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"But I know—" He stops himself.
"You know who?"
"Do you have popcorn?"
Again, the subject change. He'll give me whiplash. "No, why would I?"
"But you have crisps? Lots." He grins teasingly and stands.
I load up the DVD; Dylan returns with a huge plastic bowl of crisps and some cans of coke. Setting them on the table, he curls his long legs under him and pats the sofa. I get up from the floor and hesitate.
"Live dangerously," he says and smiles.
Snuggling under that comforter with himisdangerous—to my heart rate, my hormones, and eventually my modesty.
But I climb onto the sofa with Dylan anyway.
Compared to the cool outside, Dylan’s hard, muscled body is warm. When I cuddled Grant, there was a lot of loose flesh—I don't think Dylan has an ounce of fleshiness on him.
I extricate the controller from under the comforter and hit play. Dylan leans forward, drags the bowl of crisps onto the comforter between us and sighs. I smirk. He’s sitting through the whole thing, whether he wants to or not. This is pay back for my second dunking in as many days.
Me, I’ve seenTwilightaround twenty times. Don’t judge. There’s something about Edward—so what if he's pale, skinny and the antithesis of the man I'm currently lusting over? Maybe I like the unattainable. Every now and then, Dylan makes a soft scoffing noise in his throat but masks the sound with a mouthful of crisps.
As the movie progresses, Dylan’s behaviour confuses me. I thought ‘snuggling’ might be secret code for ‘I’m going to make out with you’, but looks like I was wrong. I have my body buried as far into him as I can without sitting astride him and begging him to touch me—which becomes more of a possibility as the minutes pass—but all he does is rest his head against mine and drive me mad with gentle touches on my arm. Under this comforter, I'm becoming hot and bothered; I’ll be a gasping heap of hormones by the end of this.
Halfway through the movie, Dylan shifts around to face me. "How am I doing?"
"Doing?"
"At snuggling."
"I don’t think snuggling is an art form." Now he’s locked me in his sights again, my pulse rate goes haywire.
"But this is how it's done?"
I rub loose hair from my face. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sharing the place with an alien. You know, ‘teach me how to love, earth girl’. The thought plasters a smirk on my face.
"What’s funny?" asks Dylan.
"Nothing. Snuggling. Whatever." I lean towards the table and grab a handful of crisps, shovelling them in my mouth.
As I munch on the crisps, Dylan strokes my head, fingers setting off a soft buzz across my scalp. "What are you thinking?" he asks, in a low voice, gaze moving to my mouth.
"What are you thinking?"
"Honestly?"
I wrinkle my nose. "Okay. Tell me. Honestly."Please, don’t let it be something I can’t say no to.
"I’m not thinking; I’m fighting." Dylan traces my lips with his index finger, the abrasive touch shivering down my spine. "I’m fighting with the overwhelming desire to show you what you’re doing to me."
"Oh…"Crap, I sound like some stupid, breathless teenager. Again. I can’t ask him to elaborate, otherwise I’ll have no control left.
I touch his face in return, dragging my nails through his stubble, remembering the burn against my face last night. I shift closer and his hand closes on my knee, gripping as if stopping himself moving his hand elsewhere.
This weird connection pulling us together also pulls my insides tight—attraction, apprehension, lust. I don’t understand how I can feel as if I’ve known Dylan months instead of days, but I do.
I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at in he way Dylan looks at me right now. Lust is clearly in his darkened eyes, but something is behind that expression I can't fathom.
