I love it.
I sip from the straw, glancing up to find him watching me, the dim lights above causing a slight reflection on his glasses so I can’t quite tell how he’s looking at me. He’s hard to read sometimes. I probably am, too.
The moment I slip the soda into the slot on my left armrest, Ethan’s lifting up the one that divides us, smiling at me. “That’s better. I always feel like my elbows constantly bang into these things.” He lifts up the one on the other side of him, too.
All I can think is how much closer we can get without the barrier between us. This is only our second official date, third if you count the afternoon we had coffee, but I’m anxious. Excited. I want to be closer to him.
He rests the bucket of popcorn in his lap and tears open the box of M&Ms, sprinkling them over the top and then shaking the bucket so the candy sinks deeper. He does this a few more times, emptying the entire box of candy into the bucket before he thrusts it toward me. “Try it.”
I dig around and grab a handful of popcorn and M&Ms and munch away, enjoying the salty sweetness, the way the chocolate is already a little melted from the heat of the popcorn. “It’s delicious,” I say after I swallow.
“I knew you’d like it.” He starts eating and the lights dim, the darkening theater signaling that about twenty minutes of previews are about to start up.
We watch silently, our hands bumping every so often as we both make a grab for more popcorn. My sticky fingers tangle with his and I offer a whispered “sorry,” which only earns me a cute smile in return. I don’t think he minds that our hands are touching. I know I don’t.
During the fourth preview he bends his head, his mouth right at my ear as he whispers, “Can I have a drink?”
I shiver at his nearness, thankful I put my hair in a bun. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and I almost want to die from how close he is, how good he smells, how good he looks.
I have it so bad for him, I don’t know what to do with myself.
So I try my best to play it cool. I pass him the soda when he requests it. I don’t apologize anymore when our fingers meet in the popcorn bucket. Who knew munching on snacks during movie previews could be so . . . romantic?
I didn’t. I hadn’t a clue.
One of the movie previews leaves me squeamish. It’s a horror movie, bloody and violent, and I wince at a graphic scene, turning my head to the right so I don’t have to see it. The music is scary, the sound of a knife slicing skin awful, and I close my eyes, dipping my head so my forehead touches Ethan’s shoulder for the briefest moment.
He turns. I can feel his eyes on me and I hope I’m not being too forward, but I couldn’t watch that for another minute. “You okay?”
I nod and slowly lift my head, meeting his gaze in the darkened theater. The flickering blue from the screen casts Ethan in interesting shadows and I wish I could touch his face. “I’m fine. That preview was gross.”
“Yeah. I don’t like horror movies either.” Then he does the craziest thing. He reaches out, tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing my skin, and I tingle . . . everywhere. “I think the movie’s starting,” he whispers.
I don’t bother looking at the screen. I’m too enraptured with his expression, the way he’s watching me. “Good,” I whisper back. “I can’t wait to watch it.”
He smiles and taps my nose with his index finger before he turns back toward the screen and settles into his chair, his long legs sprawled in front of him, the now half-eaten popcorn bucket still in his lap.
This is probably going to be two hours of pure, agonizingly delicious torture.
I can’t concentrate for shit. Having her this close, with really no barrier between us while sitting in the dark of a mostly empty movie theater, is a slow form of torture. Our hands constantly touching while we reach for popcorn makes me insane—which is the craziest thing ever because, come on. We’re grabbing at popcorn.
But every time my fingers brush against hers it’s like I touched a live wire. I’m jolted into awareness—as if I wasn’t aware of her enough already. She has her hair up in a bun like a ballerina, and little wisps of blond strands lie against her otherwise bare neck. I want to press my lips there, right behind her ear, breathe in her scent and slowly kiss her neck, her cheek, her mouth . . .
Katie jumps at the loud boom from a car crash on-screen, her shoulder bumping against mine, and I lean in close, taking advantage. “That scare you?” I whisper close to her ear, stating the obvious. Any excuse so I can get near her.
She nods and turns toward me, her face so close to mine it would take nothing to lean in and kiss her. “Yeah,” she whispers shakily, her gaze lifting to meet mine.