Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SOPHIE
“By actress?” I call to Tyler from where I’m standing in his living room, studying his movie shelf. Twenty-Seven Dresses now sits next to Knocked Up, and Pretty Woman is neighbors with Notting Hill.
His expansive rom-com DVD collection has inhabited this green corner shelf for the entire time he’s lived in this house, but not once in those four or so years has he settled on an organization scheme that pleases him.
Every few weeks, he rearranges the little rectangular boxes, and figuring out his method of the moment has become a little game of ours.
“You bet.” He saunters in from the kitchen, carrying two glasses.
My stomach does a little involuntary flip at the way the Lightning jersey he wore to Oliver’s game hangs off his broad shoulders, the backwards hat making me think all kinds of dirty thoughts I have no business thinking while I’m standing in my best friend’s living room.
And when he hands me the glass filled with what I’m sure is frosty Dr Pepper with the perfect soda to ice ratio and he jingles the bracelets on my wrist, his fingers grazing my skin, I feel the shot of electricity all the way up my arm.
Tyler seems to falter for a second, and the part of me that’s been in love with all of him for the past three years hopes maybe he felt it too. But he recovers so fast it’s like it never happened at all, and honestly, maybe it didn’t. I just wish it did.
The whole reason I created a VibeCheck profile in the first place was so I didn’t do things like hope Tyler Hansley will one day realize he’s as hopelessly in love with me as I am with him. And the two conversations I’ve had with football guy had me thinking it could maybe even work.
But then we went to Oliver’s hockey game tonight, and Tyler sat next to me.
We shared snacks the way we always do, and I refused to share my drink with him.
He tossed his arm around my shoulders and grabbed my hand when Oliver took a hard hit and it took him a few extra seconds to get up, and he crash-tackled me in a hug when the Lightning won in overtime.
He was just so…there. He’s always there.
He’s been right there for the entirety of my twenty-six years, and most of the time I love it, even when it hurts a little.
But now it’s ten o’clock and Tyler convinced me to come back to his house for movie night instead of going home with Sarah to the house we share like I should have, and my defenses are lower than I want them to be.
I take a step back from him under the guise of turning back to the shelves.
“I’m not so sure by actress is your best bet.
Because then Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail are together, but Big is somewhere else, and that’s a travesty.
By actor might be a better way. Let Tom Hanks be your north star. ”
“Shit, you’re so right.”
Tyler steps up behind me, studying the shelf over my shoulder, and my stomach does a swoop and swirl at his proximity. At the familiarity of the clean, soapy smell of the aftershave he’s been using since high school. At the way his heat radiates into me, warming my back.
I need to get a fucking grip.
This is friend Tyler.
Friend to whom I want to do very unholy and extremely disrespectful things.
Gah. Fuck.
I wish briefly I had my phone in my hand to see if I got any more messages from football guy. He’s a good distraction for these inconvenient feelings.
“Wait,” Tyler says, excitement in his voice.
“Not by actor. By place. Tom Hanks is undisputed king of the New York City rom-com, so if we do it that way, most of his will be together without even trying. That’s the only way.
Fuck, you’re brilliant.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders from behind and kisses the top of my head.
At this point, I’m used to the way my body goes a little haywire at the move that, for him, is nothing more than an expression of friendship.
We’ve always had a touchy-feely sort of relationship.
That’s just the kind of guy Tyler is. “We’re reorganizing them right now. ”
I smile because I’ve heard this before. Tomorrow or the next day or a few weeks from now, he’ll get another idea and then we’ll be right back where we started.
Spinning around, I face him and immediately stumble backwards, his close proximity a jump scare.
If not for the arm he reaches out to steady me, I would have gone careening backwards into his immaculately organized movie shelf.
Poking a finger into his chest, I shove him back a step. “We are absolutely not doing that. It’s after ten, and not all of us have an offseason. I have like eighty thousand things on my to-do list for tomorrow and need to get some sleep so I have the brain power to do them.
Tyler rolls his eyes, but his smile is amused. “Sal, you’re the smartest person I know. You can do all the things on no sleep and standing on your damn head. If you want, I can come with you to work and be your assistant. You know I love an offseason project.”
Ducking under his arm, I head for the couch, grabbing my phone along the way. A glance at it tells me I don’t have any VibeCheck messages, and when I feel a flash of disappointment, I mentally slap myself across the face because that’s a really stupid thing to be disappointed about.
That is not badass behavior, and as a self-proclaimed badass, I feel I must represent at all times, even when I’m all alone in my very own head.
“I already have an assistant. Anyway, you better pick a movie, and fast, because there’s a non-zero chance I fall asleep on this couch.”
Tyler smirks at me. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
No, it definitely would not be the first time. Our rom-com movie nights are notorious for two things. The first being the snacks, and the second being the fact that I almost always fall asleep on Tyler’s sectional which is, unequivocally, the most comfortable couch in the world.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re about to lose your movie picking rights. According to my watch, you have six more minutes to choose or selection rights revert back to me.”
He rolls his eyes, reaching behind him and picking a DVD without even looking, holding it up to me. “It has to be Ten Things I Hate About You.”
With a grin, I kick my feet up on the coffee table. “Fuck yes, Julia Stiles at her finest.”
“I would argue that Save the Last Dance is her pièce de résistance, but there is something about this one that gets you right in the feels.” He crouches down and hits the button to power on the DVD player that sits below his TV.
“You know this movie is on one of your million streaming services, right? You don’t have to actually put in the DVD like we’re living in 2005.”
Tyler spins around and stares at me. “Sal, be so fucking for real right now. This is the tenth anniversary DVD. If we watch it on a streaming service, how are we going to see the retrospective documentary or the cast and crew interviews?”
I laugh because this is an old argument, and I could have predicted his answer word for word. But making Tyler defend his love of watching rom-coms on old school DVDs instead of on a streaming service like the rest of the world is one of my favorite pastimes.
“But think of how much shelf space you could regain if you finally ditched the DVDs and embraced the streaming of it all?”
Tyler pops up and strides to the couch. “How dare you,” he says, taking a flying leap and landing right next to me, sending throw pillows flying as he smacks kisses all over my face and digs his fingers into my ribs, hitting my most ticklish spot.
“Fuck off,” I shriek. I try to get away from him, but he locks an arm around me, tugging me practically into his lap and continuing his all-out tickle assault.
“Never!” he says, doubling down. “Not until you admit that my DVD collection is a work of fucking art.”
“No,” I laugh, caught between a fit of giggles and a scream as I squirm on his lap. But when my ass comes into contact with something hard, I freeze because holy fuck that’s his dick.
Tyler’s very hard, very big dick.
His dick that has accidentally settled in between my ass cheeks so the only thing between us is his jeans and my leggings, which suddenly seem like both too much and not enough all at the same time.
I’m in so much shock it takes me a minute to realize Tyler has gone completely still, and I take the opportunity to rocket off his lap, scrambling to the other side of the couch.
I pick up a throw pillow, hugging it to my chest and forcing my eyes to look anywhere but at Tyler’s crotch as my brain races for what the fuck I’m supposed to do right now because the shape of Tyler’s cock is now not something I can unknow, and I’m not sure if I’m better or worse off because of it.
And what exactly is the conversation etiquette after you feel your best friend’s massive erection against your ass?
“So, all I’m saying is if you joined the twenty-first century, you could fill that shelf with other things. Like pictures of me, maybe.”
Jesus, fuck, Sophie. An eidetic memory and an IQ of one fifty-eight and that’s the best you can come up with?
Try harder.
Tyler stares at me for a long moment, his ocean blues boring into mine and a faint flush covering his cheeks.
My heart knocks a hopeful beat against my ribs, and I wonder what the fuck is happening right now.
Or what’s about to happen. But in an instant, Tyler’s face changes, relaxes, and he blinks, seeming to snap out of his trance.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“You know I always want more pictures of you, Sophie baby, but you will bury me with my DVD collection. Relying on streaming services is way too risky. What if I want to watch How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days but the Paramount people get into a fight with the streaming people and suddenly it’s gone? What would I do then?”