“And you want to stick with that?”I grin, and when his eyes open again and he spots my smile, his lips tilt up into something that pulls at that ultrathin thread in my chest.
“Yeah, I feel like I need to know.”His voice drops lower on theadmission.And the way he says it… like it’s the truth and, yes, it surprises him, too.
I pause before answering, highly aware that however I respond sets the tone for the rest of the date and possibly the rest of my life.God, where didthatcome from?
I should say something deep and philosophical.Something to impress him or something vaguely sexual to turn him on.But I don’t, because I want to tell him the truth and I want him to be impressed and turned on by it regardless.
“Movies.”
Nothing on this man’s face flinches or quirks or furrows in response.He just keeps staring, and I have no desire to look away.
“They make you happy?”
“They do… They make the world make sense.”
I drop my voice to a whisper since we’re not supposed to talk about anything work related.I respect the reasoning for the rule—so we can find deeper, more lasting connections that aren’t influenced by salary—but I’m willing to break it for Wes to know what takes up a lot of space in my brain.A lot of space in my life, really.
“I’m writing a thesis about film.I want to teach genre theory.”
“What’s your favorite genre?”
“I have two: rom-com and horror—well, slashers, actually.”
His eyes narrow before his gaze drops down.He gives my pretty, rom-com-appropriate dress a once-over before raising his stare back to mine, his eyebrow quirking up as he does.I just grin.I can guess which part of that answer he’s doubtful about.
“What makesyouhappy, Wes?”
While it may have been the first question to come to his mind, he doesn’t have an answer ready, and after a couple of seconds of forehead-furrowing thought he says, “I like a happy ending.”
At my arched brow, he clarifies.“Not that kind… although,yeah, I’m surethat’snice.But I like when the underdog wins, when the hero beats the odds… I like when the guy gets the girl.”
It’s a lovely, loaded, answer.One that makes his gaze drop and settle on my mouth because I’m… Am I…bitingmy lip?
He takes his time to lift his stare back to mine, and when he does, I have a better understanding of the term “bedroom eyes.”Soft, intense, endless pools of darkness.His eyes are bittersweet cocoa dark, and they somehow spike my blood sugar.
“What’s your favorite movie?”he asks, and it’s like asking me what the primary colors are, or who the three Big Bads are (Jason, Michael, Freddy).I don’t even have to think.
“It’s a three-way tie:While You Were Sleeping, Saw, Shaun of the Dead.”
I’m glad he asked me first because this is a deal-breaker question for me.Though I think Wes would have to like somethingreallybad to counteract whatever is happening over this slightly sticky table right now.He’d have to be a fan of like…Catsor something.
“What’s yours?”
He leans into the table, looking like he’s up for the challenge when he folds his hands in the space between us.His middle finger is half an inch away from grazing against mine, and his hands look strong, capable.I recross my legs.
“Also, a three-way tie.BlacKkKlansman—”
“Oh shit, good choice.”That’s an understatement.It’s akillerchoice.
“The Fast and the Furious.”
I’ll allow it.
“And…” He inhales through his teeth like he’s considering not telling me.I’m on the edge of my seat, preparing for theCatsmoment that is going to ruin this amazing first impression, and then, “Miss Congeniality.”
Be still, my beating heart.Be still, my equally beating vagina.My cheeks might very well burst from trying to hold back the smile that answer warrants.
“Miss Congeniality?”
