The opening credits started and Yoss smiled. We watched the screen in silence.
“No, Chris didn’t share my love for old movies,” I said after a while.
Yoss continued to stare at the movie playing on my computer and made no comment.
“Chris and I had a shitty relationship. He never really got me. He never tried to. We were together because it was easier than being alone,” I admitted.
Yoss licked his lips, his fingers curling and uncurling on the blanket. “Why did you marry him then? Why did you go through with it if you didn’t love him?” he asked softly. No accusation for once. Just curiosity. And maybe a little bit of pain.
Should I tell him?
I had given him a lot of my truths in the past few days. Maybe it was all too much for him.
So I remained quiet. Yet slowly, so slowly, Yoss reached out and took my hand.
Simple. Intimate. Familiar.
Curling fingers through mine. Palm to palm.
“I wished we had had more time to watch movies together,” Yoss said, eyes still focused on the screen. But his hand was holding mine. I wished he would kiss me. Not like yesterday. That kiss, while wanted, felt angry and desperate.
I wanted a different kind of kiss.
But I liked holding his hand almost as much.
“Living in a warehouse doesn’t lend itself to a lot of movie watching,” I remarked.
“We can watch them together now though.” Yoss finally looked at me, his dark hair falling into his eyes, making him look so much younger than his thirty-three years.
“Yeah, we can.” I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.
We watched the movie. We held hands. We enjoyed every single minute of this second chance moment we were given.
And the sun continued to set, reminding me of many other sunsets we had spent together.
“Hayley Mills was kind of hot,” Yoss mused, his eyebrows rising.
“Oh is that your type now?” I laughed.
Tightened fingers. Palm to palm.
“Nah. I’m partial to dark hair. And I’m definitely a sucker for black eyes and tiny freckles right here.” He brushed his fingers along the bridge of my nose where I had a smattering of freckles from too much time in the sun.
Yoss tucked my hair behind my ear, his thumb running the length of my cheek. My skin erupted into gooseflesh as he pressed the tip of his finger against a small birthmark on my collarbone. “Sometime, when I’m trying to go to sleep, I remember this mark. And how you would tremble when I kissed it.”
Something heated in his eyes. Molten. Hot.
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this Yossarian. His moods shifted and twisted continuously. I held my breath waiting for the tide to turn.
So quiet. Not enough air.
He closed his eyes and moved away. When he opened them again, they were sad. But resolute. He shook his head and turned back to the movie.
“It’s getting to the good part,” he said, sounding slightly strangled.
I crossed my legs, feeling a throbbing there that I hadn’t experienced since I was seventeen years old.
Shit.
