Love You Better (Better Love 1)

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Ivy asks. She’s perched herself on the black leather sofa, the tie-dye throw blanket she keeps here is spread over her lap, and she’s moved Jesse’s yarn basket to the floor, so she could set food up on the coffee table in front of her.

Once again, I’m struck with just how perfect she looks in my personal space, how perfectly she fits in my life. And, once again, I squash those thoughts as fast as fucking possible and remind myself that she is my friend. Only my friend.

“Definitely. Just let me shower, first.” I set my food down on the table next to hers and turn toward the bathroom. “I just ran fifteen and a half miles.”

“Ick.” She shudders, and I laugh at her.

“Cue it up. Romantic comedy? Action? Period drama?”

“Hmmm. I vote horror,” she says impishly, and I groan.

“Of course you do,” I say, and she wiggles happily on her cushion. “You’re only doing this because you like to see me squirm.”

“That’s not true! I love blood and guts and ghosts and such.”

“Fine.” I give in with a sigh and hand her the remote so she can pick a film, then head to the bathroo

m for my shower. “I’ll be right out.”

One hour into the movie, and I know it’s going to happen.

I can feel it. I’m on the edge of my fucking seat, heart racing as I watch the dumbass on the TV walking down a dark hallway lined with closed doors. He’s escaped death twice now; there’s no way he’ll do it a third time.

As the guy reaches for a doorknob, I dig my fingertips into my thighs. This is it. This is definitely the room where the knife wielding psychopath is hiding. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my ribcage.

Fuck, I fucking hate horror films.

When the guy flings open the door, I jump, but there’s nothing inside, and I heave a sigh of relief right along with the dumb fuck on the screen.

I glance over at Ivy. She’s got her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms hugging them to her body, and the blanket draped around her shoulders. Her eyes are wide, and her breath is heavy as she stares at the screen. She gasps as the guy in the movie opens another door, and I whip my eyes back to the television.

This is it.

This one has to be the one.

Third door. Third time’s a charm.

Dude is fucking toast.

The movie music gets louder, more ominous, and I suck in a breath. He turns the knob and—

“Fuck!” I shriek, jumping off the couch and running to the edge of the living room while Ivy’s hysterical laughter fills my ears. “What the fuck, Ives!”

My side burns from where she poked me, and she’s hunched over laughing, tears welling in her eyes. Even though I was just about ready to run for my fucking life, I have to hold back a smile.

“That’s not fucking funny, Ivy,” I say between gasps. “You know I get jumpy during these fucking movies.”

“I know,” she pushes out, “I know. I’m sorry. I was just going to have you pass me my beer. Oh my gosh, Kelley! You should have seen your face!”

She’s laughing harder now, but she attempts to twist her features into a terrified expression and lets out a high-pitched squealing noise.

“I don’t fucking sound like that,” I protest, still trying to catch my breath.

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I don’t,” I shout playfully and toss a couch pillow at her.

The pillow smacks her in the face, but it just makes Ivy laugh harder, and she makes the squealing noise again.