Page 72 of Biggest Player
She has a blanket folded over one arm because, according to her, she always gets cold when she’s in the theater and always has one in the back of her car.
“Ready?”
She nods happily, a pep in her step. “I’ve been dying to see this movie.”
I haven’t.
I don’t love chick flicks, but this one is a mash-up of action, comedy, and romance—so with any luck, we’ll both enjoy it. Usually I’m a fan of sci-fi or movies based on comic books, or even horror, depending on the mood.
Margot and I score seats near the back, in the middle, surrounded by a sea of empty seats.
Perfect.
As the previews for new movies begin, Margot nudges me and offers me the popcorn, her hand already firmly planted inside the big bucket of kernels.
I shake my head, not hungry for it yet.
“I only eat once the movie has started,” I whisper, leaning closer.
She stuffs a handful into her mouth.
“I want to see this,” she tells me, referring to the preview of a movie releasing in winter, eyes locked on the screen. “Looks so good.”
A few minutes later she’s pointing at the action unfolding in front of us. “Why do they make so many action movies? Not everyone likes watching this crap. Pass.”
Then, “Oh!” She nudges me. “I love Kat Kittson! She’s making another rom-com!”
I have no idea who Kat Kittson is, but apparently Margot loves her.
She continues analyzing movie trailers, remarking that it’s one of her favorite things about coming to the cinema, enthusiastically giving them a thumbs-up or thumbs-down—until the opening credits roll for the movie we’re here to see.
The lights dim.
I turn, studying her profile—the outline of her nose. Chin. The silhouette of her hair.
She’s so focused and intent, already laughing at one of the funny one-liners. I know her eyes are crinkling at the corners in the adorable way they do, her dimple on full display,and now my focus isn’t on the film.
What would she do if she knew about my conversation with Trent? I was so close to spilling the beans today when we were golfing but lost the courage. I honestly don’t want her to think I’m a piece of shit, but I also want to be direct with her. What better time to start?
I mean, look at us.
Friends.
But there’s no fucking way she wants to keep it like that. She originally swiped on me because she wanted to date me, yeah? Or to bust me because she thought I was a catfish, but that’s a minor detail. She may pretend we’re not attracted to each other and that she wants to keep me at arm’s length, but she can’t fool me.
I see the way she blushes when she catches me looking at her, and I felt her breathing get heavier when she wrapped her arms around me at Glam Golf USA. Not to brag, but I’ve met enough women to know when they’re hot and bothered, and Margot was hot.
And bothered.
Is it my imagination, or does Margot lean in a little closer each time she offers me a snack?
I glance at her again, drinking in the sight as she watches the screen, as if she were a teenager, and my mind wanders. I made out in a movietheater once when I was a teen, always horny, always putting the moves on people first.
Speaking of horny . . .
Why is the blanket across her lap drawing my eyes to it? Why do I want to slide my hand beneath it and run my palm along her inner thigh?The blanket feels like a barrier and an invitation all at once.
Wonder what she’d do if ...
