What If You & Me (Say Everything #2) - Roni Loren Page 0,59
the scumbag who’d hurt her. Whoever had made this smart, vibrant woman so frightened of even a simple cuddle on the couch deserved to have the shit beat out of him. Twice.
“Do you need me to move my arm?” he asked.
She reached over and patted his thigh. “I’m good. Thanks for asking, though.”
“Just let me know.” He turned back to the screen, and the heroine was waking up in the same day again. “That really is a true horror premise,” he said as the heroine’s phone started playing “In Da Club” again. “Imagine having to live the same day over and over again. And not just any day, but your worst day.”
That was what his nightmares felt like—waking up in the same day over and over. In the same horrible moment. Roof beams splintering, fire raining down. Unable to escape and forced to relive it.
“Yeah,” she said, leaving her hand on his thigh. “But if it gave you the chance to change something, maybe it’d be worth it?”
“Right.” His mind went to the day of the fire. He’d been filling in for someone who was sick. What if he hadn’t answered the call to come in that day? What if he and Christina had gone on a road trip that day like they’d planned and turned off their phones? Where would he be right now? Still a firefighter, two fully intact legs, married. Not depressed. Not waking up soaked with sweat from nightmares.
“I have a day like that,” she said, still looking at the screen. “I’d go back in a second if I could change it.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Me too.”
She gave him an empathetic look and then rested her head against his shoulder. The solid comfort of having her against him smoothed the sharp edges of the memories that had surfaced.
They finished the movie in comfortable silence. When the credits started to roll, Andi turned off the TV and shifted her body to face him. “So, what’d you think?”
“I think that you, Andi Lockley, are a great curator of movies,” he said, meaning it. “This one was really different from the Halloween ones even though I assume it’d still be considered a slasher.”
“Yep. Definitely in the slasher genre.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “Look at you, learning and shit.”
“I have my moments. I also liked that it was darkly funny.” He gave her a mock serious look. “But…let’s talk about the true horror ramifications of that movie.”
She cocked her head. “Which is?”
“I’ll never be able to get 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’ out of my head ever again.” He tapped his temple. “Burned there. Permanently. Forever and ever, amen.”
She laughed. “Oh yeah, you’ll be stuck with that for days.”
She started humming and rapping the line “It’s your birthday.” He playfully put his hands over his ears.
She grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from his head. “Sorry not sorry.”
He smiled, his wrists still cuffed by her fingers. “I’m not sorry either. I like watching movies with you.”
“Yeah?” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t find it annoying that I talk to the screen? My friends often throw popcorn at me.”
“Nope.” He noticed she wasn’t letting him go, and he shifted his body to face her fully. “It’s highly entertaining. I think half the time I was watching the movie, and the other half I was watching you watch the movie.”
Rosy color dotted her cheeks, bringing her faint freckles into relief. “I’m insufferable in a theater.”
“Nah. I can’t imagine you’re insufferable under any circumstance.”
“Don’t count those chickens yet. I’m bound to annoy you at some point,” she teased.
“Too late. Chickens counted.” She looked so pretty in the lamplight, her dark-red hair braided like some Renaissance woman, her blue eyes full of mischief, and her shirt sliding off her shoulder, giving him a peek of smooth, creamy skin and a thin purple bra strap. He wanted to kiss her right there, where her neck met her shoulder, wanted to know if the skin there felt as soft as it looked. He swallowed hard, trying to rein in the pictures his mind was weaving. Crock-Pot experiment.
She looked down at her hands, which were still holding his wrists. After a long moment, her voice was soft when she spoke again. “Hill?”
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice coming out tight.
She peeked up from under her lashes, worry there. “I want to kiss you some more, but…could you keep your hands by your sides?”
The request made his gut twist. He hated—hated—that Andi had been victimized, that