with mischief. “What about a werewolf movie? I haven’t seen Curse in a while.”

“Anything butthat,” I clarify, and she laughs. “I don’t like watching my movies. Something about seeing myself on screen is just…I don’t know.”

“I get it,” she says, reaching out to rest a hand on my arm. “And I was just kidding. A comedy sounds good.”

Nodding, I grab the remote and pull up my favorite streaming service. Willow settles back with her plate on her lap and her soda in hand, then shouts for me to stop when I scroll past a new comedy that’s just been added to the lineup of options.

Going back, I select the film and set the remote aside. As I settle back with my own food and drink, I realize suggesting a movie night probably wasn’t my best idea. It doesn’t leave much room to talk and get to know each other again, but it’s not like I can backtrack and suggest something else now that the movie is starting.

Oh, well. This is only the beginning, and just being here with her is enough.

As we demolish the pizza and laugh at the crude jokes on the screen, any and all leftover tension between us seems to fade away. When Willow finishes eating, she sets her plate on the coffee table, kicks off her shoes, and curls her legs up on the couch between us.

The sight of her brings back a memory of us in almost this exact situation. She snuck me into her house when her brother and Grandpa had gone to Jonas Hill for the day, and we watched a couple of movies in her living room. The only real difference is that back then, she stretched her legs out to plop her feet in my lap and demanded a foot rub. I pretended to be grossed out by feet––which I totally wasn’t––and when she tried to jerk away, I grabbed her ankles and tickled her until she begged for mercy…thengave her the foot rub she wanted.

I catch her gaze on me a moment later, and I wonder if she’s recalling the memory. Before I can ask, she huffs and turns her attention back to the movie. A laugh bursts through her lips, and I smile and refocus on the television, myself.

We joke and make comments on the action and dialogue throughout the movie, and when it’s over, Willow looks at me with a bright smile.

“That was pretty good,” she says, pushing her legs off the couch and straightening.

“I thought so, too,” I say, fighting hard against the frown forming on my lips as she leans over to pull on her shoes. “Did you want to watch something else?”

Anything to get her to stay. EvenCurse.

“I should really get going,” she says, disappointment lacing the words. “I have to get up early in the morning for work.”

“Okay,” I murmur, and she shoots a grin my way.

“This was fun.”

“I had fun, too. We should do it again.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and her expression tells me she wants to say more, but she ends up just shaking her head and pushing herself to her feet.

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