He sucks from one of the straws as we walk toward cinema 12.
“I didn’t give her the sordid details—you know, the extortion or whatever—only that I was thinking ’bout asking you so she isn’t caught off guard when it happens.” He pauses. “My mom is an attorney, by the way—she’d probably sue you for blackmailingme.”
An attorney? That is not good!
“I’m glad you warned her. I would hate to be sued,” I joke, brushing a hair behind my ear. “Did you mentionmyname, specifically?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
I grin at his back as we slip into the darkened theater, previews already rolling. They’re my favorite part of being in a theater, so I’m bummed to have missed the first few. I plop down next to Easton as the massive screen illuminates the room.
Our thighs touch.
Unable to shake the giddy feeling bubbling up inside me, I wiggle in my seat.
Prom. HE TOLD HIS MOM ABOUT IT!
I am one step closer to having an official date for the dance!
One. Step. Closer.
Seriously. The fact that he told his mom makes it real. The fear that he could back out of the deal dwindles…
I hide my grin by taking a sip of soda, sucking through the straw, shooting a sidelong glance at him; the glow from the screen casts a shadow on his face.
His jawline.
It belongs in a cologne ad, or—ugh, I don’t know. It feels rude and unfair of the universe to attach that jawline to someone who spends half his time making dumb jokes.
And the lips.
He has such nice lips…
Kissable.
I bite my straw, tearing my gaze away before I embarrass myself.
This isnotpart of the plan.
Macy and Marcus are lost in their own little world, leaning into each other, holding hands, their whispered conversation drowned out by the booming audio.
I sneak a glance at Easton, at the slope of his nose. His chin.
So cute.
Unfortunately, he catches me looking. He quirks an eyebrow.
“What?” he demands.
I react too slowly, brain still caught oncute,cute,cute, so I scramble for a response, giving him a weak little, “Nothing.”
I can see him smiling. “You were staring at me.”
A scoff leaves my throat as I shift in my seat, trying to act unfazed. “Please. You’re literally right next to me. Where else am I supposed to look?”
“The screen?”
I roll my eyes, taking an aggressive sip of my soda. “God, you’re annoying.”
