The Write Off: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love In 2C Book 3)

Chapter 17

Logan

“So he’s an elf, too?”

“Yes. Well, half-elf, actually. We don’t need to get into that right now.” Rilla leans forward to grab another handful of Skittles before settling back on the couch next to me. Apparently I did bring the right snacks. As she pulls her legs in and crosses them in front of her, her thigh brushes mine and my cock notices.

I shift ever so slightly away from the contact, hoping she doesn’t notice. She appears not to, completely engrossed in some sort of council meeting on the screen. I lean back into the well-worn couch cushions once again wishing that I wasn’t so aware of her.

But I am. I notice something new every time I’m with her. When I walked her home after the hockey game, it was how blonde the tips of her eyelashes were. Now as I watch her from the corner of my eye, I can see a small scar on her earlobe. The faint white line almost glows in the light from the television. I want to know when and how she got it so I can add it to the growing file of all things Rilla I’m keeping in my head.

Ever since she kissed me at the hockey game, I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything else. Hard being a key word because, Jesus: I haven’t gotten this many erections since high school. My hand travels to my neck to loosen the tie I’m not wearing.

I’ve always been hyper-aware where Rilla is concerned, but never had a clear idea why. I do now.

I want her.

A team of theorists working around the clock couldn’t come up with a feasible explanation. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever met who is less like me. She’s brilliant and funny, but she’s also stubborn and petty. And yes, she’s gorgeous, but she is also temperamental and unpredictable.

And I want her.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I reach for my beer. My hand collides with Rilla’s as she reaches for more candy. It’s warm and the slightest bit sticky.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing softly when I pull my hand back sharply. “You seem a bit on-edge tonight, Carmichael.”

“I’m fine,” I reply, not sure at all that I am. From the moment I got here, I’ve felt out of my element.

I thought I’d adequately prepared myself for a casual hangout, but it’s far more intimate than I was expecting. Sitting in a darkened room, a breath away from the woman who’s been occupying both my waking thoughts and my dreams.

The short, bearded man dressed for battle says something on screen and Rilla giggles beside me. She’s smiling at the television almost tenderly, a handful of rainbow candy frozen in front of her. Her oversized sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder and her curls rest softly on the exposed skin.

When she catches me watching her, the smile turns shy. “Gimli’s my favorite.”

I laugh in spite of myself. Because of course the feisty dwarf with anger issues is her favorite. I watch the screen where the characters have started arguing. “You don’t prefer the pretty blond guy?”

She snorts. “Legolas? God, no. Gimli’s the best. He’s so funny and grouchy, but also loyal and proud.”

“So that’s your type?” I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I meant to think the words, not speak them aloud.

“If you’re asking who I’d like to ravish me in the woods of Rivendell, that would be Aragorn.” She sees my eyes scan the screen for who she’s talking about. There are too many characters in this movie and they’ve all got odd names. “He’s tall, dark and broody over there, standing next to Gandalf.”

Interesting.

“What do you think so far?” She asks leaning closer to me as if we’re in a crowded theater instead of two people alone in her living room. She smells sweet. Like the candy she appears to be sorting in her outstretched palm.

“It’s good.” It’s not a lie. I wish I’d been able to follow it closer, but that would mean not being distracted by the beautiful brunette sitting close to me on my left. “The cinematography is impressive especially considering it was made more than twenty years ago.”

I sneak another glance in her direction, wondering if she’s finding this “hang out” as nerve-wracking as I do, but she appears to be the picture of calm. She stares down at the candy in her hand, rearranging it into some kind of color pattern.

“What are you doing?”

A lazy smile stretches across her face making my pulse pick up. “I sort them by the order that they appear in the rainbow–red, orange, yellow, green, purple. Then I eat them in order of my least favorite to favorite–grape, strawberry, orange, lime, lemon. Betty always ate them this way and I guess I picked up the habit.”

Adorable. “That’s a surprisingly organized method of eating candy,” I admit, turning my attention back to the movie. Moments later, I feel her intense stare and glance over to find her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

“What did you mean by that?”

“Pardon?”

“What makes you think I’m not organized?”

“I didn’t say that you weren’t organized.”

“You implied it by the use of the word ‘surprisingly.’ As in, I surprised you by doing something in an organized way.”

I’ve clearly touched a tender spot, but I can’t understand why she’s gotten so defensive. “I mean, sure. Organized would not be one of the first words that I would use to describe you.” I’d start with tempting, clever, and infuriating.

“I’ll have you know that I am extremely detail-oriented.”

“Okay. Good to know.” I put my hands up in a sign of surrender, but she catches the raised eyebrow I give to the mismatched socks she’s donning.

She turns her attention to her feet which are covered in one blue striped sock and one solid green sock. “Christ, you’re such a snob. So my socks don’t match. Who fucking cares? I didn’t expect to be put on trial by the fashion police tonight. My bra and panties don’t match either. You want to judge them too?”

God, yes.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I will myself to stop imagining what she’s wearing under her clothes.

“No. Overreacting would be pushing you down the stairs, Judge Judy. I invited you over here to watch my favorite movie, not critique my underwear.”

“I didn’t even bring up your underwear!” Although now it’s all I can think about. Why is it so warm in here? “I think I’d better be going,” I say standing abruptly. “I hope everything works out for the hobbits.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” She stands positioning herself between me and the door.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Rilla.”

“Then why did you pick a fight with me, Logan?”

“How did I pick a fight with you?”

“By…by criticizing me.”

I take a step forward, invading her personal space. “It wasn’t a criticism. It was a comment. There is a difference.”

She steps forward, accepting my challenge. “So now you’re not only correcting my words at work, but at home too. House calls are rare in this day and age. I’m so lucky.” She’s so close, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“Do you want me to shut up? Because I would love for you to try to make m–”

I kiss her before I can talk myself out of it. Her mouth opens to me immediately and I taste citrus candy as she slides her tongue against mine.

I thought my heart was beating hard when we were arguing. Kissing her has sent it into complete overdrive. I’m certain she feels it through her thin sweatshirt with her chest pressed against mine.

Despite her keen response, I worry that I’ve overstepped and break the kiss, leaving us both gasping for air.

“Rilla–”

“I swear, Logan: If you are about to say something other than ‘Which way to the bedroom?’ I’m going to scream.”

Fuck it.

I pick her up and start down the dark hallway. It doesn’t take me long to locate the bedroom, even with Rilla wrapped around me like a horny koala bear, her face obstructing most of my line of sight. I lower her onto the middle of her bed, caging her in with my frame hovering above her. I kiss her again, slower this time, making sure I support my weight on my forearms. I don’t want to crush her, but the way she moves underneath me makes me think she may not mind one bit.

Her soft curves mold against my hard edges as if that’s what they were designed for. All that tension she appeared to be holding onto has disappeared, leaving her pliant in my hands and ready to be played with.

“So,” I say, moving my mouth to her jaw and trailing kisses down her neck. “You can stop talking.”

“Oh, Logan.” Her voice is throaty as she tugs me back up by my hair so we’re eye to eye. “Just for that comment, I’m going to be extra loud.”