Page 36 of Personal Foul

Still. I’m his maid. I’d be doing the cleaning. If not now, then certainly tomorrow.

Undeterred, he grabs my other ankle as well, and with one more yank, my feet end up across his lap, and I’m situated firmly in the center of the couch.

“Dude.” I blow the loose strands of hair out of my face and level a glare at him. “What. The. Fuck?”

Instead of answering, he picks up the remote, starts the movie, then reaches into the bowl and grabs a handful of popcorn. “You don’t get to hog all the snacks,” he mumbles around his mouthful.

“And you couldn’t just get your own bowl? Or, I dunno, ask politely for me to sit closer?” Part of me that I refuse to acknowledge is thrilled with this behavior, though. I liked him gripping my leg. Dragging me closer. With someone else, I’d be laughing and having fun. I can’t let myself do that with Dylan, though.

“Shh. You’re going to miss the start of the movie.” He gestures at the screen.

With a huff, I pull my feet out of his lap and turn to face the TV, using the coffee table as a footstool and stuffing my mouth with popcorn to prevent me from griping at him some more. I decided to chill out, and bitching more would not be chill at all.

Choosing to ignore him, I focus on the movie. We settled on a historical film about King Henry V. It’s a bit gory for my taste, but the story is really good.

There are a few times where I hide my face when someone’s getting bits chopped off in the battle scenes, and at one point, Dylan reaches out and pulls me into him, letting me bury my face in his chest so I don’t have to crank my neck as far to bury it in the back of the couch.

He smells good, I grudgingly admit to myself. I noticed earlier and figured it was probably body wash or deodorant. Whatever scented products he uses have some staying power. Spicy and woodsy, probably called something like “Lumberjack Spice” or “Sasquatch’s Shadow.” I’m not sure why a shadow would smell like anything. But it’s not like scent names always make sense. Perhaps “Sasquatch Farts” would be better.

I fight down the urge to giggle, because then I’d have to explain what’s so funny. And yeah, no, that’s not happening.

Instead, I compose myself and peek out of the protective circle of Dylan’s arm and body since the battle scene sounds like it’s over. Less screaming and clanging and squishy thunking, at least.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, patting me on the back.

“Thanks.” It’s supposed to be bitingly sarcastic, but doesn’t quite make it. More like lame and grateful. Because I am grateful. Who is this kind, caring dude, and what did he do with the asshole who’s normally here?

Can this guy stay? Because against my better judgment, I’m kinda starting to like him …

Gah. No. That’s terrible.

Since the popcorn’s long gone and the bowl’s on the coffee table, there’s no actual reason for me to sit this close to him still. I take the opportunity to squirm away from him. Not all the way to the other side—like I really want to—because even moving as much as I do prompts Dylan to shoot me a look of confused consternation.

How is he sexy even with that expression?

When I do confused consternation, I look like a constipated hippo.

Who cares? Why does it matter that he’s sexy? He’s always been sexy. Even in high school, he was one of the hottest guys on campus. Maybethehottest guy.

Now? Who knows? It’s not like there’s a ranking system for hot guys at Marycliff University.

Or if there is, I’m not in the know.

If there were, I’m sure he’d be on it. Hot? Ripped? Loaded? What’s not to like?

As long as he’s not being a douche, anyway.

When the movie ends, I stand and stretch my arms overhead, arching my back because it feels good. Turning, I find Dylan watching me more avidly than I’m comfortable with. Crossing my arms, I give him a suspicious look. “Welp,” I say more loudly than strictly necessary. “It’s getting late. Late enough for Isabelle to come to whatever conclusions she likes. I better get home.”

He frowns at me. “I thought we decided it would be smarter if you stayed?” He raises his eyebrows. “Remember? Guest room? Or mine. Whichever. I’m easy.”

I point at him. “NowthatI believe.” That makes him laugh, and I grin reflexively.

No! Stop! No smiling and flirting with the dickweasel. Get it together!

Blinking, I force the smile off my face. “Anyway, I’m not staying. I’d appreciate a ride home, since you’re the one who hijacked my night and made me come over.”

He pulls out his phone, completely ignoring what I just said, and taps on the screen.

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