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“That.”
“Did I just turn into a Harry Potter character or just create my own Dungeons and Dragons one? I can’t tell?”
We walk toward the theater side by side and honestly I want to grab his hand but know it is early and also he could be a serial killer, he takes one look at me again and accidentally bumps into a tall guy with no shirt on, tons of tattoos who looks vaguely familiar.
I pause.
Quinn pauses, tilts his head. “Hey aren’t you Zane Andrews?”
The guy in question smirks what could only be described as the most perfect smile in the universe of smiles, you know, attached to his mouth, things were malfunctioning in my head, he has dark ruffled hair and again, no shirt just nothing but abs and ripped jeans, flip-flops and what looked like brand new ink on his chest. “Shhhh, I only came here to grab my wife popcorn.”
Quinn nods and holds out his hand for a high five. “Up top.”
“It’s like I knew we were already vibing.” The guy doesn’t take off his Ray-Bans but looks around like he is nervous. “Don’t tell anyone I was here though, baby on the way, she wanted popcorn, it was a whole thing and I really, really loathe the crazy paparazzi in Seaside.”
We both look around.
I swear a tumble weed just randomly chose death and went across the road into oncoming traffic.
Quinn coughs. “Yeah man, it gets lit out here.”
“So lit.” He keeps walking toward a waiting black Escalade and all I do is stare while they drive off.
“Gonna make it, or do you need a paper bag to breathe into? Altoids to inhale all the peppermint so your airway opens? Will you need the ER because it’s only a mile that way and I hear Costco has some great street tacos?” Quinn pulls me to his side. “Or just the movie.”
“That”—I have a moment of panic, quickly recover—“was Zane Andrews like one of the most popular pop stars in the world.”
“He lives here.” Quinn nods. “Has been for a while. A dad now. And no, I do not subscribe to notifications from TMZ, I’m just crashing at my rich friend’s place that just so happens to be in the same neighborhood. You know they always say rockstars hit different with the partying, gotta admit all I see are kids running around, lots of super glue—the random kickass water slide and sometimes, sometimes if things get super crazy—a bonfire.”
“Speaking of being on fire.” I shove him. “Your banter, gotta love it, do you always have this much energy or only after near-death experiences?”
“Always.” Quinn opens the door for me and walks up toward the lobby, then grabs my hand in the process. “Always, I mean, in the presence of my savior.”
“Did we just go to church?”
“Did I just get saved?” I counter.
And that’s all it took for me to fall in love with him a little bit, as he buys me popcorn while I buy him Milk Duds on our way to see Jason Statham kick ass.
Chapter Three
Quinn
Play it cool, play it cool, do not be that dick that just like slides his hand across the armrest in an effort to grab popcorn and then oops accidentally grabs her hand.
Or worse.
The idiot that “stretches” and puts his arm around the girl and is like oh my bad, did I actually just wrap my arm around you whilst yawning watching a suspense film?
It was dark?
I was confused?
I had a muscle cramp?
No, dumbass, you’re just an idiot. But see, also, me, hi, I’m the idiot who wants to take both options just to get closer, instead I focus on the movie like the nerd I am and just keep nodding and needing to nearly sit on my hand so I don’t fist pump the air and say, “Damn right, Jason, you get that assassin!”
I sit demurely, like the fucking gentleman I am, and continue to watch while my fingers itch.
