Page 33 of Ink & Ambition

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Have I asked you to sleep with me?” I respond, not missing a beat and I wait for her to respond. Only after she shakes her head do I continue. “I came to the realization that I’ve never been friends with a girl like this. I actually like our friendship. It’s different but I’m getting used to it.”

Margot thinks for a minute, resting her head against the door she’s still holding open. “So we’re…friends?”

“Only if you want to be.”

Margot thinks for a second, narrowing her eyes and then finding some resolve in herself because she opens the door a little bit wider.

I grin as I walk into her apartment. “Okay, but now that we’re officially friends, can I request a more fun activity than reading? Please? Anything?”

She laughs and tosses the remote to me. “Pick a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

I give her a grateful half-bow before jumping over her couch and settling into the pillows and cushions.Girls, always got comfy shit around. I need more comfy shit. Minutes later, Margot joins me on the couch with a steaming bowl of popcorn and two water bottles.

“I narrowed it down to three. You get to make the final decision but be warned: Your choice will affect how cool I think you are.”

She grabs the remote from me with a huff, “I’ll show you cool,” she mutters, looking at the large screen in front of her. On the streaming app, I favorited three movies.

Fight Club. It. Little Women.

“You know, all of these movies are book adaptations,” she says, popping a piece of the buttery snack into her mouth.

“You don’t say,” I reply, mimicking her snack movement with a smirk.

Margot looks over at me and finds something in my expression that causes her to smile. “Okay, let’s break these down then. If I pickFight Club, then I’m a tough chick that doesn’t mind a little vulgarity and mind-fuckery.”

“Is mind-fuckery a word?”

She ignores my dig as she continues, “If I pickIt, I’m either into scary movies and will enjoy the horror and gore or I’m a scared little girl who you’re hoping will cuddle up forprotection,” she rolls her eyes, placing them back on the screen. I laugh at her assessments, but also come to realize, she’s not totally wrong.

“And if I pickLittle Women, I’m a chick lit snob who will probably go on a rant about how Jo should’ve just picked Laurie from the start and avoided all this drama.” Margot looks over at me again and I keep my expression as blank as possible.

“But the twenty-nineteen adaptation is so good,” Margot pleads and I bust out a laugh as I grab the remote and put onLittle Women. “Score,” she hums, getting more comfortable in her seat.

Something I learn over the next one hundred and thirty-five minutes is that Margot Davis is a movie talker. If she wasn’t trying to explain the plot to me, she was commenting on their clothes, their accents or how Timothée Chalamet really was cast perfectly.

“I didn’t peg you as a Timothée Chalamet fan girl,” I comment as the credits roll.

“I’m not,” Margot responds. “I just think he’s a good actor.”

I nod, placing the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of us. Leaning on my side, I rest my elbow on the back of the couch and use my palm to hold my head up. “Whoareyou a fan of then? Better yet, who’s on your elevator list?”

“My what?” Margot asks, her legs bent underneath her, her knees pointing toward me.

“You know, the list of three celebrities that, should you ever find yourself stuck in an elevator with them, you get a free pass to hook up with them.”

Margot laughs. “That’s ridiculous. When would I ever be stuck in an elevator with a celebrity and why would the first thought be ‘oh, I get to hook up with them now. Rules are rules!’” She keeps giggling as she takes a sip of her water.

“You’re thinking about it too hard, sunshine. Just pick three celebrities you’d want to hook up with. I already know mine.”

“Go on, then,” She caps her empty bottle, placing it in the popcorn bowl on the table. When she settles back onto the couch, her position mirrors mine exactly.

“Easy: Olivia Rodrigo, Selena Gomez, and Jenna Ortega.”

“All brunettes,” she comments, putting a stray piece of her brown hair behind her ear.

I purse my lips and shake my head with feigned confusion. “I don’t see the correlation.” Margot only raises her eyebrows. “Alright, fess up now. Who’s on your list?”

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