Page 130 of Text Me Baby One More Time

“We’re the only people in here!”

“No you’re not!” someone yells from the other side of the theater.

We’re seated in the very back row, tucked away in a dark corner. This guy must be in the same spot on the other side because when I peek around the projection box, I don’t see him.

“Oh, and one other thing: no one eats chips during a movie! It’s loud and obnoxious. Just eat those chicken nuggets I can smell from here and skip the chips.”

“I-I… Okay.”

“Shh! The movie is starting!” the stranger says impatiently.

Shep shakes with laughter next to me and I toss a glare his way.

“What?” he whispers. “I told you to skip the chips.”

“Shut up, you ass!”

The movie begins playing, but I can’t focus on the screen. All that’s running through my mind is Shep and a possible future.

I want to be with him. If I’m being damn honest with myself, I’ve always wanted to be with him, even when I hated him…except when I think about Shep, commitment doesn’t come to mind. The heartache from before does.

Is he that same guy he was then? Has he actually changed? I’ve watched him over the years, a different girl on his arm every day. He never settled down, never tried. He can say he was waiting for me all he wants, but that doesn’t make it true.

“Stop thinking so loud or we’re going to get yelled at again,” he says in my ear.

“I’m not thinking.”

“Yes, you are. You’re worried I don’t mean what I said.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know you, Den. I’ve always known you, better than anyone else in the whole fucking world.”

He pushes up the armrest between us then takes the purse and food and shoves them into the empty seat next to him.

He hauls me onto his lap and suddenly I’m straddling him.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“This movie sucks.”

“It’s just the previews.”

“I’veheardit sucks.”

The bright screen illuminates the glow in his eyes, and I know just what he’s after—me.

“Shepard Clark, are you trying to get me to make out with you in a movie theater?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was hoping we’d be alone, but this is close enough.”

Then he’s kissing me. And I’m letting him.

Spreading my legs farther apart, I sink down onto him more, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers in his hair. It’s soft, messy as always.

He drags his fingers down my back and his touch feels like the sun itself brushing against me. His hands dip into the waistband of my jeans and I suddenly wish I had worn something else—something with easier access.

He voices my thought against my lips. “Why couldn’t you have worn a skirt?”

---