Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
We watched, and as the movie played, she started to change. Her eyes got bigger, her color came back, and I even heard her laugh once.
I held out the Twizzlers and Milk Duds, giving her first choice, but when she picked the Milk Duds, I opened the carton and spilled half in my hand before giving her the rest of the box. I gave her a choice to be nice. I didn’t actually want the Twizzlers.
I ate and she ate, and I snuck peeks at her throughout the film, watching her more than the movie.
She noticed, because she finally glanced over at me, catching my eyes. “What?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the screen.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said. “You like action movies, huh?”
“You don’t?”
I laughed. She was back to shaming my anti-feminist remarks. Yay for normal.
After a moment, she spoke up, her voice soft. “I don’t think about anything else when I’m watching them,” she explained. “They take me away. It’s an escape. I like the survival aspect in some of them, too. Ordinary people becoming extraordinary. Being called to do great things.” She rolled a Milk Dud between her fingers, watching the screen. “Hell hones heroes, you know? I feel it when I watch them.”
What did she need to escape, though? I didn’t ask, because that would only put her on guard, and I didn’t want her to run.
“Well, I prefer the classics,” I told her. “Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone…”
“Jean-Claude Van Damme,” we both said at the same time.
She turned to me, and I laughed.
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
“Fuck yes.” I nodded. “I mean, the Muscles from Brussels? Hell yeah.”
“Bloodsport,” she added.
“Kickboxer,” I chimed in.
Great movies. The eighties were the golden age. Ordinary people going to war—battling for honor. I mean, you just don’t get movies like Lethal Weapon, Beverly Hills Cop, and Cobra anymore.
You’re the disease, and I’m the cure. Booyah.
But then, Em started laughing, her pearly white teeth gleaming in the biggest smile I’d ever seen on the smartass little shit.
I pinched my eyebrows together. “What?”
What was she going to make fun of me for now?
“Kickboxer,” she said between giggles. “That scene where his teacher gets him drunk in a bar to see if he can fight intoxicated, and he starts dancing. Just the thought reminded me of you there for a minute.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Big guy, super happy, having fun… I don’t know.” She stuck a piece of candy in her mouth. “Just seems like something you would do.”
She sat back in her seat and looked up at the movie again.
“Hang around more and maybe you’ll find out,” I taunted.
I could dance. I could dance really well.
She licked her lips, the smile falling, but her breathing quickened.
We fell quiet again, the surround sound blasting every fight and explosion, but I swore I could only hear my heart beating with her next to me.
The minutes stretched, and I didn’t even know what movie we were watching anymore.
“Why do you like me?” she finally asked.
I looked over at her, repeating Edward McClanahan’s words, because it was the only way to explain. “We want what we want.”
Her chest rose and fell harder, but not an inch of her anywhere moved as she sat there and seemed to sink into her seat.
I looked down at her hands, the yellow box in one and the other clenching her skirt.
What would she do if—
“Do you still want to hold me?” she suddenly asked me.
I shot my eyes up to hers, but she just stared at the seat in front of her. My heart hammered in my chest, and every inch of me warmed.
Fuck yes.
Leaning over, I put her cup in the holder and dumped her Milk Duds into the popcorn container on the floor, taking her hand and pulling her up. I watched as she came over and lowered slowly into my lap.
I slid down in the seat, folding her into my arms as she tucked her head into my neck, neither of us giving a damn about the film anymore.
I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of finally having her in my arms, and I had to fist my hands to keep them from roaming, or else she’d probably slap me.
But God, she felt good. Like everything was lighter when I held her.
“Don’t tell you I said this,” she whispered in my ear, “but you smell good.”
I shook with a laugh, unable to help myself. “Keep being, like pleasant and shit, and I’m going to find it really hard to keep being nice, Em. What are you trying to do?”
She shook with a chuckle, but then she slipped a hand around the back of my neck and whispered against my throat. “Remember what you said about nightfall?” Her lips grazed over my skin, feeling me. “You don’t have to be nice. Not until the end of the movie.”