This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,42

that’s angry and vulnerable and frightening and hot enough that I can feel something unfurling in my belly.

I take a deep breath and try to calm my hormones.

The room is so quiet that I can hear Will’s breath hitch a little, but I don’t dare look at him because I can feel my face flushing. The place where our knees touch feels like it’s generating enough energy to power the city of Utica for the next decade.

Finally, after approximately four decades, the characters on the screen break their lip lock, and Jane grabs Tom’s head, shakes it a bit, and tells him, “I could kill you.”

“Yes, you could,” Tom mumbles.

The line is so good, I have to make a joke about it so I don’t cry. “Nothing says I love you more than whispering sweet homicidal nothings,” I say.

Will turns to grin at me. I smile shyly and intend to go right back to watching the scene and listening to James L. Brooks’s genius commentary, but I can’t. I’m transfixed by Will’s lips, the nearness of them. The air between us feels like a live thing, vibrating with tension.

And that’s when I break down and make the cheesiest, tropiest move ever: I do a kickass classic arm stretch, ending up draped over Will’s shoulder with my head nestling into his very, very nice bicep.

“I’m so glad you’re not an asshole,” I sigh, the words traveling straight from my hindbrain to my mouth.

I have the best pickup lines.

WILL

One minute I’m watching deleted scenes, stressing out over everything: Should I have gotten Jos her own bowl of popcorn? Is this just a friendly movie night, or is it a date? If I make a move, will it ruin things forever? The next minute, Jocelyn is leaning into my shoulder, and I don’t think I have ever been more present, or more alive, in a single moment. Ever.

For a split second, I wonder if she’s feeling light-headed and just needed to lie down. But her eyes are open and fixed on the screen. She’s smiling faintly, and when she looks up to see what I can only imagine is a completely flummoxed expression on my face, her grin gets wider, and she says, “I’m so glad you’re not an asshole.”

Me too, Jocelyn. Me too.

It takes me a few minutes, but right around the time that my left arm falls asleep I realize that I can make a move, too. I wiggle my arm out from under her and slide it around her shoulders, pulling her in to what can only be described as a Grade A, 100 percent bona fide cuddle.

It feels like when you’ve been playing outside all day in the winter, and you’ve got snow inside your socks, and your snot’s frozen in your nose, and you come inside your house and your mom has hot chocolate already made for you with pastel-colored mini marshmallows, and fresh warm clothes that she’s just run through the dryer.

It feels like when you’ve been working on a story for weeks, and there’s this one source who you really need who isn’t returning your e-mails, and there’s a huge gap in the narrative where you have nothing to show for your research, but suddenly, the day before your deadline, the person responds and gives you exactly the information you need to deliver a kickass piece.

It feels warm. It feels true. It feels right.

This Is My Brain on Tension

JOCELYN

James L. Brooks is a legendary director, but I’ve got to admit I barely register the featurette on his career due to my brain being on a continuous loop of: “He likes me! He put his arm around me and we’re snuggling! Holy shit, I think this is now officially a real date, not a non-date! OMG, Priya is going to. Freak. Out.”

At the end of the night, we still haven’t really said that we like each other, but it seems pretty clear to me. This is uncharacteristically optimistic, I know, but it’s not like I can’t think positively. I just prefer not to, to avoid disappointment.

When we’re out of extras, I rack my brain for how to further confirm my hypothesis that he is into me. Honestly, though, the longer we stay glued to each other like this, the more I feel like I’ve met the burden of proof.

“Did you like it?” I ask, though what I’m really asking is, “Do you like me?”

“I thought it was awesome,” he says, which is a satisfactory answer on all