I swallowed. Blinked. “Have I ever told you you’re better than a cat?”
Quinn’s lips contorted into a grin that he proceeded to smother and turn into a frown. His hands moved to my jacket and pinched at the V just above the first button. “Jell-O Fight Night? I thought you wanted some muscle at your side when you went to party?”
“Somehow Jell-O Fight Night doesn’t sound all that intimidating. If you were a mop and a bucket, I might have taken you along.”
“In case you change your mind, I’ll be a phone-call away.” His fingers slid to the buttons, undoing them one at a time.
I let him. I liked watching the slight shake of his hands as he drew his fingers over the material, knuckles scraping gently over the shirt underneath. I shivered at the loss of the touch when he pulled back. “Wear it undone.”
“Thanks for the tip. When are you meeting the cheese tonight?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, then twisted toward the fridge and opened it. “Yeah, Cheddar. He . . . uh—I mean,we—are meeting soon. What movie did you say you’re going to?”
“It’s that student documentary,Played With. Lost.At the campus theater.”
“That’s a coincidence,” Quinn said, pulling out some lettuce and tomato and moving to the chopping board. “We were planning on seeing that too.”
I tilted my head slowly. “This isn’t you getting jealous, is it?”
He laughed so loudly I had to rub my ears a little. “Nah, just a coincidence. And... since neither of us have any pathetic crushes on one another, you won’t mind if we’re there too, right?”
I rested against the bench and passed him the bread when he gestured for it. “Right. I just didn’t pick you for the documentary type,” I said. “You or the cheese. But since you are, would you mind giving me a lift?”
Quinn prepared sandwiches, cutting them neatly down the middle. “You know who might mind? Cheddar. Let me just give him a call and see how hefeelsabout it.” He passed me the plate of prepared sandwiches and darted off to his room.
I stared down at the plate, a solid weight in my hand, just as Quinn was a solid weight in the apartment.I could get used to this.With a smile, I moved to the table and ate.
I satclose to the front of the small, almost empty theater with Hannah, who was a bouquet of smiles and laughter next to me. Behind us somewhere were Quinn and Cheddar, but I gave them their privacy by not looking back.
About halfway through the documentary, I slipped my hand over the arm separating our chairs, and nudged Hannah’s pinkie. I whispered, “Maybe we should—”
Hannah pressed her hand against mine, threading our fingers together. Clammy and stiff, but warm too. Reassuring, somehow.
Well, yes, the kiss with Quinn had been better. Comforting and spiced with little electric thrills. But holding hands was hardly a fair comparison. I’d never done that with Quinn. Maybe kissing Hannah would be just as good.
Colored light from the screen flickered over Hannah’s face, softening the sharp profile of her nose and highlighting her full lips, stretched into a nervous smile. She peeked at me from the corner of her eye. “What?” she mouthed.
Again, I whispered in her ear, “May I kiss you a second?”
She faced me, teasing her bottom lip with her front teeth. Cute as a bunny, to pen a fitting phrase. Yes, cute flushed cheeks, sweet smile, nice eyes...
I cupped the side of her face and leaned in to kiss her. Her lips moved shyly against mine, but her breath puffing out was warm and smelled like cherry-flavored bubblegum.
Pleasant. Fine. Okay.
Where was the static? The strange moment where I skipped a breath? The promise of cocooning warmth that came from a bigger body?
I tried the kiss again, searching for something else perhaps I’d missed the first time. I threaded my fingers through the back of her soft hair, loosening it from the hair-tie. She danced delicate fingers up my arm to rest lightly on the curve of my neck.
Our mouths locked awkwardly and a slither of tongue over my bottom lip just made it feel wet.
“Hmmm,” I murmured. A sudden silence in the documentary emphasized the sound.
She squeezed my hand and drew hers away. “Let’s give it to the end of the night to be sure.”
“Maybe it’s the angle,” I said. The time? The heat? The fullness from Quinn’s sandwiches? The need to urinate?
“Or not,” she said with an apathetic shrug and smile. To the point. Factual.
