I shifted closer to him on the couch. Our thighs touched and he looked at me briefly, some unspoken words between us. Careful, his eyes seemed to say. This is alright, but no more. Careful.
I leaned back on the couch, looking towards the ceiling. My head lolled, rolling to the side, touching the top of his shoulder. “I never did anything like that,” I said. “I liked to read a book after I saw the movie, though. If I saw a movie and liked it and found out it was based on a book, I needed to read the book after. I don’t know why, since I knew most of what would happen, but it’s still different, too. Sometimes a lot different.”
“Like what?” he asked. He put a hand on my thigh by my knee, a friendly gesture. My heart raced at his touch.
“It’s not that old, but The Notebook was a good one. I saw the movie and then read the book. It’s the same story, but they’re told very differently. I think Nicholas Sparks is a wonderful author.”
“Have you seen Dear John?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, giving him a funny look. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen it? The powerful Asher Landseer, CEO and billionaire, with a soft spot for dramatic romances?”
“Amanda Seyfried,” he said, as if this was an excuse. “That’s what I tell people, anyways. She is beautiful, but I enjoyed the movie, too. It’s interesting. Very different from what you’d expect.” Out of the blue, he glanced at me and added, “You look a little like her, you know? Your eyes. I mean, I’m not trying to…” He trailed off, realizing what he’d just said.
Flirting, admiring me, playful banter. I drank it all in, absolutely adored it, and yet I knew it made him uncomfortable(and for good reason). “Right,” I said, laughing, rolling my eyes. “There is no way I look anything like Amanda Seyfried.”
“Maybe not, but I think so,” he said. He changed the subject. “How was the pizza? Alright?”
“Phenomenal!” I said. “I really liked it.”
The credits of the movie finished and Asher clicked some buttons on the remote to switch the projector off. We sat there, talking, telling each other a million little things about ourselves. What did I like to do when I had a day off? Where did he like to go, what was his favorite place in the city? What did I think of the restaurant the other day? What kind of music did he like to listen to? Did I like coffee? He knew a great, quiet coffee shop in a quaint town nearby. Maybe we could go there sometime; they had local author readings, poetry, and trivia events.
Evening settled into dusk, which turned into night. The tinted windows looked pitch black, the darkness outside wearing away their usefulness. Asher had dimmed the lights when he started the movie(another one of his secret switches), and his guest home transformed into a quiet, relaxing place. It was almost as if it were anywhere else, as if we weren’t sitting on a couch at his multi-million dollar estate and instead were somewhere far off and regular.
We dozed, talking, but responding less and less often. I leaned against him, my eyes closed, never wanting this night to end but knowing I’d fall asleep soon. And, without warning, it happened.
…
I awoke in the dead of night. Asher must have stayed awake longer than me, since the lights were dimmed even lower now, almost nonexistent. I could see enough of the living room to notice he’d covered us with blankets and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants. On the coffee table, folded and in a pile, he’d left me a pair of nightclothes, too. I stretched, gently pushed the blankets off of me, and stood up. I needed to use the bathroom, so I figured I’d change into the pajamas while I was at it.
They must be his wife’s, but they fit me pretty well. Or, had he bought them for me specifically? I couldn’t imagine anyone ordering a pair of pajamas for delivery in the middle of the night, but then again I never could have imagined spending the night with someone like Asher Landseer before now, either. I thought about that, wondering, as I made my way back to the living room and the blankets. I suppose I could have went upstairs to one of the beds, but I liked the idea of sleeping with Asher. Just close, right? Nothing more than that, nothing more than what we’d already done.
I slipped under the blankets, careful not to disturb him, and eased towards him again. He lay on his back on the couch, but the seat cushions were big enough that if I wanted to I could inch up and lay next to him. A tight fit if I did that, but not too bad. Or, at least, I wouldn’t fall off the couch unless we both moved around a lot in our sleep.
I didn’t go that far, but I leaned against his feet, resting my upper body against the back of the couch. My arm fidgeted, pulling the blankets over me. In the dark, I couldn’t see much, and my hand moved beneath the blankets, trying to figure out where one of them stopped and the other began. It wasn’t that easy, though. While we slept, our blankets must have gotten mixed up a bit. I had a part of his and he had a part of mine and…