“I’m not touching those nachos, by the way. Have at ‘em. They’re all yours.”
Reece looked shocked. He pulled napkins from the dispenser and followed Bailey to Theater 13.
“You’ve never had theater nachos?”
She crinkled her nose. “Nope.”
“I can’t . . . I don’t even . . . what is the world coming to . . . you . . .”
Bailey stopped short at the theater door. Reece nearly bumped into her from behind, but he caught himself in time. Much to his chagrin.
“Anything the matter?”
“Thirteen,” she whispered.
“And?”
She shifted from foot to foot, then turned to her sort-of date.
“What movie were you going to see?” she asked.
“The one you wanted to see,” he replied.
She smiled patiently. “No, I mean before we met up. What were you planning to see?”
“This one.”
“Seriously, Reece.”
“I’m being serious. I was really planning to see this movie. Hold up.” He balanced the tray of goodies on his arm and reached in his back pocket. He pulled his ticket stub and showed her. “See?”
“Hmm,” Bailey said.
“My goal is to come out feeling intellectually superior,” he explained, then added dismissively, “It’s a stupid game I play.”
She nodded.
“Are you superstitious or something?” he asked after a moment.
“Well . . .” She averted her eyes.
“Thirteen isn’t the scariest number on the planet,” he offered. “Although, that is around the time you hit puberty, and that mess is scary as hell.”
Bailey laughed. He watched for those perfect teeth. God, he loved looking at them. They were pretty when she talked. They were gorgeous when she smiled. They lit up her face like a firework when she laughed.
“I know it’s not, like, a bad luck number.”
“Then why are we standing outside this door?”
“It’s the numbers one and three,” Bailey admitted. “I don’t have the best track record with them. Specifically when they’re reversed.”
“You’re not a fan of the number thirty-one?” Reece asked.
“Not a bit.”
“Why?”
“That, my very new friend, is not your business yet,” Bailey replied.
“Oh, that’s cool,” Reece said. “I really didn’t care anyway.”
She giggled and took a breath.
“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue.
“Thirty-one.”
“Oh. So you’re having a bad year or something, huh?”
Bailey shrugged. “They’ve been about the same since I was six.”
Reece narrowed his eyes and studied her face. “You’re getting more mysterious by the minute. Is this a game? I’m supposed to figure out stuff based on your random clues?”
“No. But that sounds like fun,” she replied.
“You know what else sounds like fun?”
“Hmm?”
“Watching this movie with you,” he replied. “I bet we can make it in if we do it together.”
She nodded, and they entered the theater side by side, right in time for the first preview. The lights dimmed, and they walked carefully up the side steps to two open seats in the corner of the nosebleed section.
“Great,” Bailey whispered as they settled in. “This is where people sit to make out.”
Reece wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, if I’m lucky.”
Her mouth dropped open. He thought he’d gone too far, and for a split second wished he could take it back. But then he realized he didn’t need to take anything back. She was smiling at him. Sharing in his joke. And her wink suggested the possibility of a kiss. That was if he stayed on his best behavior.
Something very naughty is about to happen in this theater, Reece thought, and he bit into a nacho to divert his attention.
Bailey nestled the water in the cup holder between them. He wondered if she really meant to share. He completely dismissed her OCD when he thought of his wily plan to order a single drink. He didn’t know much about OCD apart from the fact that people who suffered from it tended to be particular about certain things. Maybe she had an issue with germs. His mind immediately went to their lunch dates—always the hand sanitizer before she ate. But then lots of people clean their hands before they eat. He washed his.
He was spinning, imagining she must have thought he was a jerk for pulling the one-cup stunt. What possessed him to do it? Did he think he was being cute? Was he that desperate to put his lips on her straw? Could he not just be a man and kiss her? That’s what he really wanted to do.
I’m fucking Reece Powell, he thought. And I’m in a magazine.
His confidence was short-lived. He immediately leaned over and whispered in Bailey’s ear, “I’ll get myself a drink. It’s no problem.”
“Nonsense,” she whispered back. “We can just share.”
He watched her grab the drink carefully with two hands and take a sip. And then she extended the drink to him. He felt a rush of something dangerously exciting in that moment, like she was offering her mouth for a kiss. He had to keep telling himself that this wasn’t a date—that he wasn’t allowed to date her. They worked together. Forget it, Reece! But, oh! He couldn’t deny the urge to knock that jumbo cup right out of her hands and pull her on top of him. He wanted to make out like a teenager. He wasn’t sure he quite remembered how to make out like a teenager, but the feeling coursed through his veins, pumped his heart, swelled his masculine desire.
Oh my God, he thought suddenly. I’ve got a hard-on.
“You want some or what?” Bailey asked softly.
Reece took the water and drank down a sizeable amount. He grew paranoid that she could see his hard-on, but that would be impossible. The lights were dim. There was an armrest between them. Relax, bro. You’re cool. She can’t see your . . . oh, wait a minute. There it goes. It’s going down. Phew! Thank God. How embarrassing would that have been, right? For her to see how much she turns me on? How much I can’t stop thinking about the kind of panties she wears under those cigarette pants. The way her tits look in her button-up tops. Man, I love how she buttons them all the way up . . . wait a minute. Hold up. I mean down! Go down! Stupid dick!