My chin jerked back. “What the hell are you talking about? You love my almond chicken.”
He chuckled. “No, I love your chicken. I pick the nasty almond pieces off.”
“Seriously?”
He glanced over at me and lifted the soda to his lips, a smile curling the corners of his mouth as he took a sip from the straw. He swallowed and then confirmed, “Seriously.”
My jaw slacked open. “No way. You’re screwing with me, right?”
He barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you didn’t know this. I pick them out of the trail mix and everything.”
I gasped. “Oh my God. I thought you did that because you knew I loved them and wanted to leave them for me. I always thought it was so romantic.”
He laughed, quickly covering it with a cough. “Right. I mean. That’s exactly why I do it.”
I leaned back in the chair and waved him off. “Oh, don’t even try that now. It’s like I don’t know you at all. I’m married to a stranger.”
“Well, actually, you’re not married to anyone. But we’ve got to get that shit fixed soon. It’s fucking killing me.” He offered the candy my way again.
“I don’t think now’s the best time for a wedding,” I replied, begrudgingly taking the bag of Raisinettes.
“You want another wedding?”
“I don’t know. Maybe like a destination thing or something,” I mumbled absentmindedly when something hit me. “Wait, do you like olives?”
He swayed his head from side to side and then grinned tightly. “Yes.”
“Oh my God, you don’t!”
He laughed loudly. “Not at all.”
“I find not one thing funny here, Roman. You do realize you’ve been lying to me for our entire relationship.”
Still laughing, he set the popcorn on the seat beside him and moved the drink from the cup holder between us. Throwing his arm around me, he soothed me with, “All right. Simmer down. I haven’t been lying to you our entire relationship. I don’t like almonds, or olives, or salmon.”
I gasped, thoroughly affronted by that little addition.
He didn’t seem concerned with my affronting and kept talking. “But you do. You hate red sauce, and just last night you made me lasagna. We both make compromises. That is not a bad thing. I can pick off olives and almonds and choke down salmon once in a while because I know you’d do the same for me. Now, chill out, eat the damn Raisinettes, and then give your man a dark movie theater hand-job.”
A laugh bubbled up my throat, and I threw a hand out to slap his chest.
“What?” He feigned innocence. “It’s a compromise, Lis.”
“How is a movie theater hand-job a compromise?”
He crinkled his forehead. “Um, because I really want a dark movie theater blow job but I paid to rent out the entire theater because I know you’ve been wanting to see this movie. At least, with a hand-job, you can still watch.”
I giggled, but he caught my hand and guided it down into his lap, letting me know just how serious he was.
“Annnd on that note, I need to go to the restroom before the movie starts.”
He groaned and dropped his head back against the chair. “Fine. But hurry back, I hear Hemsworth takes his shirt off in the first five minutes. I’m hoping that will get you in the mood.”
I stood up and stared into those silver eyes that had stolen my heart. Bending over, I dragged a seductive finger down his chest and murmured, “Hemsworth has nothing on you.” I kissed him, deep and wet. And, as I righted myself, I taunted him with, “However, if this were a Channing Tatum movie…”
He swatted my butt. “Smartass.”
I giggled and jogged down the stairs, but I did it contemplating how one gives a movie theater hand-job without staff or security seeing it.
When I got to the door, Ethan was waiting for me.
“Restroom?” I asked.
“Right there,” he said, pointing his finger just across the hall.
Two minutes later, the novelty of an empty theater restroom had me giddy as I took my time drying my hands in the air blower.
Just as it turned off, I heard the bathroom door close.
“Roman?” I called, smiling when I lifted my head.
But it wasn’t Roman.
Or Ethan.
A man I’d never actually met but would have recognized anywhere emerged from around the corner.
Panic blasted through me, but I’d barely gotten a scream out before his hand landed over my mouth.
And then I was silenced completely when he slammed me to the floor, his body landing hard on top of me, stealing the breath from my lungs.
His disgusting lips brushed my ear. “Hello, Elisabeth. So nice to finally meet you.”
The feeling was not mutual. I could have lived a thousand lifetimes without meeting Walter Noir.
“Let me go!” I yelled, fighting against him, but he kept me pinned to the tile floor.
The tip of his gun pressed into my temple as he snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”