“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Nineteen
I crowdinto the theater’s tiny entryway, my arm linked with Maryanne’s. It smells of buttered popcorn and musty velvet and it’s busy with chatty moviegoers, but it’s cozy. When was the last time I saw a movie in a real theater? Is it weird that it seems special?
“They’re here,” Maryanne whisper-shouts in my ear just as CJ and Bear slip through the glass doors.
Bear’s bearded face splits into a grin when he sees us, and Maryanne rushes to hug him. Then CJ’s eyes find mine, and my heart does a pirouette inside my chest.
He’s dressed in a black wool peacoat and a forest-green scarf, jeans, and square-toed cowboy boots. With his scruff and the mop of curls, he could be the poster child for Cowboy Hunk. I exhale a steadying breath as he steps over, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Hey.” His smile brings a mischievous glint to his eyes that shoots a staticky wave of electricity under my skin.
“What are we thinking?” Bear asks over his shoulder while leading Maryanne to the ticket counter, his giant palm splayed on her lower back. “The spy movie or the beaver robot one?”
“Wait, there’s a robot?” Maryanne asks with a laugh.
CJ hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “Whatever the ladies want.”
I smile. “The beaver one sounds cute.”
Maryanne shoots me a thoughtful glance. “And I double checked. Not one cartoon beaver gets harmed.”
CJ’s brows knit together in question.
“Don’t laugh, okay?” I protest. “It started with Bambi.”
“Why would I laugh? I hated Bambi.”
“You did?”
“I lost my parents when I was ten.”
“Oh, CJ.” I had my suspicions based on what he shared that night over chili with Dad, but hearing it out loud is like a punch to the stomach. I stroke the side of his face, his scruff surprisingly soft against my palm. “I’m sorry.”
He gives me an easy shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
After the guys buy our tickets and two buckets of buttery popcorn, we queue up with the mix of families toting young children and the adults headed for the spy movie. A group of guys crowd in behind us, chomping on their popcorn. I give them a quick glance, and my throat clamps shut.
It’s Rafe, Kelly, and Benson. Guys I’ve barely seen since high school.
Rafe’s eyes flash. “You bring your Xanax, Lyle? I hear the beaver gets a papercut.”
Quickly, I look away but CJ spins around, his body tense. “What did you just say?”
I glare at Rafe, then try to catch CJ’s eye. “It’s fine,” I mutter.
“It’s totally not fine,” CJ replies with a scowl. “Apologize to?—”
A man in an ill-fitting maroon uniform appears, his eyes boring into CJ’s.
Before he can open his mouth, I pull CJ to where the clerk is waiting to scan our tickets, his eyes apprehensive.
The manager hovers in silence, making the mood even moretense, but the guys behind us behave. I keep hold of CJ’s hand and guide him toward Theater B.
“What was that all about?” His eyes cut to the guys about to enter Theater A.
“I knew them in school. They’re pricks.”