I shove another handful of popcorn in my mouth.
“Plus,” Jay continues, “it’s warm in here. I hate sitting on those blankets, they always get damp. And the volume is never loud enough. It’s kind of bullshit.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Bullshit?”
He glances at me, hand of popcorn stilling before he tosses it in his mouth. “Kind of, yeah.”
“That’s a sacrilege,” I accuse, only half meaning it.It might actually be bullshit. I’ve been doing it for so long because it’s what we’ve always done, I’ve never even considered my opinion. It’s tradition. Repetition required, no matter how unpleasant.
I do not admit my kids have said the same thing minus the explicit language for the last two years. Nor do I tell him they weren’t even excited when I asked them about the parade this week.
“How was the parade?” I had asked them over dinner.
They all shrugged.
“There was hardly any candy,” Millie complained in her sing-song voice.“And it’s always the same floats.”
I shot her an incredulous look. “Of course it’s the same floats,”I explained, annoyed that the nine-year-old already noticed.“That’s the whole point.”
She shrugged; Owen started talking about a kid who got in trouble for talking back to his teacher; the parade ceased to exist.
My eyes are back on the screen. “You didn’t tell me Professor Snape is the villain.” Jay doesn’t respond. “From Harry Potter,” I clarify. He shakes his head; I blow out a disbelieving breath. “Half-Blood Prince? Professor of the Dark Arts?” Blink. Blink. “Bad guy but ultimately not really because Dumbledore trusts him and he loved Harry’s mom?”
He gives me a blank look. “Never heard of him.”
I groan, spot another familiar face on the screen, then perk up. “Stop it. Snape’s right-hand man is Trivette fromWalker, Texas Ranger?”
Jay’s silence is revealing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I admit with a sigh. “You’re thinking, Hollis is annoying to watch a movie with. I already know, thankyouverymuch. I really am trying to do better. My ex-husband told me I ruined movies because—okay, wait. Bruce Willis is going to bring down all these guys—” I pause to let Bruce Willis shoot a construction zone filled with thugs. “In an undershirt and without wearing shoes?”
When I look at Jay, he’s smiling.
I frown around a mouth of popcorn.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re very charming.”
Three things happen at once with his statement: my face heats, my heart skips a beat, and I want his hands all over me. That last one clearly a sign of how neglected of another’s touch my body has been.
“I ...”have never once been called that in my entire life. It’s too pathetic to admit. Instead: “Okay.”
He turns his attention back to the fight happening on screen, and the light plays across his features as he tosses his antler hat onto the dash and rakes a hand through his thick head of dark hair. At the top it’s wavy and tousled.
This observation starts a chain reaction; I can’t stop looking at him. I absorb every little detail like a kid looking through a toy store window planning a wish list for Santa.
One perfectly angled jaw.
Two green eyes complemented by a dark blue long-sleeved fleece, rolled up his forearms, which somehow flex from the simple movement of him grabbing handfuls of popcorn.
Six lines splaying from his eyes when he smiles.
Even the mustache—that stupid thing—is intriguing.
He’s annoyingly attractive.
I wonder if this is who he always is. If he looks like this every other day of the week. What his hands would feel like if they?—
