22. Chilly
22
Chilly
We held hands while he walked me to my movie. It was nice, something adjacent to a girlfriend experience.
Down the aisle, our former date spot’s marquee remained empty. “What’s the deal with theater thirteen?” I asked.
“Oh, we only use it for private showings.” He squeezed my hand.
Private showings. So, that meant dates, hookups, and what, birthday parties?
“Do a lot of people use it?” I asked.
“Yep.” He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, nonchalant.
I scuffed my boots on the carpet. Maybe I wasn’t the only VIP in the building.
He let go of my hand to open the door to theater ten.
Leaning his forehead against his curled fingers, he lowered his voice to an ominous purr. “I hope you have a nice nap.”
“I hope you have a nice…shift.” Fuck my stupid, sleep-deprived brain. How was I supposed to banter in this state?
He blinked and smirked. Perhaps I entertained him, anyway. He bowed, then he retreated into the hallway.
Oh, he wasn’t coming with me.
He had a shift, obviously. And yet part of me wondered why he didn’t go for another kiss before he left. Or try to hook up in a closet. Or make plans.
Was I still supposed to text him?
My brain throbbed from dehydration. I sighed and rubbed my temple. This didn’t have to be so complicated. I was supposed to turn my mind off for a bit. Relax. Enjoy some escapism outside of an orgasm.
I sat in the back row and settled in amid a smattering of older women. They had to be the target demographic for this flick. I ordered food and drink at an exorbitant price, even for a VIP. As the lights dimmed, a tall employee emerged from the darkness holding my order.
I sat up straighter. Victor?
No, the profile was wrong. It was the squirrely guy again. He handed off the meal and widened his eyes in recognition. “Uh, h-hi,” he said.
“Hi?” I took the food from him and glanced at the screen. Curtains slid aside with a whoosh to show the full picture.
Squirrel-boy’s hands twitched, and his mouth fell open. Was he waiting for a tip? It’d be weird to start a conversation right now, even if it was only the previews kicking in.
He hesitated, then scurried down the stairs.
Sorry, kid. This wasn’t an ideal time to chat. I popped a fry in my mouth, furrowing my brow when he glanced over his shoulder. What the hell was he gaping at?
I guessed I’d become a recognizable regular. Or a source of gossip.
Victor probably wouldn’t tell people we hooked up. It was ungentlemanly. He wouldn’t have hidden the cum-napkin if he wanted to brag we did something. Although he did bite me. Mark me.
I tugged at my collar. Maybe that was why Squirrel-boy was staring.
Eventually, the movie and warm food tugged my mind to other quandaries. When was the last time I went to a beach, like this protagonist?
The old woman in the movie spent most of her vacation people-watching and confronting the lack of excitement in her life.
Her arthritis-ridden fingers shook as she glanced up, tempted to steal a piece of cake from a stranger’s wedding.
Something splashed at sea. Dolphins? A mermaid? Ghosts of her family? I knew this movie probably wasn’t going to turn supernatural, but I kinda hoped she’d keep investigating.
That she’d beat feeling bored. And lost. And lonely.
A breeze flitted across my skin. Shivering, I curled my knees into my chest, hoping to conserve body heat. Everyone else in here wore cardigans. Smart cookies.
Later, the old woman in the movie snuck into the party and stole a piece of cake. She winced at the first bite, looked around for security, then smiled at her new potential friends by the bar.
“Who can resist a bite of happiness?” she said through a mouthful of frosting.
“A bite of love,” another character said.
“Of delusion,” another insisted. “It’s sugar and carbs. Enjoy the dessert and shut up about it.”
I stroked my collar and checked my phone. Was Victor trying to tell me something?
Me: Why’d you recommend this movie?
Victor: Ocean sounds act like a noise machine.
Me: Oh, right.
I was reading way too much into everything.
Victor: Why aren’t you sleeping?
Me: I’m cold. :( But I’ll be fine. I doubt you can turn up the heat.
Five minutes later, shoes scraped against the floor with measured grace.
No way.
Was he bringing me something? Fire? Mittens? Body heat?
A scythe-like silhouette cut across the screen. The projector lights illuminated a beautiful, sharp face as he turned to the audience.
Victor.
I smiled and waved, my extremities finally warm.
Was I too into him?
He smirked, his eyes glinting. Maybe he didn’t mind my enthusiasm. He strode up to my row and flipped a high-collared black jacket off his shoulders. It billowed out like a cape. The ends floated down over my knees.
A blanket. For me. I hugged the soft fleece, but eased my toes out to graze his shins as he made his way into the seat beside me.
He stretched his arm across the back of my chair and purred, “Hello, Miss Silver.”
“Hello, Mister Sterling.” I snuggled into his side, my insides rumbling. “Here to provide me body heat?”
He stroked my arm under the fleece. “Only for a minute. I am still working.”
Damn. Couldn’t he stay until the third act? Like he said, he wasn’t exactly a model employee.
I hooked my legs over his closest knee and scooted in to hug him better. He chuckled and secured the jacket on my shoulder. His fingers lingered at my neckline, his stomach tightening under my arm. Did he see the mark he’d left on me? In darkness, in secret, in everything?
After a few seconds, he rubbed small circles into my skin. Heat seeped into my bones. Slow and steady. This man was casting some kind of spell on me.
I slumped into the welcome arms of darkness aka his chest.
Everything was warm. The perfume of sage and buttered popcorn His pulse thumped reassuringly against my cheek. It was fast, at first. Eventually, it leveled out to a soft orchestral soundtrack. Then, we were floating. Nesting.
His cold fingers cradled my neck.
“Sweet dreams, Kat,” he whispered, that silky voice drawing me into the depths.
A kiss dusted my forehead. Then, he eased from under me.
Wait . I tried to get up. I really did. But I couldn’t lift my lids long enough to make out more than a glimpse of his lips.
My Spider-Man…
I reached for him but slipped into dreamland once again.
It was nice in the darkness. I shifted awake and tugged his jacket higher on my shoulders. The old lady on screen lamented not taking more chances. She wished she’d persevered with what–and who–she loved.
I guessed I got the movie’s message. Yawning, I curled up and went back to sleep. Hopefully, I wouldn’t miss anything life-changing.
A few dreamscape seconds later, a sunrise glow rose behind my eyelids. Careful footsteps approached in the aisle.
I jerked awake and sat up.
Oh, shit. The movie was over. Only a few stragglers shuffled towards the exit–though one sneaky little bastard crept my way, badly hiding a familiar spider behind his back.
I pointed my foot at Victor. “Were you going to throw Bitsy on me?”
“Nooo.” He kneeled on the chair in front of mine and casually made the plush crawl up my leg. “I was simply going to suggest we move this slumber party to another theater so my crew could clean.”
Did he want to rendezvous in theater thirteen?
Squirrel-boy twisted a broom handle at the bottom of the stairs. Oh. Maybe they actually needed me to move more than anything.
I arched my brow. “Why did you sneak up on me?”
“I didn’t want to startle you.” Victor’s lip twitched up as he scratched my thigh with one of Bitsy’s limbs.
“Liar.” I half-heartedly kicked him away. If I wasn’t so cozy, I’d ball up this jacket and toss it at him.
He chuckled and tugged Bitsy back to prop up his chin. “Can I interest you in another movie?”
“Now, or in general?”
“Both.” His intense gaze pinned me to my seat.
“Oh…yes, probably.” My tongue swelled with the urge to tangle with his. Maybe I needed a drink. I thrust the jacket at him. “Do you want this back?”
“Not immediately,” he said.
Okay, a guy lending his date a jacket for more than an hour was serious. Maybe this had potential to be a long-term thing. I gathered my stuff, my cheeks heating under Victor’s steady gaze. At least the squirrel-guy pretended to sweep the aisles clean.
Victor sauntered down the stairs alongside me, his fingers brushing my back and sending happy little tingles to my toes.
I dumped my garbage and headed to the drink refill station on this floor. He leaned against the machine as I mixed the beverage options.
“That was a good nap,” I said. “Now, I need caffeine.”
“And a new movie. What’ll it be?”
I glanced at the marquees. “Um, I don’t have that much time left. What movie can I finish off?”
“Mummy’s House.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes and released the beverage button. “You’re hilarious.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
I raised my brows. “Ah, set to silent, finally.”
He gave me a funny look, sighed at his screen, then stuffed it into his pocket. It was probably work stuff. “Anyway, for our movie, did you have any requests?” he asked.
Our movie. My heart fluttered. “Could it be anything?”
“I can try.” He frowned, combing his bangs. “We have a wide selection for special events–especially classics.”
“Hmm, I like horror. Horror-comedies are the best.” But this wasn’t all about me. “What do you like?”
“I can endure anything,” he said, bowing to conspire with me. “But my favorites are think pieces, smart movies that wink at or challenge the audience, even if they’re silly.”
“So you want Mummy’s House, obviously.”
He chuckled and hung his head.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, tapping him with my hip. “And thanks for letting me pick this time. Although you did great the last time.”
“Of course. I have great taste.” He grasped my shoulder to peck my lips. His cold fingertips sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. Then, he left.
I bit my tingling lip and hugged his jacket, thankful that the widow helped me find my Spider-Man.