“Nice tie,” he whispered close to my ear.
My heart leapt, and I stopped breathing for a moment.
His breath tickled my hair. “Thank you for wearing it.”
I couldn’t turn around and look at him because I was sure my face was ten shades of red. He’d put his tie on me after the movies when he’d dropped me at home, and I wasn’t going to wear it, but…
He’d taken another bad day and made it good. I liked wearing something that reminded me of it.
He dipped down, slipping his hand around my waist and breathing into my neck.
“Emmy…”
Heat covered my body, hearing him say it just like he’d said it when I straddled him in the theater.
“Please,” I begged, throwing off his hand, “just…go back to your table.” I looked over to their regular seats, seeing Damon watching us while pretty girls loitered around. “Lots there to keep your attention.”
“That’s not what I want,” he taunted, squeezing my waist again.
I moved down the line, looking around to see if anyone else was watching us.
“Don’t worry,” he said letting me go and adding a brownie and chocolate milk to my tray. “All they see is me fucking with you. They’d never suspect—”
“That you were serious?”
He grinned to himself and dumped a bag of pretzels and some French fries on my tray. “No, that you like me.”
He reached around my other side, his cheek on mine as he reached for a pudding and fruit cup.
He blanketed my back, pressing into me, and my heart beat so fast. I turned my head, feeling his lips close to mine.
“Please, just…” Go sit down.
But the words were lost, and I didn’t finish the sentence. Sweat cooled my neck, and I finally clenched my tray, getting a hold of myself.
“Just go sit down,” I snapped and then blinked, seeing all the shit on my tray. “And stop putting all this food on here! You’re not eating with me.”
“It’s for you,” he told me, taking out his wallet. “You’re pale. All of that’s kosher, right?”
I growled, starting to put the food back, but he grabbed my tray and handed the cashier the money.
“I’m going to need my tie back,” he said. “Tonight.”
“I can’t,” I told him.
“You will.” He took his change and handed me the tray. “I’ll pick you up at the end of your block at eleven.”
“I can’t,” I said, louder this time.
But he came in closer, looking down at me. “And then I’m taking you to my house. Just us. I want to have a Mission: Impossible marathon with you tonight.”
A Mission: Impos…? I snorted, despite myself, and quickly looked away, trying to hide my smile. God, he was an idiot.
I wanted to go, though.
I stood there, shaking my head absently. “I can’t,” I mouthed.
Martin would find out.