White Noise

26

"So, what're we doing Friday night?" Lauren barely got the question out before her teeth sunk into the Granny Smith apple she was holding. The cracking noise from her tearing some of the meat off the core made me cringe.

            Then again, I may have cringed regardless of the noise. Because I know my answer to her question wasn't going to go over smoothly.

Because I already had Friday night plans. Like I'd already had plans last Friday night, when she'd asked us this same question last week. 

Those Friday night plans extended into the entirety of Saturday. After breakfast with his mom, JD and I spent the entire day in the guest house. We watched three movies. Argo—my choice, that he had never seen. Remember The Titans—his choice, that I had never seen. And The Hurt Locker—a movie both of us had never seen, but wanted to.

Based on our previous conversations over text, I already knew we had similar tastes in movies. But I never realized how much of an advantage that was. We were able to spend an entire day curled up on his couch, watching hours of film that both of us were genuinely fascinated by.

Granted, we did miss bits and pieces of each movie from spontaneous make out sessions. That knot that formed in my core earlier that morning only wound tighter with each brush of his lips and knead of his fingertips.

            By the time the sun had set, I'd completely forgotten about the weird, awkward, somewhat terrifying breakfast we'd shared that morning. I was lost in how his thighs felt under my knees as we lounged on his couch. I was hypnotized by the rhythmic swipe of his thumb on my shoulder underneath the fabric of my shirt. I was entranced by the occasional kisses he planted on my brow or temple or cheek or neck or collarbone... when I was trying to focus on the movie plot unfolding on the flat screen TV.

            "Not yet," he'd pouted, gripping my calves and pulling me fully into his lap after I told him I should probably be getting home. We ended up making out two more times before he finally relented and agreed to drive me back to my house.

            "I can pick you up every day after school this week," he told me as we approached my street—one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh. Which I was learning was his favorite spot. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, even when he added, "What're you doing Friday night."

            He hesitated, a smirk pulling at his lips.

            "Baby."

            I playfully smacked the knuckles of his hand on my thigh and he let out a laugh that made my heart sing. An uninhibited, carefree laugh that I didn't hear enough. But when I did, it was like a drug. A shot of pure warmth that had me completely intoxicated and uncontrollably infatuated in a matter of seconds. I was so stunned by the sound, my own lips tilting up from its contagion, that I forgot he even asked me a question. 

            His gaze slid to mine as he turned onto my street. His large hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his fingers flexing against the leather with a certain haughty confidence that made my stomach do a flip. My bare legs on his clean leather seats becoming stickier with each passing moment.

"Hang out with us."

            I didn't even realize how entranced I'd been by his fingers on the steering wheel. I pulled my focus from them to meet his familiar stare. "On Friday?"

            His cheek dimpled as he fought a smile. "Yeah. Haley's having a bonfire at her place. Just a small group of people, nothing crazy."

            The hand still on my thigh squeezed the bare flesh as his eyes narrowed in on me.