Luckily, the hero gave him a lifeline by yanking the heroine into a kiss while literal fireballs rained from the sky.
“Must be nice,” Marcus muttered. “Finding the will to make out when you’re about to be vaporized. Personally, I’d prioritize oxygen.”
Frankie glanced at him, half-curious, half-concerned. “So, not a fan of romance?”
He scoffed. “Most overrated thing on the planet.”
She sipped her soda like she was preparing a cross-examination. “Where do you stand on grand gestures?”
“What are those?” he asked, dead serious.
“The over-the-top way a hero or heroine tries to say sorry for doing something monumentally stupid in a romance novel. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I’m looking forward to the day when I’m the recipient of one.”
“You want some guy to screw up so bad he has to pull a hail Mary just to win you back?”
“Not the screw-up part, obviously. But yeah. I want a guy to love me enough that he’d put his pride on the chopping block to prove it.”
Marcus cut her a long, skeptical look. It was like someone had swapped out Frankie for an upgraded version built for romcoms. No barbs. No verbal jabs. Just this…open, unsettling charm. Where was the fire? The sharp edges?
“I suspect grand gestures rarely happen in the real world,” he said slowly. “If a simple ‘I’m sorry’ can’t fix things, maybe the couple doesn’t belong together.”
He braced for her to mock his emotional IQ or accuse him of ruining love stories for everyone.
But she didn’t explode.
Instead, she leaned in. Not enough to touch, but enough to make him feel the heat. Her perfume hit him…a clean, floral scent that did things to his focus.
Then she reached across him, slowly, for the popcorn. Her fingers grazing his wrist.
“Sometimes the woman makes the grand gesture,” she said, voice smooth. “Granted, it’s usually a blowjob. But it’s a proven blueprint that works.”
His pulse flinched. What the hell was going on?
“You sure you’re not some Stepford Frankie knockoff? The real one would’ve stabbed me with a spork by now.”
She tilted her head, completely unfazed. “Maybe I’m evolving. You should try it sometime.”
He gave a huff of a laugh, low and skeptical. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
Her lip curled. “Fine. If you want the truth, I’ve decided to give you a shot at being my platonic friend. You know, since the whole sex friend thing didn’t work out.”
His stomach dropped. Platonic? Platonic was worse than hatred. Platonic meant she’d put him in the discard pile and labeled it growth.
How was he supposed to be the world’s worst boyfriend if she’d stopped seeing him as a boyfriend?
“Do you ever just…do normal reactions?” The words slipped out before he could yank them back.
She turned her head slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Normal is highly overrated.”
“So are platonic friendships,” he said, letting his hand drift to her thigh. Mixed signals could still do the trick.
She stilled. “Care to explain what that’s supposed to mean?” She pointed at his hand like it had just violated a treaty. “Did you or did you not move me back to the cottage after one night of appetizer sex?”
“I didn’t move you because I wanted to stop having sex.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Under the same roof felt too relationship-y.”
She blinked, slow and dangerous. “And that hit you when? Right after you proved your tongue worthy of a gold medal?”
He swallowed, scanning his brain for the worst possible boyfriend response. “Why do women always have to take things so personally?”
