Aww. My Trip.
Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? He was certainly not my anything, especially not enough to require a heart-melting aww, and I shouldn’t have even been entertaining the thought in the first place. He caught me looking and gave a smile along with a quick salute, and I made a point to not take note of the strong, skilled hands that had just waved in my direction. Or his incredible, full lips that were smiling at me. Or his talented tongue. Or his gorgeous blue eyes, his chiseled jaw, his sculpted chest, or his great, big, beautiful-Layla Warren! Eyes up front, please.
I dragged my gaze away from his miraculous package and mentally slapped my cheeks out of the reverie as Trip came over to help haul our treats off the counter. He stuck the candy into his back jeans pocket and I swear, that’s the only reason my eyes were drawn to his ass as he led the way to Theater One. Really.
Okay, whatever. I was checking out his ass.
He pulled the heavy steel door open as quietly as possible, sending a quick surge of light into the theater, which was, as I could best make out, about half-filled to capacity.
The movie had already started, so we ducked into the empty back row, grabbing a couple seats near the middle.
He situated the bucket of popcorn on my lap as I slipped the sodas into our cupholders. I watched as he grabbed his and sucked down about half his Coke, those perfectly formed lips wrapped around his straw. I was instantly reminded of another movie outing with Trip, a million years before as we caught a showing of Romeo and Juliet at the theater back in Norman. That was when we were just friends, before we’d ever even started dating. Before I had firsthand knowledge of what those perfect lips felt like on mine. But now I knew better. Now I knew— “Here, hold this.”
Trip was handing me the lid to his drink, the wet straw dripping onto my wrist.
“Gah! You’re getting me all wet.”
He stopped, raised a brow, and said, “Really? Hmm. Good to know.”
It was all I could do not to slug him.
He pulled a flask out from his jacket pocket, uncapped it and started refilling his soda cup.
I whispered, “Trip! What the hell?” and laughed, watching as he reclaimed his lid and gave his cup an icy swirl. He just gave a wink and sucked on his straw. “Jack and Coke, babe. Want some?”
With a scrunch of my face, I declined. I was never a fan of whiskey.
“Who carries around a flask?” I asked, stifling my giggles as we refocused our attentions on the screen.
He grabbed a handful of popcorn, and I tried not to play Electricity with his hand; his touch passing through the kernels, through the bucket, through my dress and into my— “See that guy?” Trip’s whispered question knocked me out of my wandering thoughts. His handful of popcorn gestured to the screen. “That guy is a dick. The asshole couldn’t block for shit,” he scathed, staring at the screen. “You know how many takes we had to do here? Aww, dammit. They used this one?”
Aaand here we go again. I’d forgotten that Trip didn’t watch movies. He analyzed them. Incessantly. There wasn’t a video that went unscrutinized, a film that didn’t meet with his critique. Normally, I just watched a movie, and then decided whether I liked it or not. I noticed things like plot and acting and maybe the cinematography. But Trip? He had categories for appraisal. Like lighting. And sound quality. And all that other technical garbage you see honored for five seconds during the Oscars. Add in the element of him actually being a part of the production and oh Jesus, his commentary was tenfold. And I was the one with OCD?
A few minutes later, I looked over and saw him with his hand across his face, peeking through his fingers as if we were watching a horror flick. He asked, “Hey. Is Sixteen Candles still your favorite movie?”
Good memory. “Yeah, one of them. Why?”
“That girl was in it.”
I didn’t recognize who he was talking about, but then again, the movie was over fifteen years old. God. Where does the time go?
I knew he was simply trying to distract me from his film with the persistent chatter, and I watched as he fidgeted around in his seat, mumbling to himself. “Hey Trip?” I asked softly. “The movie looks good to me. Can’t we just watch it for a little while?”
He lowered his hand in order to aim a sham dirty look my way. “Yeah, fine. I’ll shut up.”