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I ignored him, eyes glued to the screen.
“Scarlett,” he tried. “You don’t have to sit on your grandma’s nasty old chair.”
“That couch is just as nasty,” I pointed out. Everything in the place was nasty. Old and cheap and dirty. I lived here and even I thought so.
“Well, you don’t have to sit alone over there.”
“You’ve taken up the whole couch. Where would I sit?” As I said it, I shot him an arch look.
He grinned at me. He was sprawled out, long arms perched at the top corner of the sofa. He kicked one knee up, throwing the other on the ground, and patted his thighs. “You can sit right here.”
I eyed him warily. This was new and a little intimidating. “I’m hungry. Do you want a snack?”
“Do you have snacks?”
Of course not. We never did. It was a wonder I grew so much with the lack of food available when I was at home. Then again, I got free lunch at school and had dinner at Gram’s more often than not.
“No,” I said, sorry I’d asked. But I was hungry.
“You should let me give you money for food,” he added, his tone careful and blank.
This was a very old and very sore subject. And he knew it.
I glared at him. “I won’t take any more of your charity. It’s bad enough your Gram buys me clothes for school and feeds me dinner almost every night.”
His jaw set stubbornly, and I was pissed and bummed. If we got into a fight, it would ruin the rest of the day.
But then he sighed and looked away, breaking the tension.
Sometimes when we locked eyes, it was like predators having a standoff. One wrong move and—blood.
On the flip side, if one backed down then—peace.
He’d backed down for this one, thank God, because I never could have.
He paused the movie.
“Well, I need food,” he said. “Is it all right if I order myself a pizza?”
“All right.”
“I can’t eat a whole one myself. I’ll only order it if you promise to eat some, too.”
That was a compromise I could live with, and he knew it. It didn’t feel so much like charity if he was feeding himself and I was just sharing.
I grabbed the phone and brought it to him. While he dialed, I sat down carefully between his thighs.
We’d never done this before. Usually he just put his arm around me and we’d progress through varying degrees of touching each other tentatively. I’d lay my head on his chest, sometimes, if he was extra bold, he’d rub my knee with his hand.
Once we’d even spooned, my back to his front both of us turned to the TV. That had happened two weeks ago and it’d been the most exciting moment of my life.
But sitting between his thighs felt like a decidedly bigger step.
Tentatively I leaned back into his chest while he dialed up the pizza place.
“Any toppings you prefer?” he asked me
I was having a hard time finding my breath. “Whatever. You pick. You’re paying.”
