Page 14 of Quarantine Crush
She hurries past me, and I’m left alone for the next few minutes. To pass the time, I scroll through messages, ignoring most of them. Despite everything, I’m not the kind of guy who pays more attention to his phone than who he’s with. I see a message from Nelle. It’s not urgent, but I don’t want to leave her hanging.
I type a quick response and slide my phone away as Emy returns, loaded down with refreshments.
I take the oversized popcorn and one of the sodas while she gets settled.
“Thanks,” Emy says.
When she sits again, her shoulder brushes mine, and I look over in time to see her cheeks stained pink before she turns away. A second later, the lights dim as the movie starts.
Fuck me.
So I’m not the only one still feeling awkward.
Great.
An hour and a half of weirdness later, the movie is finally over. We’ve barely touched the popcorn, both of us clearly too worried that our hands would brush in some awkward-ass Lady and the Tramp moment that neither one of us will be able to recover from.
Emy is a statue, stiff and silent beside me. She doesn’t even laugh at the parts that are funny, and there’s zero commentary. The Mummy used to be a favorite of ours, and the fact that she didn’t even utter one of our catchphrases during the action parts is the biggest proof that we’re not okay.
When we exit out onto the street, I can only think of one thing that will help us now.
“I know you mentioned the Rock Garden for lunch, but how about Bloody Marys and brunch instead?” I ask, nodding at the cafe across the street. There’s an outdoor patio with a few empty tables, and Emy nods. Enthusiastically, I note.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
She power-walks across the street, and I almost have to jog to keep up with her. Apparently, my plan is something we can both get behind.
At the table, I order a Bloody Mary Deluxe–which is, evidently, a double with a side of bacon. Emy orders the same.
“I thought you hated Bloody Marys,” I say when the waitress leaves.
She shrugs. “People change.”
Huh.
That’s an understatement.
For some reason, before I can help myself, my gaze flicks to her chest.
What the actual hell?
My eyes snap back to hers, but I can see my little perusal didn’t go unnoticed. Now, I’m the one whose face is warm.
“So, The Mummy, huh? It’s a classic,” I say.
Emy nods, but she’s too distracted by her phone to answer.
The drinks can’t come fast enough, and when they finally arrive, I drain half before I realize I’m being a little obvious. When I look up, Emy’s brows are both raised, and she has this adorable “You’re not fooling anyone” look on her face.
“Now who’s trying to get back at their liver?” she teases.
I grin.
Lunch improves drastically after that, and by Bloody Mary number two, the awkwardness is gone. I’m relieved more than anything else. This is the version of us that I’ve missed. The fact that we barely managed to get here with the help of alcohol is not something I want to dwell on.
“Oh, remember the time we accidentally broke your mom’s lamp trying to sneak in after curfew and you blamed it on Christian?” she says, laughing as we reminisce about all the shenanigans we put our family through over the years.
“Yeah, I feel kinda bad that to this day, my mom thinks he broke it.”
