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Did you know there are people who go to the drive-in to just… watch the movie?
Yes, there are individuals out there who believe the vehicle-packed acreage full of young couples—covered in blankets and in the backs of trucks, mind you—as well as the aroma of romance and buttered popcorn in the air, exist solely so they can watch the latest Fast and Furious movie. Not so they can kiss their dates. Preferably the kind of kissing with a little oomph behind it.
Even more unfortunate? Liam Wells is one of those people.
A shame, really, considering I spent the afternoon shaving my entire body, curling my hair to perfection, and trying on ten different nude lipsticks that would make my lips look like the most delectable things he had ever longed for.
I waited patiently for the moment he would lean into me or maybe wrap an arm around me casually. The kind of scenario where we’d pretend like we had an iota of interest in the characters in front of us and their upcoming race. Hands rifling through popcorn buckets and maybe a touch of our fingertips. A spark would light through us both, and this instant connection would pop up like in the vampire romance his sister had made me read. I would even take a little knee connection. Maybe our legs could ever-so-casually drift together to the point of contact. Then, instead of either of us apologizing and jumping away, we would sink into it.
None of those had happened yet.
The guy had stretched and yawned at least ten times, elbows out, back muscles rippling. What would I have to do to get him to drape one of those arms around me? I’d already positioned myself close enough to him that if he were to reach for anything near him, it would cause us to brush against each other.
A car crashes, and people scream and jump. A bad guy shows up with guns. The audience gasps. Maybe a building falls down. Honestly, I couldn’t be sure, because during each thrilling scene, I would lean into the warmth radiating off his body. I even made eye contact for a solid fifteen seconds, being sure to wear a flirty smile. What else was a girl to do? I was running out of cards here.
No other date that I had been on (see: there had only been one) had brought about such an overwhelming urge to pull a man’s lips to mine. If the craving consuming me was any indication, then Liam’s mouth surely held the secret to all of life’s mysteries.
Liam Wells was, in the nicest, most gracious, lady-like way of saying this, edible.
Dark hair styled back and round cheeks tinted the most perfectly bronzed color. Strong nose with a light smattering of freckles across it that extended over his cheekbones, adding to his boyish charm. He was tall and slender. Though he may not have looked like much all bundled up, I’d accidentally caught him running down our street shirtless just after my family moved in, and yeah, there was no doubt in my mind the guy could lift me and throw me across the room if he wanted to.
He had the face of an art model, deserving of a kind of sculpture. If he had been born during the Renaissance, Michelangelo would have had a field day with him.
I once mentally measured our noses so I could determine, on the off chance that we ended up kissing, which way I should lean in. For the sake of science and all.
My theory, that I should definitely go right, would never be tested if the guy did not bite the bullet and put his arm around my shoulder. The shoulder I’d purposefully bared to him. I’d read all the articles. I knew that a tank top with spaghetti straps and a cardigan that oh-so-casually slipped off my shoulders was the perfectly sweet but seductive move.
No wonder the sight of shoulders had been banned from school. I was practically an enchantress with this subtle frivolity. With any luck, he wouldn’t notice the highlighter I’d dusted across the tops of my shoulders. It was a last-minute choice, and I’d stand by it. Though I wouldn’t mind wiping it off on him either.
If I had been asked a week ago, when Liam mentioned taking me to see a movie, I would have placed good money on the inevitability of some solid lip-locking action. At least an arm around a shoulder. Heck, I’d take a you been here before? line at this point.
Liam Wells was the kind of person who knew what he wanted and took it. He was clear, concise. With the precision of a sniper, he’d shot me in the heart with his subtle lip biting and the knowing smirk that caused a little dimple in his cheek to pop.
But maybe I’d read the situation wrong. Maybe he wanted to take me out as friends. No way. Even my mom was excited about tonight. She’d gone so far as to help me decide which of my perfumes would be most likely to lead to prime first-date action.
Yet here I was, with my shoulders laid out like a buffet for him, still, confoundingly, un-kissed.
I cleared my throat. No response.
I uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again, toward him. Nothing.
What did a girl have to do to get some heat moving over this situation? I’d done it all. Everything short of holding a giant neon sign that said KISS ME, LIAM WELLS. Now I was wishing I’d thought to bring one.
But as I side-eyed him, willing him to get the hint, I saw it. He was popping his knuckles for what had to be the tenth time since we arrived. He pressed one hand over the other, fingers trembling with each pop. His eyes shifted like those of an anxious squirrel. From the movie, to his hand, over to mine, where it was resting in my lap. Was he nervous too?
Casually, I let my gaze lift to his. Sure enough, his focus again moved from the screen down to my left hand. The hand perfectly positioned, palm up and resting on my thigh, to be easily accessible for him. He dragged his attention from my perfectly manicured nails, which I’d made sure to have done for this night, back to the movie. Then he lifted his arm in a stretch again.
When an opportunity arose, one should take it, right? Carpe diem or whatever.
When he pulled his muscular arm back, elbow inches from my shoulder, I angled into him and rested my head on his puffed-out chest. He went rigid for a moment, making my heart lurch. Maybe I was reading the signals all wrong.
I peeked up at him from under my lashes and found him looking down at me. Chin dipped and that dimpled smile spread across his face. And then he was draping his arm over my back and casually grazing my hip.
Liam Wells was grazing my hip.
I’d had a dream like this once. We may have been in a more private setting, and there might have been hundreds of rose petals scattered around us. And maybe we were snuggled close on a picnic blanket while the night sky highlighted us in a moonlit glow. But this was good too. I would take this.
We stayed like that until the credits rolled. Even as the people around us packed up their blankets and food, his arm never left my back. Except to trace small circles around my shoulder and down to my waist, of course. The goose bumps that erupted in the wake of his touch would be permanent, I was convinced. My tummy had never dipped so forcefully.
