Jordan took his hand and began to guide him through the sea of people.
Cree frowned. How was Jordan so familiar with the Mulvaney property? He kept the question to himself, afraid to break the spell, afraid this gorgeous boy would realize he wasn’t nearly as interesting as he was.
Jordan’s fingers stayed laced confidently through his like they’d done this a thousand times. Cree wasn’t used to being pulled anywhere. He was usually not one for touching. But this? This he didn’t mind.
Jordan dragged him deep into the bowels of the Mulvaney mansion until they ended up in the theater room. The last time Cree had been in there was when someone had come after Thomas Mulvaney and he’d made them all hunker down in the house until the man had been caught. He led him to the large black recliners in the back row, gesturing for Cree to sit.
“Is this okay?” Jordan asked, plopping down right next to him, his arm pressed against Cree’s own.
“Mm,” Cree said.
Jordan pressed the button on Cree’s recliner, giggling when he jolted at the unexpected motion, before hitting the button on his own seat.The recliners hummed softly as they moved, a low mechanical vibration sliding up Cree’s spine. Jordan’s thigh brushed his, warm and soft even through the costume, and Cree swallowed.
“Do you like old movies?”
“Mm,” Cree said again, a small smile playing at his lips at Jordan’s noise of frustration.
Jordan seemed to take his silence as a challenge, burrowing deeper into the recliner, his hand brushing Cree’s. “If you could only watch one old movie for the rest of your life—like, forever—what is it and why is it notGremlins?”
Cree let his head loll to the side to look at Jordan, who looked adorably small and cozy in the oversized recliner. His Deadpool mask lay crumpled in his lap now, revealing every expressive twitch of his eyebrows, every dimple. It was…a lot.
“Gremlinsisn’tan old movie,” Cree said with a lopsided smile.
Jordan shrugged. “It is to me. It came out twenty-two years before I was born.”
Cree’s eyes went wide. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen. How old are you?” Jordan asked.
Nineteen. Shit. Why did he feel like a cradle-robber when they were only six years apart? “Almost twenty-six.”
“Oh, an older man,” Jordan murmured. “Hot.”
Cree fought the smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
“Fine. What’s your favoriteoldmovie?” Jordan asked, his thumb softly brushing against Cree’s in a way that had his breath catching.
The touch was barely there, a ghost of contact, but it felt like Jordan had pressed a live wire to the inside of Cree’s wrist.
“It’s a tie betweenRear WindowandRosemary’s Baby,” he admitted.
“How come?” Jordan asked, sounding far less judgmental than his friends would have been about his choices.
He was watching Cree like he actually cared about the answer—like Cree’s preferences were inherently fascinating.
“Have you seen them?” Cree asked.
Jordan gave a bashful smile, like he’d been caught in a lie. “No, I’ve actually never heard of them. But they’re good? What are they about?”
“Rear Window,” Cree said, voice going a little soft in that way that only happened when he talked about movies. “It’s Hitchcock at his best. One guy trapped in his apartment after breaking his leg, spying on his neighbors because he’s bored…and then he thinks he witnesses a murder. But it’s not really about the murder. It’s about paranoia, and the way people fill in the blanks with their own fears.”
He shrugged, a tiny smile tugging his mouth.
“It’s basically a masterclass in tension using nothing but one room, a camera, and human nature.”
Jordan blinked. “Okay, that actually sounds cool.”
Cree continued, warming up now.
