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I stand suddenly, my part of the blanket slipping down to the ground. “You know what? You two order in. I’ll fix myself a sandwich.”
Harper looks stricken. “You don’t like Chinese food? We can order something else then!”
I make the mistake of looking at her crestfallen face.
“Um…” I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to come up with an adequate excuse that won’t confuse her. “It’s just been a long day” is what I settle on.
“But we were going to watch Frozen II, remember? And I don’t want to spoil anything, but Anna and Elsa get all new outfits. And the songs are really good!”
I open my eyes and glance at Luke. He’s wearing a look of concern, studying me as if unsure how to proceed. He must understand why I’m wavering like this, how uncomfortable it feels to wonder if you’re an invited guest or merely a weird interloper. Two days ago, I was getting told to stay in my lane; now suddenly I’m allowed to be the third wheel? I can’t keep up.
“Stay,” he says firmly. “And come on this side so you can see the menu on my phone.”
He shifts the throw pillow beside him so I can take a seat, and maybe I should resist more, walk away, lock myself in my room, but I do exactly as he says.
I sit down on the other side of him, too far at first to see the menu. I have to crane my neck, and he notices, giving me a taunting glance. I scoot a tiny bit closer, and then I’m engulfed by his scent and warmth and comfort. It’s so nice it’s almost painful.
“Now, what do we want for appetizers?” he asks.
We end up ordering enough food to feed us for weeks. Our mistake was looking over the menu with grumbling stomachs, but everything is delicious and we eat on the couch while we watch Frozen II.
After dinner, Luke brings us each a bowl of ice cream with sprinkles while the movie still plays.
“How’s your finger?” he asks.
I have my hand propped up on a little pillow on my lap, just to keep it out of the way.
“Good. Really, it’s not hurting at all.”
“You did good with the stitches.”
His hand comes over to touch mine, not near my bandage; he’s careful to avoid it as the pads of his fingers rub gently along the back of my hand, up to my wrist, then back down.
My stomach is squeezed into a tight ball as I hold my breath, wondering what he’s doing.
Harper’s right there. More than that, I thought we’d agreed on a plan.
What was it again?
I can’t think when he touches me. He’s looking down, watching his fingers stroke my skin like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever done. It’s only my hand, but it feels like there’s a direct line from there to every nerve ending in my body. Little sparks fan out from where he makes contact, up along my arms, down my chest, tightening my stomach.
This is wrong.
It feels wrong because I like it too much.
“Luke?”
His name isn’t a question so much as a plea.
Then Harper—her eyes still glued to the screen—shushes us. “This is the good part!”
Like we’ve just been scolded by a teacher, Luke quickly takes his hand away from mine and we go back to watching the movie. It’s hard to not feel utterly robbed now that he’s not touching me. I go back to eating my slightly melted ice cream, trying not to sulk. On screen, there’s a whole damn plot playing out—Olaf’s apparently dead?!—but I’m fully focused on Luke out of the corner of my eyes. Every single movement, mundane as it might be, is intriguing and hot. The way he picks up his water cup, his hand so large it nearly engulfs it—yeah, hot. The way he scoops up a bite of ice cream with his spoon and brings it to his lips—unbelievably sexy. He’s aware of me too. He ensures I have a blanket after I shiver. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not shivering because I’m cold.
I take the blanket and drape it across my lap, and I spend the rest of the movie wishing Luke would slide his hand underneath it. Oh my god! I’m depraved!
Once the movie ends, Harper takes our ice cream bowls into the kitchen, and Luke tells her to go take a shower and get changed for bed.
There’s some resistance. “I went swimming earlier, doesn’t that count as a shower?!”
But she ends up doing as he asks and then, like magic, we’re alone together on the couch. It’s not lost on me that forty-eight hours ago, we were outside by the pool, kissing each other like our lives depended on it.
Is he thinking about it now? Remembering what it felt like?
