Once she was cruising along Kingston Road back toward the city, she shot him a sideways glance. “I’m not sure in what universe that was a spectacular success, but I’m taking your word for it.”
“I think it was the gelato that did it. My mother has the world’s biggest sweet tooth. I can guarantee that right now she’s rehearsing a version of her life where she only has to walk two minutes outside her door to procure gelato. With her, the lack of negative comment is akin to a glowing review. The wheels are turning.” Thanks to you. The woman really was a freaking genius. But he didn’t say that. He was already playing it not-cool with the whole “we’re going to a movie, but we’re really going to have sex” thing, so he’d take it easy on the expressions of gratitude and amazement.
“So what movie are we seeing?”
Oh, come on. She had to have recognized that for the ploy it was. He took a deep breath, trying to think how to delicately broach the subject, but all that did was fill his head with more strawberries. And since she wasn’t in this to be wooed, he defaulted to the direct route. “We’re not going to a movie. You’ve been driving me insane all evening with that strawberry perfume and your cute little matchbox car, so we’re going to the condo for more fucking.”
If he hadn’t been watching her closely as he spoke, he would have missed the almost-undetectable hitch in her breath. She was getting good at covering her initial, genuine reaction in favor of a facade she thought was better presented to the world. He wasn’t sure he liked that notion.
But there was no time for analysis because she accelerated though a yellow light, and said, calmly, “I want to go to a movie.” He would have slumped in dejection if he hadn’t detected another infinitesimal hitch. Then she added, “First.”
He whipped out his phone and began scrolling through and announcing the listings for the various downtown theaters.
“We went to the Royal last time,” she said. “Well, we sort of went to the Royal.” She grinned, no doubt remembering their aborted Godfather Part III jaunt. “Let’s keep with the rep cinemas. What’s on at Mount Pleasant?” she asked, naming an uptown theater that played art films and classics. “It’s right near my house,” she added, gracing him with a look that could not be described as anything other than smoldering.
He brought up the listing and had to refrain from rolling his eyes. “An Affair to Remember.” Of course.
“Sold!” Accelerating, she changed lanes so she could hang a right and begin working her way uptown.
…
Man, what was the big freaking deal about movie popcorn? Amy clutched her peanut butter cups as Dax discussed in great detail the topping situation with the acne-ridden teenager manning the concession booth.
“It’s real butter, right? Because if it’s some kind of bullshit butter-flavored topping, I’ll just skip it altogether.”
Once the authenticity of the butter had been established, and its placement at precise intervals throughout the bag assured, they finally found their seats, just as the lights were going down.
Amy didn’t want to see this movie. Didn’t give a flying fig about Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant and whether they were going to show up at the godforsaken Empire State Building. She just wanted to go home and let Dax put his hands—and his mouth—all over her. But a girl had to have a little pride. Maintain a little dignity. So by the time Deborah was all, “It’s the nearest thing to heaven, blahbity, blah, blah, blah,” Amy was gathering her bag. And when Cary was carrying Deborah over the threshold from the point of view of that damn dog, she had stood up.
“You don’t want to wait for the end?”
She sat down with a thud. “Oh my God. You have a thing about the credits, don’t you? You have to stay to the bitter end.”
“No. I just would have thought you would. You seem like the type.”
“Nope!” She was halfway down the aisle before she knew for sure he was following. So much for playing it cool. But she could no longer be bothered to care. They had sat there through that whole freaking two-hour movie without touching. There hadn’t even been a Rico Suave arm over the back of the seats. And now her skin was on fire.
She led him outside to the tiny parking spot right in front of the theater that she’d gloatingly squeezed into on their way in, instructed him to buckle his seat belt, and hightailed it up Mount Pleasant.
He didn’t speak until they came to a stop in front of her place. “You’re selling your house?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She’d just signed the papers with the Realtor yesterday, and they must have put the sign up while she was at work today. “The place is too big for just me.” She skipped the part where since all her life plans had gone up in smoke, she was jonesing for fresh digs, a place that didn’t remind her at every turn of how inadequate she had been.