Slowly, a smile spreads across his lips. “It’s getting late, so how about a movie at my place?”
“Only if it’s a Disney movie,” I say.
“Will The Lion King suffice?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
Jake rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he turns away from me and walks toward his car. “C’mon, get in. We’ve got a movie to watch.”
Jake’s house is in the Wilshire neighborhood—he tells me that mine is within the North of Montana region, which is, according to him, the city’s expensive neighborhood—and we pull up outside a pale brick detached house surrounded by shrubbery. It looks pretty big but nothing close to the size of my dad’s house, or Rachael’s, or Tiffani’s, or any other house that I’ve seen so far. This neighborhood seems more crammed together, like the developers were low on space so decided to just pile houses on top of each other.
But it’s a really nice place, and as Jake is leading me upstairs to his room, I admire how cozy the house feels, with the overflowing rows of photo frames and trophies and ornaments and other sentimental memories. Dad’s house lacks this kind of warmth.
Eventually, Jake notices me admiring every display. “Uh, my mom’s a little crazy.”
“No,” I say, “it’s cute.”
He groans, reaching into a room and flicking on a light. So far the house has been quiet, so I’m guessing his parents are asleep. “It’s a mess, but whatever. I’ll go get the movie.” Brushing past me, he disappears into another room at the other end of the hall while I enter his.
There’s a mound of clothes in one corner, a bed in another, and a large TV mounted on the wall. I also spot a football perched atop the chest of drawers, and I run my eyes over the helmet on the floor.
“Tyler mentioned that you played,” I muse when Jake appears again, DVD in hand.
“Yeah, halfback,” he says without much interest. “Alright, time to feel sorry for Simba.”
We get the movie set up, keeping the volume down low so as to not wake anyone, and soon we find ourselves collapsed in a heap on his bed. It’s almost 1:00 a.m. by now, and I’m starting to yawn. Even Jake seems too worn out to even pay attention to Mufasa’s death.
“You know,” he murmurs while he fidgets with the pillows, “I don’t just watch The Lion King with any girl.”
I sit up, my heart aching as I watch the awful scene unfold before me, and I wave him away with my hands. “Shhh. Mufasa’s dead, Jake. Show some respect.”
“God bless Mufasa, may he rest in peace in animation heaven,” he says solemnly. He bows his head and then props himself up on his elbows with a small smirk on his face.
I can’t remember when we turned the lights off, but I suddenly notice the darkness and how the TV is lighting up his face, illuminating his features and drawing my attention to his eyes. “That was a great eulogy,” I say.
“Thanks.” He pushes himself up farther, sitting upright and staring back at me with interest. “So let me get this straight. You’re from Portland, which is a cool city, apparently, and you can’t pump your own gas and you order salad from Chick-fil-A and you end up at stoner parties and you love Disney movies. Nice.”
“That’s pretty accurate,” I agree, nodding in approval.
“Don’t go home,” he says. We’re talking over the movie, but by this point, I’m no longer watching. I’m now staring at his lips as he talks, noticing how they curve as he smiles. “Just stay here for the night.”
“My dad will quite literally have a seizure if I don’t come home,” I murmur, but it’s not a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and having Jake drive me home just doesn’t seem like a safe option. He’s likely to fall asleep at the wheel.
“Just stay,” he says again, his eyes smoldering so intensely that it’s beginning to give me goose bumps. “I’ve got The Jungle Book downstairs somewhere.”
“I do like The Jungle Book,” I whisper, fiddling with my hands in my lap as I glance down. But when I look up again, Jake’s lips, which I was busy staring at a few moments ago, are now edging toward mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
It’s a good long second before they finally brush my mouth, my chest tight as shivers surge through my body, his warm breath tickling my cheek as he pauses for a moment, his face hovering by the side of mine. It’s as though he’s waiting for me to pull away or kiss him back. I don’t even have to think about it.