my hand.”
“Your—”
Merde. I don’t need to open my eyes to realize we aren’t even holding hands. No, I’m holding on to his hand. His fist. With both of my hands. And I’m squeezing it.
Could I be more of a freak? I slowly weaken my grasp and then stretch out my aching fingers. How long have I been holding on so tight?
“Were you having a bad dream?”
No, a very, very good dream. “Yes.”
“Are you ready for the next movie?”
No. “Yup.” Because if I say no, if he does anything but turn on the next film, something bad will happen. He’ll leave, and the awkwardness will balloon out until it encompasses the dorm and the campus and maybe the entire state. Or else we’ll have to talk, and that would be so much worse.
So yes. Definitely yes.
Zeke leans forward to fiddle with the computer, his chest grazing the side of my face until I feel like the center of a Zeke sandwich. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“No problem.” And that’s the first true statement I’ve made in a long time.
An hour later, I’m shifting uncomfortably on Zeke’s bed. When Marianne told us on the first day that some of the films might be racy, I think she was talking about this one. Because there’s a topless French woman with long, thick hair sitting on top of a man on a chair. And his hands are on her bottom, pulling her closer, holding her in place. I should have slept through this one.
I try desperately not to move. Maybe Zeke will think I’ve fallen back asleep. Maybe he’ll—
Her head tipped back, the man kisses the base of her neck, the indentation of her throat, his hands now cupping—
“Merde.”
“Uh-huh.”
Zeke’s legs are flexed beneath me and I imagine this is not terribly comfortable. His fingers are no longer combing through my hair; they are now perfectly still. We are both perfectly still.
The man stands up, the topless woman’s legs coming around his waist, and he carries her toward a different room and I know the odds are not in my favor but please, for the love of god, I’m not a prude, I’m not opposed to sex or sex in a movie, but please, god, let this fade to black because I’m going to have a heart attack if it doesn’t.
The bedroom door in the movie closes behind the couple, and both Zeke and I exhale noisily.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Zeke says, his voice thicker and deeper than before.
“Definitely.” Mine is a lovely squeak.
Merveilleux. Marvelous.
I slip out to the bathroom; Zeke goes downstairs to get some cans of soda. We agree to meet back in my room. His room feels a little too sexually charged.
It takes several splashes of cold water before my face feels like it has a chance in hell of looking like it’s not ready to go nuclear. I deliberately take the corner sink, the one with no mirror above it, because if I actually saw the color of my cheeks, I’d be right back to where I was several hours ago, planning how I could successfully live my entire life in the bathroom.
When I get to my room, Zeke is already there.
“That was kind of intense.” I chuckle. Only there’s still that nasty squeak in my voice, the one that makes it seem like I took a deep breath of a helium balloon before speaking.
“Je ne parle pas anglais. Désolé!” His lips press together as if they can keep the grin inside.
“It was really va-va-va-voom.” I chortle.
His chin dips down and his eyes meet mine over the rims of his glasses. “Did you use va-va-va-voom as a descriptor?”
“Pardon?” I tease, laughing. “Je ne parle—”
“Arrête,” he growls, taking a step closer to me. But maybe it wasn’t just his room, because now the air in my room is charged and maybe I’m still hungover or maybe I’m just not thinking straight, but this teasing. Yes, I like this teasing. Because something is brewing and I don’t want to stop it. I should. But . . .
“Est-ce que tu as un problème?” I ask. Do you have a problem?
“Oui.” He takes another step toward me, just a half step this time because otherwise he’d have to walk through me.
Which maybe really would be totally fine.
“Est-ce que tu as un problème?” he asks, turning the question around.
How far am I willing to go?
“Oui,” I breathe, honesty and bravery blooming inside me like hope. “Mon problème est que c’est difficile à respirer maintenant.”
It’s hard to