He raised an eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously.
“I’m taking you into the living room. I’m not planning on assaulting you,” I joked.
His face flushed, which only made me giggle harder.
Worst attempt at humor ever. Someone needs to stop me. Intervention please.
In the living room, I set down my drink and reached for the stack of DVDs on the coffee table.
“This is yours,” I said, handing him back Dawn of the Dead.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked.
“Loved it,” I admitted. I handed him the rest of the DVDs. “And these all came yesterday, express mail.” I’d gone more than a little crazy ordering up on Amazon.
“Holy shit, nice choice,” he said, holding up my copy of Rosemary’s Baby.
“I’ve never seen it,” I said with a smile.
He gasped, shaking his head in mock horror. “And you call yourself a horror buff? Fuck homework. You need to watch this now. Right now,” he declared. “Even if it means you don’t get into college, it’ll be worth it. It’s imperative you see this movie.”
“Why don’t you stay? Layna and Dan will be a while, still, and if it’s as scary as you say it is, there is no way in hell I’m watching it alone.” Ha, bullshit. I lived for horror movies, but I wasn’t letting him leave without a fight.
He hesitated for half a second, and then shrugged. “Okay, what the hell. Let’s do this.”
I tried to contain my excitement. He said yes? I had so not expected him to say yes! My excitement turned to horror as it sank in. Holy shit, how can I sit next to him for two freaking hours and sixteen minutes?
“If you put it on, I’ll order a pizza,” he said, decisively. “Any particular kind?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He fished out his phone and called the delivery place while I fiddled with the DVD player, my stomach feeling like it was home to a rave full of moths on acid.
Why moths? Because they aren’t as graceful as butterflies.
I sat down in one of the leather recliners, tucking my feet up under me. I studied him while he was on the phone and unaware of my attention. His dark hair was messy, but it worked perfectly with his jeans and faded shirt. He wore a black jacket, which looked like leather. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.
Everything about him I wanted to touch: his hair, I wanted to run my hands through; the stubble on his jaw, I wanted to feel on my fingertips, his lips, I wanted to feel pressed against mine, his tongue invading my mouth. Oh God, he was making me wet . . .
“Ten minutes,” he said, jolting me out of my daydream. Ten minutes, what? Oh, the pizza...
“Okay. Well, we can start the movie now, anyway.”
He settled down in the armchair next to me. God, I can smell his aftershave. That citrus, woody tone mixed with the sweet scent of his sweat. Was it wrong that I just wanted to lean over and sniff him? I giggled, the mental image too funny to resist. He glanced at me, brow creased, and shook his head.
He probably thinks I’m a freak.
I had this strange habit of spontaneously laughing when I was nervous, and nothing made me more nervous than having him as close to me as he was right then. I was sure I was coming across as an immature teenager.
What was I doing, asking him to stay and watch a movie with me? And why had he agreed? Isn’t Rule One of teaching not to associate with your students outside of class? The fact that he was in my living room, his hand inches from mine, made me nervous. Moments ago this had all been a silly crush in my head, but the possibility of this actually going somewhere scared the hell out of me.
In my fantasies, I’d imagined myself taking the lead and seducing him. He’d be unable to resist my charms.
In reality? Fuck, no. There was no way I could ever make a move.
No fucking way. I felt nervous changing positions in my seat, for God’s sake. I’d never have the guts to try something . . . would I?
The doorbell rang and I jumped. Dalton chuckled as I pressed Pause.
“You can’t even handle the doorbell. How the hell are you going to handle the scary parts?” he teased, standing up.
I glowered at him as he left the room. A few minutes later he came back in, pizza box in hand, with two cans of soda. I pushed aside the books scattered on the coffee table as he set down the box.
“Here,” he said, tossing me one of the cans.
I caught it. “Thanks,” I said, sitting it on the table next to my half-full glass of Coke.
He opened the lid and presented the box to me. I picked the slice with the most pepperoni.
“I was going to go that one,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me playfully.
“Too bad. You shouldn’t have offered it to me first, then.” I shrugged, shoving it in my mouth.
“Really? I guess that’s what I get for trying to be a gentleman,” he said, his lips breaking into a grin.