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The look that, as I watch, goes from sappy to possessive, to dark around the edges.
“You good?” I ask, wondering if I should get up or throw water on him or something.
“I’m good,” he tells me, a smirk quivering at the edge of his lips. “It’s just…cute to watch you process things like this. You get really into it, and you look soseriousthat it’s like I’m watching the whole decision-making unfold right in front of me.”
“That’s a lie,” I scoff, sitting back. “I don’t do that. You can’t tell what I’m doing just by looking at my face.”
“Oh, I can too,” he assures me. “And the biggest takeaway of it?” He leans forward and twines his arms around my shoulders before pulling me forward onto my knees. “That you want me, too. Maybe not quite how I want you. Notyet. But you do, and you can’t hide it from me.”
“I wasn’t…” Whatever I’m going to say is lost when he kisses me. It’s sweet, at first, until he deepens it and finally lets me go so that he can pull the remote out of my hands again.
“We were going to watch a movie, remember?” he asks, flipping on the smart TV and navigating to the horror movie channel.
“How do you know I like horror movies?” I ask, taking a break to resettle myself from the onslaught of feelings I’d gotten from his words and his kiss. My lips tingle in a way that screamsdo it again,andthat wasn’t enough, but I’m not going to address that right now, either.
I need space. I should be happy with the space he’s giving me.
“Because I’ve been stalking you since San Diego, remember?” he says airily, like it’s the least important thing in the world. “Your fascination withScreamis…” he trails off and gives me a quick look from under raised brows. “They aren’t going to fuck no matter how much you watch Billy and Stu threaten Sidney, you know.”
“Right, yeah. I know. That’s totally not why I’m doing it,” I say, trying to come up with a better answer as towhyI love that scene so much. “I just, uh, love the way they scare Sidney. It’s…” I don’t know how to end the sentence, and from the way Isaac is looking at me, he knows it. “It’s…hot?” I offer.
“It is hot,” he agrees. “Though I’m not sure it hits you in all the ways it hits me.” He turns on a movie that I’ve never watched before, and I have a hard time caring or even noticing what it is.
“Because you think threatening people is hot?” I ask.
“Because I think watching the other Lost Boys threaten someone is hot,” Isaac corrects. “It’s why Cyril gives us all kinds oftalksbefore we go find someone. It turns us on to see each other like that. You get me?”
“No, no, I can’t say I do,” I admit, grinning.
“And yet you’re the one who gets off on two fictional serial killers threatening someone?” He casts me a quick, disbelieving look and settles against the back of the sofa, precisely in the middle so that no matter where I go, I’ll be sitting next to him no matter what.
Our conversation dies down after that, and I turn my face toward the TV to try to figure out what in the world we’re even watching.
But out of the corner of my eye, I continue to watch Isaac. Every time he moves or shifts, I have to be careful not to face him fully to see what he’s doing. Instead, I work to look like I’m engaged with the screen instead of everything about him.
Which is difficult, when I don’t give a shit about the movie. I care a lot more about the man beside me, and I can only hope it’s not obvious.
Twenty minutes after the movie starts, Isaac lets out a deep breath, inhales, and lifts his arm in invitation. “You could stare at me better from my lap where you wouldn’t have to try so hard not to. I won’t even look,” he tells me, not turning to me.
“I’m not–”
“It’s cute that you think lying to me is the way to go. But I can wholeheartedly assure you, your lies are obvious, and this one isn’t going to be any better.” This time he turns to give me a wide, inviting smile, and I feel myself relenting.
Goddamn the feminine urge to lay in his lap and stare up at him like I’m in love with him or something equally as stupid.
He reaches out with one hand and grips my chin, eyes pleading, which is totally enough to have me in his lap and staring up at him without much complaint.
Much, because I’m not going to start doing shit for any of the Lost Boys without alittlebit of complaint.
“Don’t I look good from down there?” He moves to run his fingers through my hair, tugging it so he can access it all without it being stuck under me against his thighs.
“Do you?” I ask, not wanting to tell him that he looks good fromanywhereand that I have no idea what I’m doing down here on his lap.
“I do,” he assures me. “But you know what looks better?”
I shake my head, causing him to snicker. “Yes, you do, princess.Youlook good right there on my lap, where you belong. Where you’vealwaysbelonged.”
The words aren’t exactly unexpected with how much he’s been flirting with me, but I feel like someone’s sucked the air out of my lungs with the words, and all I can do is look up at him, my lips slightly parted, and run the words, and the way he said them, through my brain over and over again to save them for posterity.
