Page 72 of Sharing Shane

“Aw,” she said, and he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “When was that?”

“When I was twelve.”

Now she did laugh. “So, what, twenty years ago? Do you think you might have a different view of things now?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “No horror movies.”

“Fine,” she said with a roll of her eyes, and she scooted closer. “I’ll watch whatever you want.”

He lifted his arm so she could snuggle against his side, then draped it over her as he flipped through the channels. She let out a contented sigh, her breath dancing over his skin, and just for a moment, he let himself dream.

Twelve

Wyatt frowned at him, the golf club in his hand lined up for a swing. “What did she want to watch?”

“Night of the Living Dead.”

Wyatt nodded. “Which you, of course, vetoed.”

“Yep.”

“What’d you want to watch?”

Shane shrugged and leaned on his five-iron. Or his nine-iron, he could never tell the difference. “Whatever, just not horror.”

Wyatt straightened, a grin creasing his face. “You wanted to watch Dirty Dancing, didn’t you?”

Shane scowled. “It’s a good movie. A classic.”

“Dirty Dancing is not a classic, love.”

“It was on a list of top twenty classic romantic movies,” Shane shot back.

Wyatt merely lifted a brow. “And who published this list?”

“Teen Vogue,” Shane muttered and sighed when Wyatt laughed. “Are you going to hit that thing or not?”

“In a minute.” Ignoring the ball, Wyatt continued to grin at Shane. “Did she go along with Dirty Dancing?”

“Yes.”

“Did you cry when Johnny said ‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner’?”

“Just hit the ball,” Shane said with a scowl.

Wyatt hit the ball, but he was laughing so hard he sent it skipping off into the trees.

“Shanked it,” Shane said smugly.

“Who cares? God, I hate golf.”

Shane stepped up to the tee and placed his ball. “Then why are we here?”

“Because all the lawyers are going deep sea fishing and I get seasick.”

“We could’ve just hung out on the beach,” Shane pointed out.

“Yeah, but this way I have something to talk about at dinner tonight. If I stare at you in swim trunks all afternoon, all I’ll have to talk about is your ass.”

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