We sit with our legs crossed on the carpeted floor staring up at the screen in silence. I have no idea what to say, he doesn’t strike me as the Harry Potter loving type. I would have guessed comic book movies.
I tap Tucker on the knee to catch his attention, now aware I broke my own rule. Oops. “Which book is your favorite?”
He gives me a blank stare. “What’s yours?”
His expression hasn’t changed.
Does he even know what I’m talking about?
“Hmm… I mean I love The Deathly Hallows because it’s the book that ties everything together and wraps up the story, but I think my favorite is The Goblet of Fire. I love the competition aspect of the book.”
Another confused stare from Tucker. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Right, I feel the same way.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I guess Hollows,” he says, using the wrong word.
I think of Hermione, my favorite character from the books and can hear her voice in my head saying it’s hallows, not hollows, reminded of when she corrected Ron about the correct use of leviosa, something any Harry Potter fan would know.
Asshole. He sure as hell had me fooled.
“You will do anything to pass the class, won’t you?”
His eyebrows rise in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know anything about Harry Potter.”
Instead of replying, he laughs, using the awkward pause between us to concoct his next lie. “Not true. I love Harry Potter.”
“Okay, then answer this question. Which of the Weasley brothers dies?”
“Umm… Harry.”
I shake my head unable to contain my laughter. “Fred. Oh my God, I can’t believe you, Tucker. Did you pretend to like the same things as me to get in my pants or to con your way into an A?”
“Both,” he admits.
“Unbelievable,” I grunt.
Ready to leave, I press my palms to the floor, but Tucker grabs my arm. He tightens his grip to hold me in place. Our eyes meet, and when they do, I can’t breathe. I’m angry, frustrated, upset, and in no mood to deal with him anymore.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” His baby blues burn a hole through me. “I was only trying to show you that I’m making an effort.”
“Why lie, though? It wasn’t necessary.”
“I Googled a few things after my brother pointed out that your screen name has to do with Harry Potter. I honestly had no idea until he told me. I’ve never seen a single movie or read any of the books.”
I snort. “Obviously.”
“But I’d like to watch them with you.” He points at the projection screen. “So, don’t leave.”
His words cut deep hitting me right where it hurts. I’m so used to men giving up on me that I don’t even know what to do with one who wants to spend time with me. Maybe I’ve been focusing too much on the past. If he’s for real, then I can at least sit through a movie with him, and then decide from there if I want to bother with him after tonight.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll stay. Consider this your last chance. It’s the only one you’ll get from me.”
A smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “You won’t regret it.”
Over an hour into the movie, my ass goes numb from sitting on the hard floor. I rock back and forth, and when that doesn’t work, I stretch out my legs and lean back, using my palms to support my weight.
Tucker brushes his lips along my ear, the heat from his breath sending chills down my spine. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, in a hushed tone. “Just need to move around a little bit.”
He sits back and pats his chest. “You can lean on me if you want. Get comfortable.”
Even in the darkness, I can see the cocky smirk on his lips. He’s such an ass. He’ll use any opportunity to touch me. So, why am I taking him up on his offer?
I curl up next to Tucker, and he hooks his arm around my back pulling me into his chest. It’s as hard as a rock, chiseled to perfection. So are his arms. Holy shit, his biceps are massive. Now, my body is even more aware of him. All of him. And I can’t stop thinking about Tucker in inappropriate ways.
We stay this way until the person next to Tucker spills their drink on the floor in front of us. I squeal without meaning to be so loud. Tucker bears the brunt of it, moving me to the side as the liquid splashes his jeans and sneakers. The girl on his right offers him her blanket to dry off.
Tucker dabs at the soda on his jeans and sneakers and sighs. “I need to wash my hands,” he tells me. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you. I can use the walk. My legs are killing me.”