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“You get off on the heroics.” He gestured to the TV, where the characters attempted their daring rescue mission. “Look at you. Pink cheeks, wide eyes, breath coming out in little puffs. Those are classic signals.”
Her heart pounded unnaturally. She supposed having sex on the brain was an occupational hazard for Josh. What was her excuse?
“First of all, stop watching me and watch the movie. Second of all, you’re confusing lust with wholesome excitement.” She moved so one of the throw pillows blocked his view of her face, just in case. “They’re climbing into an elevator shaft. This is a suspenseful situation. I’m worried about the well-being of the hostages.”
Josh lowered the pillow and shot her a filthy smile. One that worked so well that for the first time in her life, Clara had to temper down the impulse to purr. “Oh please. Wait until Keanu slides under the bus to dismantle the bomb, I bet you go nuts.”
That moment did make her swoon. “My devotion to Speed is not motivated by anything remotely carnal.” At least, not entirely. “This film is a triumphant celebration of the human spirit.”
“You’re reaching,” he said, stretching his arms above his head until his shirt lifted high enough to reveal his lower stomach.
“I’m not.” She folded her arms to cover her duplicitous nipples. “Speed is about rising to the occasion. About average people like Jeff Daniels and Keanu and Sandra Bullock who are good and noble, and yes, hot, but in a soft, restrained way.”
“Restrained, my ass. You don’t get biceps like that without extensive personal training.”
Clara ignored that impertinent comment. “Speed is an action movie for the female gaze. Do you know how you can tell? The heroine has got on sensible shoes.”
Josh squinted at the screen. “So you identify with Sandra Bullock’s character?”
“I wish. Keanu falls for her as soon as she takes the wheel. I, on the other hand, would never recover from the embarrassment of Keanu calling me ma’am.”
Clara dabbed a napkin at a drop of sauce that had landed on the sofa. She never should have eaten dinner in front of the TV. She’d started picking up bad habits from her new roommate.
Josh fetched her a wet paper towel to better attack the burgeoning stain. “What’s wrong with ma’am?”
“Ma’am is so sexless.” She pouted. “The word tastes like sawdust in my mouth.”
“Aha! Sexless. Implying that you’d like for him to call you something sexy. You totally wanna do the horizontal mambo with Keanu.”
“The horizontal mambo? Seriously?” She threw the balled-up towel against his chest. “No one says that.”
He jump-shot the towel into the trash can. “Don’t like that one, huh? How about ‘buying a ticket to pound town’?”
Clara wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”
“Crashing the custard truck? Engaging in a little gland-to-gland combat? I can keep going.”
“Please don’t.” She sank down in her seat, trying to hide how even those ridiculous names somehow made her want to drape herself across Josh’s lap.
“Suit yourself.”
“I’m not denying the hunk factor here,” she conceded, “but there’s so much more to love about Speed.”
Josh pretended to cough into his hand. “Speed is a poor man’s Die Hard.”
Clara clutched her heart. “How dare you.”
He chuckled and reached for her empty plate.
Clinging to the edge of it, she tilted her head. “What are you doing?”
“Tidying up?” He tugged on his end until she let go.
“Oh. Thank you.” He’d taken to mirroring her behavior as if they were a team. A team unfit to accomplish anything, surely, but still, she appreciated the effort.
“Die Hard is a masterpiece. I’ll give you that,” she said when he returned from the kitchen. “But Speed has a uniquely endearing ensemble. There’s that nerdy tourist in the blazer, you know? I relate to him. I, too, came to L.A. with big dreams only to wind up circling the airport on a bus with a bomb.”
Josh raised his eyebrows as he returned to his seat.
