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With a delighted laugh, Elle turns to walk backward, pulling me along by my hand. “There may be hope for you yet.” She dances away, dragging me toward the door to our assigned theater. “C’mon! The best seats are in the middle.”
I let her drag me along like my arm is a leash.
She bounces into the low-lit theater. The previews haven’t started yet, and we have our pick of seats in the sparse crowd.
True to her word, she plunks us right down in the middle, wiggling into the seat at my side and leaning against me.
Dutiful “fiancé” that I am, I stretch my arm along the back of her seat.
She fits against me so well, the curve of her shoulder tucking into my body.
My nostrils flare as I inhale her.
Of course, she smells divine.
Still not as good as that night with sweat and the fresh-washed shower smell, with the scent of my shampoo, my body wash on her, the smell of our sex clinging to the sheets and—
Enough.
I clear my throat, adjusting my seat so my slacks fit a bit looser around the hard-on from hell, and eye the blank white screen. “I hope you know I’m docking your pay for making me watch this.”
“I hope you know being a freelancer for years means I probably know labor laws better than you do,” she throws back without missing a beat.
“Nothing ever fazes you, does it?”
“Well, a few things,” she admits. The hurt on her face as she ran away flashes in my memory. But she’s still smiling, looking at me like I never did something so terrible, and it was all just a bad dream. “But I know you’re all empty threats, Gruffykins.”
I thud my head back against the seat. “You’re never going to stop with that Gruffykins shit, are you?”
“Nope!”
Only, at some point she will.
At some point we’ll “break up,” and I’ll never have to hear Gruffykins again.
We’re not really together.
Even if we’re together in the moment.
I’m saved from sinking into one of my ridiculous brooding spells by the lights going down and the screen lighting up with the usual green ratings screen for the first trailer. Elle makes an excited sound and burrows deeper into her seat, catching my wrist. She pulls my arm closer around her.
“Cold,” she whispers. “Keep me warm, Gruffykins.”
It is chilly.
Dutifully, I wrap my arm around her slender body, pulling that delectable scent and delicious warmth closer.
I resign myself to seeing horrors beyond human comprehension as we watch the trailers. If the film itself is as campy as the previews, I’ve just condemned myself to new circles of hell.
As one clip blends into another, Elle stiffens, her eyes widening, before she turns her head subtly, her eyes cutting to the side.
“Um, I think I just heard a camera go off behind us,” she whispers.
“You cannot be serious.” I don’t turn around. I trust her judgment, and I don’t want to give us away.
She turns a little more, her gaze searching, before she faces forward again, slumping against me. “Maybe someone’s just making a bootleg of the movie.”
“Why? It’s going to be terrible. Plus, this is the age of digital leaks.”
