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“It’s not much different from how we’ve been watching them.”
Or not watching them. Heat spreads through my body at the feel of him underneath me, around me.
“True, but—” I make a half-hearted attempt to argue, even though I’m not sure why.
“But nothing. Hand me the pretzels.”
Hitting play, he starts the movie while I situate myself better in his lap. Once he’s snacked on pretzels for a few minutes, he shifts the bowl to the side and brings his hands up to knead my shoulders.
“Mmm,” I moan as I try to focus on the movie in front of us.
His dick twitches against my ass and makes it that much more difficult.
“You’re really stressed about this phone call,” he murmurs, his fingers flexing against a particularly stubborn knot.
“Y-yeah.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he assures me.
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“Do you want me to be here when you call her?”
The desire to say yes is overwhelming.
“Maybe?”
“Name the time and place, and I’m there,” he promises.
I always keep my promises.
A shiver works its way down my spine, and the shoulder of my sweater slips down my arm.
“You okay, Ames?”
I nod.
“Fine.”
“Can I ask you a question without you freaking out?” His words are hesitant—not that I blame him since I’ve been acting like a crazy person since he got home.
“Do you ever notice that people usually tell you not to freak out before they tell you something that will freak you out?”
“Amelia.” My name breathes out of him on a sigh.
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Earlier when you were pissed at Evie—and I can feel you ready to interrupt, but you were, so own it—why were you so mad at her?”
My first inclination is to do exactly as he said. To deny that I was mad.
But I was.
“It’s stupid,” I tell him.
“I don’t think so. Your feelings aren’t stupid. Obviously, you were feeling something.”
I nod. He’s been so open with me, so generous with himself, that the part of me that wants to deny what he’s saying shrivels in comparison.
