Wedding Date (Dating #6) - Monica Murphy Page 0,23

about her. And Craig. Who cares? I don’t care.

We scroll through the Netflix menu until we finally settle on some new creepy movie with true horror vibes. I hate scary movies, but Kelsey seemed dead set on it, so I don’t argue. Instead, I sprawl my legs wide, throwing my left arm along the back of the couch. If I wanted to, I could reach out and tug on the ends of Kelsey’s hair. Run my fingers through it. See if it’s as silky-soft as it looks…

She’s sitting on the edge of the couch and glances over her shoulder, smiling at me. “Don’t you look comfortable.”

I shrug one shoulder. Trying to act like this is no big deal.

Really? Her nearness is driving me out of my mind. We’ve spent plenty of time together, but always in public. At restaurants. Conferences. Cocktail parties. That sort of thing. We’ve never been at each other’s house. Or rode together in a car. We’ve kept our interactions fairly neutral.

There is nothing neutral about this location. It feels like a hookup pad. There’s a bedroom in this place. Pretty sure there’s maybe two? And yeah, if there are two bedrooms, we could each sleep in our own bed and act like this night is no big deal. Just two friends sleeping off a drunken evening. Get up early and head on to our respective homes and pretend it never happened.

Or we could share a bed, get naked and get down to business.

I’m thinking I prefer option two.

“Want a snack?” Kelsey asks, her sweet voice pulling me from my dirty thoughts.

“A snack?” I’m frowning. “I thought no one lived here.”

“What do you mean?”

“If no one lives here, then there shouldn’t be any food, right?” I send her a pointed look.

“I texted Stella and asked if she left any snacks behind.” Kelsey pauses the movie she literally just started and leaps to her feet, looking very pleased with herself. “She said we have a few options.”

She dashes into the tiny kitchen and I can hear her rummaging around. The tear of a plastic wrapper. A microwave door opening and closing, then the distinct beeping as she hits buttons and the microwave hums to life.

The scent hits me right before it starts to pop.

Popcorn.

“You want a Coke?” she calls.

“Sure.”

She fills a couple of glasses with ice and cracks open two cans of Coke, and I can hear the glugging sound of the soda as she pours them into our cups. Every little sound is heightened in the otherwise quiet of the apartment. I don’t even hear any traffic pass by on the road outside. It’s like we’re the only two people in the world, about to indulge in shitty microwave popcorn and Cokes—I haven’t drunk soda in almost a year, but screw it—watching a scary movie so I can have nightmares later tonight.

It’s worth it, though. To spend the rest of the evening with Kelsey. Snuggled up with her on the couch. Sharing a bowl of popcorn with her.

“You need some help?” I ask as I stand and stretch my arms above my head, a little groan leaving me when I feel the ache and strain in my muscles. I’m tired. It was a busy week. I always look forward to the weekend, yet I find myself still working. For once, maybe I should ignore my laptop and my inbox and just—relax.

“Please,” she says when I’m already in the kitchen. “Grab the drinks. I’ll get the popcorn.”

We return to the couch, the drinks on the narrow coffee table in front of us. Kelsey settles even closer beside me, the bowl full of popcorn resting in her lap. I reach for a handful at the same time she does, our fingers sliding against each other in the warm popcorn, and everything in my body goes on high alert.

Who knew popcorn could be considered erotic?

Yeah. I’m drunker than I thought.

“Sorry.” She removes her hand from the popcorn and grabs the remote, pressing play on the movie. “I can’t believe we’re hungry after eating all that food at dinner.”

“Popcorn is my favorite,” I admit, grabbing a handful and shoving it in my mouth.

“It’s mine too!” She turns to look at me with wide eyes. “I love it. Kettle corn is my utter weakness.”

“Yeah. Same. I live for that shit they make fresh at festivals.”

“Right? It’s hot and sugary, yet salty too?” A low murmur of approval escapes her. “Delicious.”

My mouth is dry from that sexy noise she just made, and I