“We can go wherever you want,” he answers. “Do whatever you want.”
Crosbie flips on his blinker and pulls into the right hand lane to exit into Gatsby. From here I can see the large signboard for the theater, the marquee too distant to read.
“Want to see a movie?” he asks as we drive closer.
I squint at the list of shows. It’s an enormous multiplex and the parking lot is packed. Crosbie inches past the front so we can see what’s playing.
“Kill Glory 3 is out? I thought it wasn’t coming until December.”
Crosbie laughs uncomfortably when I name the latest installment of the popular horror franchise. “What else is playing?”
I look at him. “You don’t like scary movies?”
He purses his lips. “I like them fine.”
My jaw drops. “You’re afraid.”
“Am not.”
“Maybe Toy Story 6 is playing.”
“The Toy Story franchise is classic.”
“Okay, fine.” I crane my neck to try to see some more names. “There’s Tanker Race 2, Soda Shoppe Gals, Operation—I think that’s based on the board game—and that documentary about seals. Anything you’re dying to see?”
He finds parking at the end of a row and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Lady’s choice.”
“Kill Glory 3.”
“Never mind, you can’t choose.”
“Have you seen the first two? They’re excellent. It’s about this death angel named Glory who keeps returning to earth to try to get revenge—”
“I saw five minutes of the first one, and that was enough.”
“So…Soda Shoppe Gals?”
He tips his head to peer out the windshield at the start times. We’ve got half an hour until the next showings. “We can see Kill Glory 3,” he says reluctantly, reaching over to tug me in by the collar. “But let’s make out for a bit first.”
“Make out?” I feign offense. “You haven’t even bought me popcorn.”
“Can I just give you the ten dollars?”
We’re laughing when our lips meet, teeth bumping until we get serious. Crosbie displays none of the urgency I’m feeling, kissing me leisurely, exploring, learning. Again, it’s a surprise. He’s got one hand curled against my neck while the other rests against the back of the seat. If I’d ever given any thought to making out in a car with Crosbie Lucas, I’d have pictured him sticking his hand up my shirt—or down my pants—in the first thirty seconds. But that doesn’t appear to be the plan for tonight, and I quash the tiny part of me that’s disappointed and tell myself to just enjoy the moment. I’ve actually never done this before. I had zero boyfriends in high school, and I don’t think any of the guys I kissed last year even had a car. At least, I never bothered to learn enough about them to find out if they did.
Teenagers walk by and holler “Get a room!” breaking us apart. We’re both breathing hard, the windows only starting to steam up, advertising our activities without actually obscuring them.
“Hi,” Crosbie says, smiling.
I can’t help but smile back. “Hi.”
He reaches over to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Did you get in trouble at work after we left?”
It takes me a second to remember what he’s talking about. “Oh, Nate?” I shake my head. “Nah. He’s all bark and no bite. And there’s very little bark to begin with.”
“He seemed pretty upset.”
I think about Marcela giving Kellan her number. “It was nothing. He was just trying to seem authoritative because his girlfriend was there.”
“Ah.” He’s quiet for a second. “What do you think about Kellan hooking up with your friend?”
I roll my eyes. “They’re not going to hook up. She was just…” I wonder how much I can say before I’m a bad friend. “Things are weird between Marcela and Nate and she was just doing that to show him she’d…moved on.”
Crosbie’s brows raise. “They’re hooking up.”
“How do you know?”
“How do you think I know?”
“They just met this afternoon! She got off work twenty minutes ago.”
“And Kellan’s got the apartment to himself.”
“You said he needed to ice his foot. And he promised not to bring people home.”
He shrugs. “So you’re not okay with it.”
“I’m—” I stop myself. Crosbie’s studying the steering wheel with far too much focus. Belatedly I realize he wasn’t just gossiping, he was testing me. I think back to that first conversation we had, right after I’d gone by to view the apartment. How he told me not to expect happily ever after with Kellan McVey, assuming I’d be like every other girl on campus, desperate for his attention. He hadn’t been entirely wrong then, but he’s wrong now. “Crosbie,” I say seriously. I repeat his name when he doesn’t look at me, and finally he turns his head. “I don’t have a thing for Kellan. Honest.”
“Sure.”
“He’s a good roommate,” I add. “He cleans up after himself and so far he’s upheld his end of the bargain about only using the apartment to sleep and study.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But he eats way too much mac and cheese.”
Crosbie huffs out a laugh.
“And I think he steals my shampoo.”
“He loves that stuff.”