Love's Paradox

Chapter 13: Demented Little Butterflies

We flip through rental movies on Parker's Play Station, discussing ones we've seen.

"You know, I actually loved the Twilight movie, flaws and all," I admit.

"Sparkling vampires?" he asks dubiously.

"Yes. Have you seen it?"

He stares at me like I'm silly. "Course not."

"Then no judgey face."

"I wasn't giving judgey face," he argues.

"Yes, you were."

"You aren't going to force me to watch it, are you?"

"Now you're giving me wounded puppy face. Stop it. And no, I won't make you watch it."

"Good."

I roll my eyes. "Ya big baby." I scroll through more movies. "I love the Harry Potter movies, though the books are obviously better."

He says nothing, and I stare at him in disbelief.

"You've never seen Harry Potter?"

"No," he confesses.

"You're breaking my heart, Parker. This must be remedied," I insist.

"But it's for children," he gripes.

"It's for people."

"Still . . ."

"You're truly missing out. Promise me you'll watch those movies one day," I say.

"But—"

"Promise me." I give him Stern Face.

"Fine, but only if you watch them with me."

A flutter tickles my stomach. "I will."

Again, more scrolling.

"What about The Hangover Part Two?" he suggests.

"Seriously? No. The first was bad enough."

"But—"

"What about The Hunger Games?" I ask, cutting him off. "Have you seen it?"

"That's another teen movie," he grumbles.

"Kids fighting to the death in an arena? Come on." I playfully shove his shoulder. "This is totally a guy flick as much as it is a teen movie."

He carefully reads the summary, then all the reviews, modulating his voice for each critic. Finally, he exhales a bereft sigh. "Fine. Let's watch it."

"Yes!" I cheer, victorious.

As the movie starts, I snuggle into Parker's side, careful not to pull out my stitches. He envelops me in his arms and lies back on the couch so I'm practically on top of him. Not that I mind. My entire body vibrates with his heat and his touch. I rest my head on his chest and watch the movie, though I'm completely aware of the man holding me. Each of his breaths, the way he smells, how his eyes randomly find mine and then he smiles. What movie? All I see is him.

Don't get me wrong, I adore The Hunger Games, but tonight it feels like the longest movie ever, created merely to keep us from groping each other. Mostly because it'd be unseemly to fondle Parker while the Capitol forces kids to slaughter each other for entertainment, which is just a tad ironic.

"That was an amazing movie," he admits as soon as the credits roll. "Nice ending. Karmic."

"Uh-huh," I mumble. "Told you so."

He peers sideways at me. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

I lean in, and he smirks. Ah, screw this. I don't wait for him to make the first move; I kiss him. His lips are searing, fervent against mine. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, then nudges his tongue along my lips, forcing my mouth open. He tastes like nirvana and honey.