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I sit down too, careful to leave a seat between us. For the popcorn and candy, I tell myself. Not as a safe buffer zone to keep me from jumping him.
Who would have thought cartoon socks could be so sexy on a man?
The lights go down, and as the opening credits appear onscreen, I try to relax. I’ve always loved this movie, and even though I’ve seen it dozens of times before, I always get lost in the familiar dialogue and the chemistry, the razor-sharp back-and-forth of the banter between Katharine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart.
But not tonight. This time, I’m distracted, by all six foot two of charming hotness sprawled beside me.
I steal a glance over at Reeve, wondering if he’s finding it hard to focus, too.
Nope. He’s engrossed in the movie, not taking his eyes off the screen. The dim light flickers on his face, casting shadows over his jaw, and the rumpled line of his sweater.
I stifle a sigh of pure longing, remembering just what his body felt like pressed up against mine. For a moment, I wish I really was wild and passionate like Lola. That I could throw caution – and public decency – to the wind and hurl myself over that dividing seat; send the popcorn flying, straddle his lap, and set about doing all kind of unspeakable, un-sensible things in the empty theater.
Things like sliding my hands under his sweater, and reaching to unsnap his belt—
My filthy fantasies are interrupted by a sudden burst of static onscreen, and a loud grinding noise. Then the movie goes black.
“Uh oh,” Reeve says, straightening up. “What’s the problem, do you think?”
I swallow hard, my face feeling red and flushed. Can he tell what I was just picturing?“Beats me.”
Maybe the sheer force of my sexual frustration somehow melted the film reel.
The overhead lights come blazing on, and a scowling goth usher trudges in. “Yeah, the projector’s broken,” she says with a yawn.
“Is it the main drive belt, or the crank?” Reeve asks.
She looks at him blankly. “How would I know? You can get a refund out front,” she adds reluctantly, before trudging back out again.
Reeve looks over with a rueful smile. “So much for our movie. Are you in any hurry to get back home?” he asks, getting to his feet. “We could grab a drink. The night is still young.”
I pause. The last time I had even a sip of alcohol with this man, I wound up almost naked, moaning his name …
“C’mon, I promise I won’t bite – this time,” Reeve adds with a wicked grin. “Besides, I thought I heard your ex say something about buried treasure, and you know I need to hear the rest of that story.”
He holds out his hand, open and inviting, and I can’t resist. I take it, and let him pull me to my feet. The feel of his hand in mine is warm and steady.Like it belongs in mine.I drop it fast. “I know a place,” I say brightly instead. “But you’re buying.”
I takehim to a cute wine bar not far from the theater – and then immediately regret my choice the moment we walk in. I forgot that it’s the designated date spot of the area, with deep velvet drapes, flickering candlelight, and a fire roaring in the grate at the end of the room.
Romantic.
I can tell Reeve thinks the same thing by the way his mouth twitches in a smile when we walk in, but he probably knows a comment will send me running, so he keeps quiet until we’re settled in a booth by the windows, with a Manhattan (for him), and white wine for me; a basket of piping hot, crispy fries on the table between us.
“With ice?” he asks, watching me drop a couple of cubes in.
“Not you, too!” I protest, taking a defiant sip. “Can’t a woman drink her low-rent wine in peace?”
He chuckles, relaxing back. “OK, OK. Tell me about this treasure hunt,” he says, pushing the fries over to me. “I didn’t hear it wrong, did I?”
I shake my head with a sigh. “No. No you did not.”
I give him the low-down on Earl, the doomed love story, and his bank heist gone wrong. “But it’s just that,” I finish, “A story. Except now, Jake needs ratings for the show, and figures he’s somehow going to magically find the gold in them there hills.”
“Then you have to find it first!” Reeve exclaims, looking excited.
“Whoa there,” I laugh at his enthusiasm. “There’s nothing to be found. Nobody’s seen a trace of that gold in a hundred years. And believe me, plenty of people have gone looking for it,” I add. “I must have searched every hollow and burial site between here and the next county when I was a kid,” I smile, nostalgic. “It was fun. But the most I found was a couple of old wagon wheels and stash of moonshine. Which, by the way, I wouldn’t recommend as a refreshing drink. I was puking my guts out, all the way down the mountain.”
Reeve grins, smile twinkling in the candlelight. “Now I’m seeing the appeal of my Indiana Jones costume,” he teases me. “You’d give Marian a run for her money.”
