Page 33 of Kyle

All of his senses were furiously engaged.

Because of it, he missed the introduction of the movie.

It took him several minutes of deep breathing and fighting his desire for him to concentrate on the plot unfolding before them. And when he did, he had to focus fiercely. He was aware of every time she shifted, every breath she took.

His senses were so acutely tuned to her that he could feel when she sighed.

"It's mechanical."

"Pardon?"

"His acting. I like Stallone, but I cannot get around his Brooklyn accent."

He chuckled.

"You're a snob."

"Am not."

"With your upper crust accent, you certainly are."

Tilting her head, she gazed at him.

"You're one to talk," she retorted.

"I'm not a snob."

"Yeah, right." She snorted.

He breathed easier when she directed her gaze back to the movie. They watched in silence, the sounds of gunfire and mayhem echoing around the room. She insisted on getting up to fetch the popcorn and soda and placed it between them.

Then became so absorbed in the plot that she was digging out handfuls of popcorn the same time he did.

They argued over the merits of the plot and the main characters.

"Jason Statham."

"What about him?"

"He's classic. Acting is great and not to mention that accent."

"Once again, snob." Without thinking, he dabbed at the sides of her mouth with the napkin.

"Just saying." She fed him popcorn from her hand.

"Seagal is too stiff and unrealistic. Come on, McCreary, you have to admit that it's impossible for one man to take on an entire army and not get a scratch on him."

"He was pretty banged up there."

"Bruise on the forehead." She scoffed.

"Not realistic."

"You wanted him battered and bruised? The man is a martial arts genius."

"Still." She settled back to watch the movie in silence.

Two movies turned into four and they finally saw the classic black and white she had originally suggested.