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“They’re all going to fall asleep listening to music on their headphones.”
“Maybe that’s what I was planning to do.”
I smirk. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me talking your ear off.”
She nudges at my foot that must have encroached on her side. “I like my space. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” I lean over to her. “With space, you’re sad and lonely. When you have me, you scream my name in pleasure.”
She looks away, but I see the pretty pink flush that reaches up her neck to settle on her cheeks. “About that,” she starts.
“Oh no you don’t,” I chastise, nudging her thigh with mine. “You don’t get to lie to yourself and me.”
“I just don’t know what you want from me.”
“From you? Nothing. I only want you to open up. This isn’t about me taking something from you. It’s about…” I shrug. “Seeing where this goes and not letting our brains get in the way.”
“But why me?”
“Girl, you are making a guy try way too hard. I’ve already told you you’re beautiful—and showed you—in many ways, and our personalities mesh.”
Her face turns to stone. “My personality doesn’t mesh with anyone’s.”
I cup her cheek. “You can’t have an answer for everything, and oh, by the way, they aren’t just answers, they’re defense mechanisms.
“But if you really want to know why, here’s what happened. I ran into you on the sidelines. I liked the attitude you gave me. I saw you at practice the next day, and I thought,that girl is gorgeous. You didn’t let me get away with my normal stuff, so now you’re gorgeousandintriguing. You keep trying to push me away, but you can’t deny the chemistry going on here.”
She softens incrementally, breathing in deep. “Was I really having a bad dream last night?”
“Yeah, you were breaking my heart.”
“So, that was why?”
I tug black strands of hair behind her ear. “No, I was only awake because I was so fucking hard listening to you breathe and peering over at your silhouette that I did what any sane guy would do when you were in distress. Spoon you.”
“Well, now you’re sounding more like a serial killer.”
“Oh, did I not mention that? Football player by evening, serial killer by night.”
“That sounds like more fun.”
“Why am I not surprised that the girl who likes thunderstorms, black cats, and her privacy would love serial killers?”
“I don’t love them. They’re despicable, but also…interesting. Compelling in an isn’t-this-heinous kind of way.”
“Alright, let’s see.” I pull out my phone and hook up to my parents’ Netflix account. “Give me a good documentary to watch.”
Her eyes widen. “You have Netflix? I’ve been dying to watchTheTed Bundy Tapes.”
I search through the app, and it pulls up. “Pair with my Bluetooth, and let’s get watching, then.”
She scrambles to get her headphones out of her bag, and we hook them up before pressing Play. She’s all smiles, leaning into me, her shoulder resting against mine while I hold the phone in front of us.
I have to admit, I’m as engrossed as she is. This guy is fucked in the head.
At the end of the second episode, she turns in her seat, leaning into me fully. I place my arm around her, and she brings her feet up and holds my phone, so I can watch over her shoulder.
Taking her in, I wonder if she realizes she’s done this. Like when she was rubbing her ass all up and down my cock this morning. Is it a natural ease that comes over her before her brain gets in the way? That’s what I’m banking on, anyway. I don’t claim to be a psychologist, but I can read people well. I always have.