Page 36 of The Write Off
I thought I’d adequately prepared myself for a casual hangout, but it’s far more intimate than I was expecting. Sitting in a darkened room, a breath away from the woman who’s been occupying both my waking thoughts and my dreams.
The short, bearded man dressed for battle says something on screen and Rilla giggles beside me. She’s smiling at the television almost tenderly, a handful of rainbow candy frozen in front of her. Her oversized sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder and her curls rest softly on the exposed skin.
When she catches me watching her, the smile turns shy. “Gimli’s my favorite.”
I laugh in spite of myself. Because of course the feisty dwarf with anger issues is her favorite. I watch the screen where the characters have started arguing. “You don’t prefer the pretty blond guy?”
She snorts. “Legolas? God, no. Gimli’s the best. He’s so funny and grouchy, but also loyal and proud.”
“So that’s your type?” I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I meant to think the words, not speak them aloud.
“If you’re asking who I’d like to ravish me in the woods of Rivendell, that would be Aragorn.” She sees my eyes scan the screen for who she’s talking about. There are too many characters in this movie and they’ve all got odd names. “He’s tall, dark and broody over there, standing next to Gandalf.”
Interesting.
“What do you think so far?” She asks leaning closer to me as if we’re in a crowded theater instead of two people alone in her living room. She smells sweet. Like the candy she appears to be sorting in her outstretched palm.
“It’s good.” It’s not a lie. I wish I’d been able to follow it closer, but that would mean not being distracted by the beautiful brunette sitting close to me on my left. “The cinematography is impressive especially considering it was made more than twenty years ago.”
I sneak another glance in her direction, wondering if she’s finding this “hang out” as nerve-wracking as I do, but she appears to be the picture of calm. She stares down at the candy in her hand, rearranging it into some kind of color pattern.
“What are you doing?”
A lazy smile stretches across her face making my pulse pick up. “I sort them by the order that they appear in the rainbow–red, orange, yellow, green, purple. Then I eat them in order of my least favorite to favorite–grape, strawberry, orange, lime, lemon. Betty always ate them this way and I guess I picked up the habit.”
Adorable. “That’s a surprisingly organized method of eating candy,” I admit, turning my attention back to the movie. Moments later, I feel her intense stare and glance over to find her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.
“What did you mean by that?”
“Pardon?”
“What makes you think I’m not organized?”
“I didn’t say that you weren’t organized.”
“You implied it by the use of the word ‘surprisingly.’ As in, I surprised you by doing something in an organized way.”
I’ve clearly touched a tender spot, but I can’t understand why she’s gotten so defensive. “I mean, sure. Organized would not be one of the first words that I would use to describe you.” I’d start with tempting, clever, and infuriating.
“I’ll have you know that I am extremely detail-oriented.”
“Okay. Good to know.” I put my hands up in a sign of surrender, but she catches the raised eyebrow I give to the mismatched socks she’s donning.
She turns her attention to her feet which are covered in one blue striped sock and one solid green sock. “Christ, you’re such a snob. So my socks don’t match. Who fucking cares? I didn’t expect to be put on trial by the fashion police tonight. My bra and panties don’t match either. You want to judge them too?”
God, yes.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I will myself to stop imagining what she’s wearing under her clothes.
“No. Overreacting would be pushing you down the stairs, Judge Judy. I invited you over here to watch my favorite movie, not critique my underwear.”
“I didn’t even bring up your underwear!” Although now it’s all I can think about. Why is it so warm in here? “I think I’d better be going,” I say standing abruptly. “I hope everything works out for the hobbits.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” She stands positioning herself between me and the door.
“I don’t want to argue with you, Rilla.”
“Then why did you pick a fight with me, Logan?”