Page 77 of Mud, Love, and Chemistry

Sam hurries off to the kitchen, returning with two bottles, which he opens. Handing one to me, he clinks his bottle against mine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I say, and take sip.

“How about Planes, Trains, and Automobiles? That’s a good Thanksgiving movie.”

I blink at him in awe. It is a good movie for Thanksgiving, but it’s also super old. I’m surprised he even knows about it. “I love that one.”

The corners of his mouth lift into a pleased grin. “Cool.”

We spend a good fifteen minutes eating the pizza before settling into our spots on the couch. We’re on opposite ends, not touching each other at all. I’m good for a while, but halfway through the movie I’m getting uncomfortable in my curled up position. I stretch my legs out a bit thinking it’ll give me some reprieve, but all it does is make me want more room.

This goes on for several minutes before Sam groans, sits up, and pulls my legs over onto his. He flops back against his arm of the couch. “Better?” He floats his hand over our crisscrossed legs.

“Thanks.”

With a crisp nod, he turns his attention back to the movie.

As our beers dwindle, I notice his hands begin to fidget. At first, he plays with the label on his bottle, then he plays with a frayed edge of his t-shirt. Eventually, his fingers migrate to my ankle and up my calf. The brushing of his fingertips gives me goosebumps, and I shiver.

“You cold?” he asks.

I nod, unwilling to explain the truth.

Grabbing the blanket I was wrapped in earlier from the back of the couch, he spreads it over us. He makes sure to cover my legs completely, including my toes. When he’s satisfied, he slides his hand under the blanket, continuing his grazing of my skin. It’s oddly affectionate, but I don’t want it to stop.

It’s probably the beer. Maybe he gets fidgety when he drinks. Lots of people have weird ticks when it comes to alcohol whether it’s getting the munchies or getting talkative. This must be his.

That’s what I tell myself for the rest of the movie, anyway.

When the credits roll, Sam stretches his arms over his head. “Man, that movie’s great.”

“Yeah,” I say, pulling my legs off his. “Good choice.”

“I’m actually surprised we agreed on it.”

I shrug. “Just a fluke. I doubt we’ll have anything else in common.”

“Maybe.”

An awkward hush falls over the room, the only sound is the music of the credits. I fling the blanket off my legs and stand. “Well, I guess I should get going.”

“You’re leaving?” He sits up, gripping the back of the couch tight.

“The movie’s over. That ends our night, right?”

“What about second sex?”

A laugh bursts from me. “Second sex? What are we, hobbits?”

“I’m glad you caught that.”

“That’s an easy one.” I sit back down, barely on the edge of the cushion. “I wasn’t sure if we’d do that since this isn’t a normal night.”

“Brynn,” Sam says, scooting closer to me so I can feel his body heat. “I’m not going to see you? I mean, we’re not going to have sex for two weeks. I want as much as I can get to hold me over.”

I can’t help it, I blush. His words aren’t exactly romantic, but I can get behind the sentiment. “Well, then what are you waiting for? Kiss me.”

Sam doesn’t kiss me right away, though. He snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me to him in a tender embrace, and I throw my arms around his neck. He spends the next few moments staring at me. His eyes roam my face as if committing details to memory before he lays his mouth on mine.

---