Pause (Larsen Bros)

“You okay?” he asks, gaze concerned.

Every muscle in me from top to toe is drawn tight and I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. “Yeah. I just . . . I forgot about that bit. But it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“We can change movies if you want.”

“No. It’s all right. Wait. Are you okay?” After all, I’m not the only one with issues relating to motor vehicle accidents. “Do you want to turn it off?”

He shrugs. “I’m fine.”

That’s it. That’s all he gives me. But somehow, I don’t quite believe him. There’s a certain tension to him too. Unless he’s feeding off of my angst. Fuck, I wish I had a psychology degree around about now.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Okay.” I settle back, taking nice, deep even breaths. What am I going to do? Freak out every time there’s a car crash on TV? Nope. I will not let my fears rule me. Nor can I force Leif into confronting whatever may or may not be hiding inside his head. That’s his trauma to process in his own time.

On screen, Bella is surrounded by her concerned friends before being examined by a doctor. The bland walls and hospital beds and everything are an immediate downer.

“Yuck,” I say. “If I never see the inside of a hospital again I’ll die happy.”

He sighs and settles back into the couch without a word. More proof that the screechy vehicle sounds got on his nerves too. Leif is a chatterer. He always has something to say. Which makes me wonder if the violence upsets him also. Seeing his sister-in-law left bleeding out on the ground after a knife attack would have to stick inside your head. The sight of so much blood and pain must linger in the worst way possible. And it happened pretty much right outside our front door.

It didn’t even occur to me when I was choosing the movie to beware of blood and violence. I’m a lousy friend. Leif has been through a crazy amount in the last couple of years. I’m impressed he’s managed to hold himself together as well as he has.

“Do you think having your dad as the local sheriff would mean you were more or less inclined to get into mischief?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Depends on how deep your need to rebel runs, I guess,” I say. “We really can put on something else if you’d prefer.”

“Nuh.”

Okay. “Oh, they’re having their first fight slash mild disagreement. How dramatic.”

“Much tension.”

“Such romance.”

And because I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye, I catch his frown a minute or two later. “Is it really considered romantic to break into a girl’s room and stand in the corner watching her sleep?”

“Let’s remember that this is a fantasy,” I say. “We know that she’s fundamentally safe with Edward because he’s the hero. We can trust him to always do the right thing with her. Therefore we can imagine being wanted in that all-consuming way to such a thrilling degree by a hot dude while disregarding any and all real-life stalkers-breaking-and-entering concerns.”

A grunt from him.

I curl my feet up underneath me. So I spent the better part of my teenage years overthinking Twilight. It made me happy.

“You once commented that you thought I was hot,” he says.

“Did I?”

“Am I to therefore believe that you would find it thrilling for me to watch you sleep?”

“I’m pretty sure you have better things to do than watch me sleep.” My heart did not start beating faster at his words. It’s just still riled up over the car thing. “Like seeing to your belly-button lint issue.”

With a frown, he tugs up his T-shirt. Oh good God, what have I done? He sits there beside me, showing off his amazing body like it’s nothing. And of course I cannot look away. I’m so weak and wanton these days. It’s dreadful.

“My belly button is perfectly clean.” He sniffs with disdain. “Where are you getting your information from, lady?”

“It was a joke. Stop it.” I tug on his shirt with a scowl. “Cover yourself.”

“Why? What’s wrong with my body?” He smirks. Because he knows damn well he’s perfection. The asshole. I hate him and I keep having this insane urge to have sex with him, but we’re really just friends. Just. Friends.

For so many reasons.

“Nothing,” I say. “I made a joke and you took it too far.”

“Did not.”

“Did too,” I say, because mature competent adult.

“Did not.”

“I am rising above your petty and juvenile behavior,” I say, then seize control of the bowl of popcorn. Maybe if I keep my mouth full I’ll refrain from saying anything stupid ever again, or at least for a little while. A girl can dream. But first, “House rule number one. People in central areas of the residence must be fully dressed at all times.”