Chapter 21
Icouldn’t watch the movie.
I tried. I stared at the screen, at Benjamin’s face—too familiar, too perfect, smiling that smile I used to know—but I couldn’t process any of it.
On screen, Benjamin delivered a line. Something charming. The kind of thing that made audiences fall in love with him. The kind of thing he used to say to me, back when I was stupid enough to believe it meant something.
Meanwhile, I was vibrating at a frequency only dogs could hear.
I forced myself to breathe.
In. Out.
Don’t think about Benjamin.
But also don’t think about how close you’re sitting to Andrew.
Don’t—
A kid laughed. Loud, sharp, directly behind us.
Then another voice. “Give it back!”
“No!”
A seat kicked. Once. Twice.
I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the movie, on Benjamin’s face, on anything other than the chaos erupting two rows back.
More whisper-yelling. “Mom, he took my—”
“I didn’t!”
“Did too!”
Kick. Kick. Kick.
My shoulders tensed.
Andrew shifted beside me. I could feel him glance back, just briefly, then return his attention to the screen. He didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he seemed like he was having a great time, not caring at all about the chaos behind us.
But I cared.
Every kick. Every whispered argument. Every disruption pulling me further out of the moment I was already barely holding onto.
“Stop it!” One of the kids, louder now.
“You stop it!”
A woman’s voice, hushed but strained. “Both of you, quiet.”
They didn’t quiet.
The kicking continued. Harder now. Deliberate.
On screen, Ben was in the middle of a dramatic scene. Something emotional. He was good at those. In fact, his specialty was making people believe he felt things deeply.
I knew better.
Another kick.
I turned in my seat and looked directly at the kids. They were two boys, maybe ten and twelve, with their mother who looked exhausted and overwhelmed.
“If you want to talk,” I said quietly, “leave. If you want to watch the movie, stop making everyone else miserable.”
My voice was controlled. Adult. Not angry, just firm.
The kids stared at me. The mother’s eyes went wide.
“I’m so sorry,” she said immediately, pulling both boys closer. “They’ll stop. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, turned back around, sat down.
And immediately realized what I’d just done.
Oh god.
What was I thinking? I wasn’t their parent. It wasn’t my place. I’d overstepped. Made a scene. Drawn attention to us when the whole point of sitting near the back was to not—
Heat flooded my face.
I stared straight ahead at the screen, not seeing anything, heart racing, hands gripping the armrests.
Andrew shifted beside me.
I braced myself and waited for the comment.
Instead, he leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath against my ear.
“Little fuckers deserved it.”
That was. . . it?
Andrew settled back into his seat, stretched his arms up in that classic fake-yawn move I’d seen in a hundred movies, and let one arm drop around the back of my shoulders.
Casual.
Easy.
His hand squeezed my shoulder once.
And I stopped breathing.
This was—he was—we were in a movie theater. In public. With his arm around me.
Not holding me. Not pulling me close. Just. . . there. Draped over the back of my seat like it belonged there.
I knew I should move, I should say something, I should remind him about professional boundaries and the fact that we were absolutely, definitely not on a date.
But I didn’t move.
On screen, Ben was kissing his co-star. Romantic music was swelling, the camera was panning—all of it creating the kind of scene designed to make audiences swoon.
I’d kissed Ben many times. In his trailer. Between takes. In his hotel suite.
Andrew’s hand was still on my shoulder.
I tried to focus on the movie. On the plot I’d completely lost track of. On anything other than the fact that I was sitting in a dark theater with my boss’s arm around me while my movie-star ex performed thirty feet away.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
The kids behind us were silent now. The theater was quiet. Just the sound of dialogue and score and Ben’s voice delivering lines I couldn’t process.
Andrew’s thumb moved. Just slightly. A small circle against my shoulder.
Was he—did he know what he was doing?
Of course he knew. Andrew didn’t do anything by accident.
This wasn’t anything. This was just. . . proximity. Normal movie theater behavior.
I was hyper-aware of every point of contact. His arm behind my shoulders. His knee now touching mine—when had that happened? The way his breathing had synced with mine without either of us trying.
On screen, Ben was having some kind of revelation. Character development moment. The kind of scene that would probably get him award nominations.
I used to think he was talented.
Now I just thought he was a good liar.
Andrew shifted again, adjusting his position, and somehow ended up closer. Not obviously so. Not enough that anyone watching would notice.
But I noticed.
God, I noticed everything.
The way his shoulder pressed against mine. The scent of his cologne mixing with popcorn and that specific movie theater smell. The heat of him, solid and grounding and completely overwhelming.
I made myself focus on the screen.
Ben was crying now. Big emotional moment. Oscar-clip material.
I felt nothing.
Well. That wasn’t true.
I felt Andrew’s hand on my shoulder. His thumb still moving in those small, deliberate circles.
I felt my heart racing, my palms sweating, my entire nervous system screaming that this was too much, too close, too something I couldn’t name.
On screen, Ben was running. From what, I had no idea. Didn’t care.
I stopped watching.
Instead, I watched Andrew watch the movie.
The way his eyes tracked the action. The slight furrow in his brow when something on screen didn’t make sense. The way he shifted his weight, getting more comfortable, his arm settling more firmly around my shoulders as he did.
He looked relaxed. Content, even.
Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
I had no idea what to do with that information.
So I did nothing.
Just sat there, Andrew’s arm around me, Benjamin’s face on screen, and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
The action sequence ended. Quieter scene now. Dialogue-heavy.
Andrew’s thumb traced another circle on my shoulder.
I closed my eyes.
This was a movie. Just a movie. Two people sitting in a theater, watching a film, sharing space.
Normal.
Except nothing about this felt normal.