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I'm trying to fucking breathe. My mind is irrational. I'm out of my element and it makes me uncomfortable. Sex I can do. Conversation in a dimly lit bar with a drink in hand is easy. Casual dating not so much. I feel too exposed and I can't handle it. He makes me feel things in this setting that I hate, like nerves. When do I ever get nervous? It's a nonexistent feeling for me. I can sit in front of a panel of corporate bigwigs and be completely calm, but sitting in a movie theater next to a man I find attractive is equivalent to sky diving with no parachute. What happened to the morning after ease I was feeling this morning as I sipped my coffee?
My footrest starts to rise, startling me and pushing me back in my seat. I almost toss the monstrosity of a bag of popcorn he bought at the concession stand for us to share. Eyes narrowed, I look over at him and he already has his footrest completely lateral with the seat of the chair and the back reclined as far as it will go, his hand perched on my controls with his other fingers scratching his short beard. The very one that feels amazing pressed against the skin between my legs. Funny thing. I've never had a guy go down on me with facial hair like that. That's a treat I wasn't expecting. Usually they're clean-shaven or just have a small amount of stubble. The thing about meeting someone in a bar—they're already dressed their best and hygiene is fresh. The notion is to appeal to the opposite sex, after all. I never thought I'd have a thing for beards, and the long wizardly ones I still don't. But this trimmed to the skin thick covering—I like that scratchy orgasm enhancer. I'm veering off. Never mind. "What the hell are you doing?"
He's staring at me, obviously intrigued from the expression set deep on his face. The back reclines on my chair to match his. "Relaxing you. Unlike last night, you're being uptight."
I grab a few kernels of popcorn from the top of the bag and toss them at him. He opens his mouth to catch one, while the others settle on his polo before he picks them off and tosses them too in his mouth. "I told you I don't date. It's not my thing. Last night was my thing. We could have gone out, had a few drinks, and still ended up in the exact same place we will when this is over."
He laces his hands behind his head, still staring at me, sitting upright in my reclined chair. His brown hair is long enough to flip out at the ends, with the help from a baseball cap training it, exactly as it's doing now. "Don't you ever just get tired of partying?"
I've never been asked that question before. It's just what you do when you're single and want a social life. Do I ever tire of it? I've never thought about it. "I'm not sure," I say honestly. "It's just a part of my life I've never questioned."
His voice lowers. "Lay back. I promise I won't bite." His smile is sexy, his lips the perfect shape, and filled just right to make them full. It's soothing—seeing him smile. In a matter of moments my haywire thoughts calm, and I take a deep breath, before doing as he said. "I figured something away from alcohol and a bar could be just as enjoyable. I want to know more about this sister Saxton felt he needed to hide. And since we're really early for the next showing, we have nothing but time."
"I didn't know couples outside of high school still went to the movies," I tease, turning toward him for a better view of his face, and then point the opening of the bag of popcorn toward him.
He grabs a handful, popping a few in his mouth. I follow suit, relaxing more with the conversation, and slowly feeling like myself again. "Considering the last time I went to the theater to see a movie probably was high school, it's highly likely. Just seemed like a good idea at the time. Do you have something against sharing a theater with me, Cambridge?"
I laugh. "As long as you aren't that annoying talker during the movie, I think I can share an activity I usually do alone. And since it's an action movie, you have no excuses. Silence during the film is much appreciated."
"My lips will be sealed as soon as the lights turn down."
The roses from earlier pop into my head. He doesn't seem much for romance either, but then I really don't know anything about him. I have no idea what made him send me flowers. It's such an intimate gesture on any level, whether from family, friends, or that special someone. "So . . . since you broke the rule about keeping secrets and complicated my life with that embarrassing display sitting on my desk at work, why don't you tell me something personal about you. You know where I work, where I live, my last name, and family history, yet I know nothing about you. Seems unfair you know so much about me and I don't even know your last name." I toss a few more kernels of popcorn at him. "We are sharing popcorn, after all."
One arm leaves from the resting place behind his head and he grabs my hand in his, lightly and almost awkwardly, as if he's experimenting with touch. I try not to draw attention to it. "Bryant Briggs. Twenty-six. LA born and raised. Business major. Owner by inheritance of wine and liquor stores spread from county to county throughout the state. I'm pretty much an ordinary guy, all things considered."
"If you're friends with my brother there is no way you're ordinary. He's not really a sociable people person these days."
He laughs; a deep, masculine sound that has my senses on alert. "I met him in college, before he lost his fucking mind. I have this cousin. We've always been close growing up, so when he went off to college further than me I went to visit here and there. You know, party for the weekend. Saxton was his roommate, so I was stuck with him from the start. When I got wind he moved to LA I figured he needed a friend from a familiar face. The rest is history."
"I'm curious. When you say, 'before he lost his fucking mind', are you not envious of his career as a guy? I've always wondered about this from another male's perspective. Nothing you say will make a difference. It's just for research purposes," I draw out in a flirty manner.
His eyes veer to my lips, the telling smile present that he knows I'm full of shit. As a female, I'm genuinely curious of the male species and how they think. I wouldn't be so good at sex columns if I weren't. "Nah. Not really. The money would be nice, but I'm not really hurting financially. My dad busted his ass for years, so aside from having to learn it all I've had it pretty easy. I've watched porn. Its generalized purpose is an easy nut when you don't feel like hunting, but I can't say I'd like having someone tell me who I am and am not going to fuck. It goes against the laws of attraction. I like having that kind of power over my own dick. But then that's just me. I know why he did it. To each their own."
"So you knew her too?"
"Unfortunately, we all did."
"Not in that way I hope."
"Fuck no. I wouldn't have touched that bitch with a ten-foot pole. It's a wonder she didn't give him some shit he couldn't get rid of. Thank God he knew how to wrap it up."
"Unlike someone I know," I tease. I say that lightly, but it's not in my character to let a man inside of me without protection. Birth control only covers pregnancy. It does not, however, cover venereal disease. If it hadn't been for him being my brother's best friend, I wouldn't have even considered it. And still, there is about a ninety-nine percent chance that I'll get tested when he leaves and hope to God it's all negative. For now, there is no reason to worry with it, because as scary as it sounds, if he did have something, I've already fucked myself. Thinking about it is pointless.
He glances around the theater, before pulling me out of my chair into his lap, straddling him. "Yeah, well, I'm a guy. We're entitled to one stupid period in our lives when it comes to a girl. This is mine."
I lean forward, our lips barely apart, and run my fingers through his facial hair, memorizing the way it feels beneath my skin. "Put this between my legs later and all is forgiven."
"You like my face between your legs, huh?" His hands run up my thighs and he unbuttons my jeans, lowering the zipper halfway. "A deal is a deal."
"Then what are you doing?" I ask, as he places his palm to my belly, beneath my shirt, running his thumb under my waistband and underwear until it's pressing between my lips. "Someone could walk in any minute."
My voice is already uneven. "Then I guess you better hurry up and come then."
"Fuck." My eyes close when his thumb quickly strokes my clit. He exerts the right amount of pressure, never strays, and his rhythm is exactly how I like it. "It's amazing how good you are at that."
He works me harder, faster, until my pelvis is riding his lap and bucking slightly against his palm, my orgasm a second away. For a second I forget where we are, and so does my mouth, until his other hand grips the back of my head and pulls my lips against his, kissing me as I enjoy the feel of a quick but explosive orgasm.
The second it ends he removes his hand when the sound of people talking registers, and I move off his lap at the same time, pulling my shirt down until I can button my jeans back. Before I can even completely sit in my chair a group of guys walk into the theater, almost a few seconds too early. When I get settled I look at him, my body hot and a grin present. "What was that for?"
