Page 51 of The Best Shot

The movie kept rolling.

I didn’t see any of it.

HALE

I walked Sarah out of the theater and into the lot, where her car sat under the flickering lamppost.

The movie had been good, and I’d had a good time watching it with her. She’d laughed in the right places and caught the symbolism in one scene before I did, nudging me like we were in on something together. Smart woman. Warm. Easy company.

And I’d known ten minutes in it wasn’t going anywhere.

Her hand had settled on my thigh during a slower moment, more question than demand, careful and light, and all I’d felt was the polite awareness that she was interested.

A month ago, I might’ve let that be enough. Tonight, I was planning my way out before the credits rolled.

We reached her car and she turned to me.

“I had fun,” she said.

“Me too.”

She studied my face. “I was going to suggest drinks, but this isn’t really working, is it?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

She laughed, short and clean. “Does it have anything to do with the three women who spent half the movie staring at us?”

I didn’t even blink.

I hadn’t needed to turn around to know who she meant. I’d clocked them five minutes in. The dramatic ducking. The hissed whispering. Shut up, he’ll hear you. It was a miracle the theater hadn’t thrown them out.

“Sorry about that.” I dragged a hand over the back of my neck. “They’re friends.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I thought about lying, but I sensed more curiosity than accusation.

“It’s complicated,” I said finally.

“Ah.” She nodded like that was the least surprising thing I’d said all evening. Maybe it was.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shrugged. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

We lingered, and then she opened her door.

“If it ever gets uncomplicated,” she said, half-smiling, “call me.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I will.”

I stood there while she pulled out of the lot, taillights disappearing into the street.

I should’ve been annoyed at the world’s least covert surveillance unit, currently pretending to read movie posters by the entrance. And I was, a little. But I kept coming back to the same question.

Had it bothered her, seeing me there with someone else? Did she care?

Because if the situation had been reversed, if I’d walked into that theater and found Yasmine two rows up with some guy leaning in to make her laugh, I would’ve felt it to a degree that would’ve been straight up problematic.