Page 84 of Captive Audience

“You weren’t complaining the last time you saw me wearing less. In fact, if I remember right, your exact words were?—”

“Stop right there.” I flung a piece of popcorn at him, and he laughed, a rare sound in this apartment.

“What did you decide on?”

“Pitch Perfect.”

“The Barden Bellas versus the Treblemakers. Good choice.”

My mouth fell open. “Who are you, and what have you done with my gangster?”

Shit.

Mygangster.

He’d never let me live this down.

Slowly, Rook raised one brow, and I could’ve sworn he was about to say something that would make me want to stuff the remote control down his throat, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “I watched it last year with Neve. We do movie nights here when she’s home from boarding school.” He tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “What?” He eyed me when I remained silent. “You think all I watch is films with guns, tits, and car chases? I’ll have you know I have quite a diverse and cultured taste in film.”

I snorted and folded my legs beneath me. “Now I know you’re—how do you Irish say it?—taking the piss.”

“Go on. Ask away, then.”

“Favorite movie of all time.”

“Easy.The Princess Bride.”

“Oh, shut up. It is not.”

It couldn’t be, because it was my favorite, too. I’d loved that movie since I was a kid. I used to watch it whenever I was home from school sick, just like the kid in the movie, and it had always cheered me up.

“I’m not winding you up, I promise. It’s got everything. Epic duels. A damsel in distress. Revenge.” He lowered his chin, and his voice dropped an octave. “True love.”

I rolled my eyes and faced the screen. “Whatever. Just hit Play already.”

He held up the remote and pressed a button. “As you wish.”

He didnotjust say that.

Slowly, I turned to face Rook. He met me witha shit-eating grin and a wink that threatened to set my panties and the entire room on fire.

“No, no, no.” I waggled my finger at him. “You’re no Farm Boy Westley.”

He shrugged. “Dread Pirate Roberts, then. We’re both ruthless criminals. Both wear a lot of black.”

“Wrong. Prince Humperdinck is more your vibe. Rich. Powerful. Forced marriage.” I popped an M&M in my mouth and gave him a pointed look.

“Humperdinck?” Rook clutched his pec. “Stick a dagger in my chest, why don’t you, woman. When did you get so mean?”

“Shh.” I threw a velvet throw pillow at him. “The movie’s starting.”

The opening credits played while the Treblemakers busted out their moves, giving an a cappella rendition of “Please Don’t Stop the Music.” I couldn’t focus. Not with the shirtless Irish mobster two feet away.

We laughed at the same scenes, and Rook tapped his toes along with the beat like he was genuinely enjoying the campy chaos.

Our hands brushed over the popcorn bowl, and a jolt shot up my arm.