Page 70 of In the Net
“What makes you say that?” I challenge.
He just shakes his head like he can see through me. “A show where the jokes are all about how much smarter the main character thinks he is than everyone around him? Please. That has my girlfriend written all over it.”
Flutters swirl through my chest. He needs to stop using that word.
“Fine. It’s not bad,” I admit, clicking to start a random episode.
Sebastian chuckles smugly. “Now you’re going to be trying not to laugh for the whole episode so you can keep pretending you don’t love this show. Because you’re too embarrassed to reveal how well your boyfriend knows you.” His voice is full of glee, like he enjoys nothing more than teasing me.
Not as embarrassing as how you have to stand that awkward way with your legs to try and hide your erections when we’re pretending to flirt in public.
That comeback blares through my head, but I clamp down on my tongue.
We get through one episode while Sebastian makes progress on the table. I hit play on the next one. In the middle of the episode, there’s a scene where one character is trying to teach another how to dance, and Sebastian laughs.
“Man, this scene just hit me with deja-vu about how my high school hockey coach made us do a couple ballet trainings. To increase our agility and flexibility, he said.”
“Youdid ballet?” I ask, amused.
Sebastian wiggles his eyebrows. “If you play your cards right, I might let you see me do a pirouette.”
All I can do is roll my eyes.
“What about you? Any dancing talents you’re holding out on?”
“Well, I can do the worm. That’s about it.”
When Sebastian doesn’t respond, I slide my gaze in his direction to find astonished delight all over his face.
“You can do the worm?” he asks, like he can hardly believe it.
I tilt a shoulder. “It’s not that hard.”
“Show me.”
A weird feeling curls in my stomach. Letting myself look goofy in front of Sebastian while doing a ridiculous dance move doesn’t feel right. That’s the kind of vulnerability real couples show each other.
“No,” I answer.
“Come on,” he prods in a sing-song voice, like we’re in elementary school again and he’s leading a chorus of peer pressure.
“No.”
“I’ll do an entire ballet routine if you do just one worm.”
The thought of Sebastian’s long, muscle-toned legs and firm bubble butt in a pair of ballet tights seeps into my head, but I chase it away.
“No,” I repeat, stonewalling.
“There’s gotta be something I can do in exchange for you showing me just one worm,” he says.
I side-eye him. “Score three goals in your next game.”
His brows knit. “You mean, like, the whole team scores three goals?”
“No. You.”
His brows unknit only to elevate up his forehead. “You want me to get a hat trick? Do you know how hard that is?”
