Chapter 6 #2
Andrzej’s friends approach us. Blondes with blue doe eyes, mirror images, wearing shiny lip gloss and vanilla perfume.
He introduces one as Laura, and the other one as Lorena.
They switch sides, I can’t tell who is who.
One drapes herself over Andrzej’s arm, laughing too loudly, while the other hangs back, with her gaze flicking between him and her sister, an uneasy smile on her lips.
Andrzej wraps an arm around the girl’s waist. “Think about what I said, man,” he murmurs, tone even but firm.
Before I think of a reply, the three of them disappear down the glowing stretch of sidewalk.
Don’t shoot yourself in the foot. Andrzej’s voice shouldn’t loop in my head like there’s some truth there, but it does, burrowing under my skin while the heat from the lights mixes with the cool bite of the night air.
Now, with Tessa’s mossy-green eyes flashing in my mind, I can’t tell if I’m angry because he’s wrong … or because I’m afraid he isn’t, and I made a mistake coming here.
“Nate?”
Tessa’s voice keeps me from overthinking too much. I’d recognize her low swing, throaty cadence anywhere. Her coat’s unbuttoned, cheeks flushed from the wind, hair loose and wavy unlike her usual straight style.
“I’m so glad you could make it!” She grins. “I thought you had plans!”
She wraps her arms around my neck, and I breathe in her citrusy scent when she presses into me.
It’s strong and lemony, not unpleasant, but it’s not at all Robyn’s orange blossom shampoo.
I’m hit with the epiphany that Robyn’s sweet scent is my favorite, remembering waking up to it on Christmas morning.
However, not even the memory of Christmas can keep me from noticing the unnatural way Tessa’s skin scorches mine when my forearm lands on the sliver of skin between her skirt and her jacket. And it’s like I’m watching a movie scene, not pulling away fast enough. Again.
Where the fuck is this coming from?
Easing her arms from around my neck, I notice she’s alone, and I flinch, shoulders tensing. “Where’s everyone, Tess?”
She gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Guess their plans fell through. Like yours. But, hey—silver lining, right? Less people to fight over snacks! And I’m loaded!”
She hefts her bag like a trophy, the bulge of it ridiculous.
I can picture half of the candy aisle crammed in there.
There’s no trace of guilt on her face, and that strangely helps me settle.
Tessa was never good at lying; her lips do that thing, press together, jut out. It gives her away every time.
I smirk, tipping my head toward the lobby, my tone lightening. “Lead the way, snack girl.”
She laughs. “Let’s divide and conquer—movie’s about to start.” We fall into step side by side. “I’ll get the tickets. You grab the drinks. Anything with vodka will do.” She looks over her shoulder and winks. “We’ll meet by the ticket check.”
As we step into the MUSIC BOX lobby, the buzz of conversation nearly drowns out the faint piano track threading through the speakers.
Buttered popcorn, caramel, and the hoppy tang of beer from the small bar to the left mingle in a unique scent.
Golden light spills from the lantern overhead, catching on the carved moldings and patches of peeling paint that make the place feel timeless.
It’s a masterclass in fusing Spanish revival and Italian Baroque: arches and cornices working in unison.
As an architect, it’s inspiring how, through dozens of remodeling, its essence is intact: well-cared for yet tenderly worn.
I join Tessa as the attendant checks our tickets, vodka cranberry in one hand, Jack & Coke in the other. He’s asking if she’s seen the movie before, his eyes moving from her and back to tickets. When he winks, handing them back, she hooks her arm around my waist.
“This is my guy,” she tells the usher with a grin.
She pulls her arm from my waist quicker than how it got there, then plucks the cranberry from my hand and takes a sip. I can’t shake the feeling that her arm, her comment, fleeting as it was, went too far.
“Your guy, Tessa? Really?” I mutter as we step into the dim aisle.
“What? He was being too pushy,” she says, settling into her seat. “And you are my guy.”
“He was just asking about the movie,” I counter. “Being friendly.”
“You think striking up conversation like that? Three whole questions and holding up the line is just being friendly?”
I shrug. “What else would it be?”
Scoffing, she stops next to the seat she’s about to claim. “Of course you’d think that’s just friendly.” She sits down. “You’re such a dummy.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you keep coming over to my apartment to fix things,” she says, pouting her lips as she blows a huff of air. “You do that ’cause you’re friendly?”
I’m about to respond, but the lights dim down.
Before it’s completely dark, I admire the screening room we’re in.
The place is a once-grand theater remodeled as a movie house, with ornate moldings and red velvet curtains framing the screen.
I used to come here all the time in college, alone or with friends.
Now, between work and leaving my schedule open for Robyn’s last-minute changes, I can’t remember the last time I was here.
I drag my gaze back to Tessa. “Also, I’m not,” I say, settling into the seat beside her but leaning to the right, my elbows on my knees, putting as much distance between us as the narrow seats allow. “I’m Robyn’s guy. I’m your friend, Tess.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Guy, friend. Same thing.” She takes a sip, her tongue darting out to catch a trailing drop. “So, you said Robyn’s schedule changed?”
I’m about to tell her that Robyn saves lives, and that’s more important than my Friday night plans, but the opening credits bloom across the screen.
Once we get sucked into the movie, reciting the same lines and laughing at the same scenes, I relax. This was exactly what I needed, just enjoying myself without complications for a night.
At the most memorable scene, right when the character’s about to scream his meme-worthy line, I turn to her. It’s dark, and all I can make out is the shape of her nose and the shadow of her lips. Sharing something as simple as this, though, feels … good.
I lean in, my forearm slipping into her side of the armrest. She places hers right over mine, her palm resting against the back of my hand, and the scar in the center of her palm catches my attention.
When she tripped during a cross-country tournament and needed stitches, I waited next to her for Coach to bring the first aid kit, then till the ambulance came, assuring her she’d be fine.
The feeling of being needed, irreplaceable, washes over me.
She turns her head, eyes widening when she finds me already watching her. When she gasps, I drag my gaze lower to her tongue-licked lips catching the light of the screen.
Andrzej’s words echo. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot. I exhale hard, shift back, and put my arm back in my own seat. The ice in my cup clinks as I finish what’s left of my drink. Fucking hell, what am I doing?
A few minutes later, when I glance at Tessa, she’s laughing again, head tipped back, at ease. She isn’t wasting a second thought on me, because nothing’s happening here. Because a prank isn’t messing with her head. It’s messing with mine.
When we say goodbye, she gives me a quick side hug, her body pressing against my side. I hate that I’ve never noticed before, but I can’t unfeel it.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say when she asks if I really don’t want to grab a nightcap up the street.
When I get home, I finally check Robyn’s texts.
Photos, little jokes, reminders she’s thinking of me.
For the first time since we started dating, I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, pulse uneven.
And I go to bed without texting her goodnight.
Because goodnight sits like a lie on my tongue. I gotta figure my shit out.