Page 56 of Promise

She struggles to remove her finger, but I grip it harder between my own.

“The moment I did it, I regretted it.”

She’d bought me that ring. A black titanium band I wore with pride.

She nods and turns back toward the television, keeping her finger looped over mine.

“Where are your rings?” I hesitantly ask. If she says she was as careless with hers as I’d been with mine, I’ll be crushed. I should have never tossed mine in anger.

“Upstairs. In a drawer.”

I could joke that she could have pawned them or sold them through a resale market, but I can’t muster such a tease. I hate the thought and foolishly find relief that she has the set.

One day, I’d like to give her a new one.

We return to watching the show, moving from one episode to another. Trinity takes a bathroom break and comes back with popcorn in a large bowl and two water bottles.

“Thank you, baby,” I easily say to her when she hands me a bottle and sets the bowl in her lap.

This may be even worse than brushing fingers. Our hands meet every few seconds in the shared bowl.

I scoot closer to her, and she glances at me over her shoulder, her brows pinched.

“You’re too far away. Popcorn stretch.” I exaggerate how I had to reach so far for a dip in that bowl on her lap.

She shakes her head but doesn’t say more, returning her attention to the show, while I’m hyper aware that her shoulder is next to my arm and her thigh is a mere centimeter from mine.

While the couple on the screen are supposed to be staying away from one another, the lady has just slipped into the man’s bedroom. My heart rate jacks up, hoping this doesn’t lead where I think it’s going to go.

But suddenly, they are kissing, and he’s taking off her dress . . . and oh, fuck no.

I swipe the popcorn bowl off Trinity’s lap and set it on mine because I can’t watch that without thinking about doing the same thing to the woman next to me.

And then, there’s a whole fucking montage. Him on top of her. Him behind her.

I lean forward, setting the bowl on the table, and swipe down my face with both hands.

Trinity’s breathing becomes shallower. My heart races faster. I feel like I’m watching a horror film, fingers over my lips, prepared to cover my eyes at the soft porn on the screen.

Finally, the scene ends.

“Well,” I choke, knowing we have not watched something like that before. Or at least, not something I remember being so hot.

Trinity rolls her head toward me. Her eyes blown wide and bright brown. I’ve seen that look before. I know that look, and I cannot have her looking at me like that unless . . .

Suddenly, I’m pressed back into the couch, and she’s on my lap, her fingers fisted in my shirt.

I’m so startled that my hands lay limp beside her calves for a second.

“Dart,” she whispers, staring right at my mouth, not even trying to disguise what she’s looking at, while I try to meet her eyes. Try to guess what she’s thinking.

Fuck it.

“What are you thinking?” I whisper, holding my breath. Holding as still as I can, though I’m certain she can feel my arousal through my jeans. I’m not hard from watching someone else get what they want, but because I kept imagining us.

The positions we experienced. Me over her. Me behind her. Her on top of me, like right now.

My hands lift to her hips, a will of their own.