“Good.”
We’re quiet while the movie plays the opening scene. He silently picks up his phone and starts scrolling.
“Very rude,” I scoff.
He places his phone face down on his chest and pats the top of my head.
“Did you take ibuprofen?” I ask, looking down at the icepack on his ankle.
He shakes his head, so I pat him back.
“Let me get that for you.” I walk to the kitchen, grab a bag of popcorn to pop in the microwave, then grab a couple of ibuprofen and pour a glass of water.
I walk over to Dylan and hand it to him just as the two minutes are up. I grab the blazing hot bag of fresh popcorn and plop next to him on the couch.
I offer him some, so he grabs a few pieces and asks, “Are you okay?”
“What?” I ask, stuffing my face.
“You never ignore your phone. You skipped a workout today. Your full attention is on this random movie, so what’s up, girl?” He plops a few more pieces into his mouth. “Talk to me.”
“PMS,” I admit.
He turns his head to me and says, “Are you horny?”
I roll my eyes and then raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”
“I don’t care if you’re on your period, Ce. I would still take care of you.”
I almost laugh. “That’s so kind of you, Dylan, but no, I just need practice.”
He shrugs, throwing popcorn in his mouth. “I hear practice makes perfect.”
“Don’t be a douchebag,” I scoff.
He glares at me. “That’s not a douchebag thing to say. It’s true.”
“Yeah, but you’re only saying that because you get something out of it.”
He shakes his head. “I thought you knew me.”
I chuckle to myself, shoving my hand in the popcorn faster than he can.
After a few quiet minutes of watching the movie, he says, “So, how often do you want to practice?”
“Are you trying to coordinate our schedules?” I tease.
“Maybe.” He readjusts his ankle. “Maybe I want to know what to expect because when you told me to come over today, I wasn’t expecting…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence.
I take a moment to think and shrug. “I don’t know.”
He continues to snack, his attention fixed on the movie. I sink into the couch and stretch my legs, placing my feet in his lap for a moment.
He starts rubbing my feet, still focused on the movie. His hands feel good, relieving tension I didn’t know I had.
“That feels really nice,” I mutter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, and I close my eyes. “Are you going to sleep?”
