She leaves the room with a wave and a sung good night before disappearing. The moment she’s gone, leaving Brielle and me alone, I contemplate backtracking. That train of thought only lasts for a second. My stomach sours too quickly to encourage it for longer than that.
“If this is too weird for you, I can go. We don’t have to tell Evie that we didn’t watch this together.”
I scowl. Her lips twitch. “Just sit down, Brielle.”
When she does as I’ve said, I give her my back and head into the pantry. There’s not much for movie snacks in here, so I snag the only bag of popcorn I’ve got. In the fridge, there are a few bottles of water and a lone jug of pink lemonade. I stare blankly at my limited options before taking the lemonade and pouring it into two glasses.
When I join her in the living room, she’s sitting on the couch. Her head swivels my way when she hears me enter. Eyes dropping to the popcorn bag tucked beneath my arm and then the drinks in my hand, she smiles.
“You could have asked for some help bringing everything over,” she says.
“I didn’t need help.”
She reaches toward me and takes the lemonade. “Of course not.”
“WhyChucky?” I grumble, sitting on the cushion next to her before I can talk myself into moving further away.
“Why buffalo popcorn?”
I draw my brows together. “What?”
“That’s my favourite kind, and last time I checked, it was pretty niche.”
“Are you asking if I bought this specifically for you?”
Her shoulder lifts smoothly. “Maybe.”
“No, I did not.” I gently place my glass on the coffee table. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“You could have broken into my place and raided my cupboards.”
I set the bag of pre-popped, flavoured popcorn between us and scoff. “Is that what you were hoping I’d do?”
“Can’t blame a girl for dreaming.”
“You have interesting dreams, then.”
“You have no idea,” she murmurs, her exhale heavy.
My pulse skips. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
It’s dead silent. The movie is still paused on the opening scene, and neither of us has made any move to reach for the remote resting beside my glass. I struggle to keep my eyes ahead of me instead of on the woman sitting so close I can smell her perfume.
My fingers tingle at the simple idea of touching her, let alone doing it in a way I haven’t dared try before. Images flash in my mind of the video she recorded for me, but unlike the guilt that usually follows when I think about it, I only ache for her. I spread my legs wider in an attempt to create some room in my jeans. My cock swells and throbs ten times worse when my knee knocks hers.
“I love scary movies,” she admits so softly I almost don’t understand her. “And lemonade, which I also doubt you knew.”
I clear my throat and say the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s pink.”
Unable to refuse myself any longer, I turn my head, needing to see her. The lemonade isn’t the only thing pink. Everywhere I look, she’s bright and colourful and absolutely everything I’m not. Her pink jeans and orange top stand out against the black couch and the boring beige walls surrounding us. It’s as disconcerting as it is . . . beautiful.
“And that made you think I’d like it?”
“Yes.”
Her following smile is possibly the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. It makes her eyes crinkle at the corners and the muscles in her cheeks pull high. Wonder floods through me.
“I like that you think that more than I like the lemonade.”
