EnjoytheShow (2 page)

Previews, I’d learned from my many times at the movies, were
a good indication of the caliber of the main feature. You only got really good
trailers at shows guaranteed to draw a crowd. If this bunch was any indication,
the movie Miles and I were about to see was going to require the Hawthorne to
fumigate afterward.

We groaned and laughed our way through a dozen trailers.
“Jeez, who green-lit
that
?” Miles said after one, and, “That director’s
a jerk,” about another—the sort of insider talk that got me wondering.

“You have something to do with this movie we’re seeing?” I
asked. Not too deep down, I knew part of the reason I’d asked was so I could
lean closer to him.

“For better or worse,” was his answer. The way he said it
made me extend the same courtesy he’d given me about the situation at home. I
let it go, figuring I’d find out soon enough.

I didn’t make a conscious decision to leave my head inclined
toward his, and I wondered if he was just settling in a bit more when he
shifted down into his seat, bringing his head closer to mine. We still had the
armrest between us. My elbow was on half of it, arm extended, my fingers idly
toying with one of the silver rings I always wore. He moved his arm carefully
next to mine. I wished the armrest would go away.

The AC kicked in again and I shuddered with the chill. My
favorite sundress was great for hot days and hot dates, and I loved the way it
showed off my arm art and a hint of cleavage, but it was no match for
movie-theater-level air-conditioning. Miles noticed, his eyes catching my
nipples pushing at the thin fabric, but politely not lingering too long.
“You’re cold,” he said. “You want me to go tell them to turn it down?”

“I’ll be all right,” I said, rubbing my hands up and down my
arms. “Movie’s about to start anyway.”

He looked at me shuddering and said, “Here, let’s get rid of
this.” He put the armrest up and then said, in a gently efficient way, “Come
here, cowgirl,” as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to him.

Any notion that this was strange or fast or not what I’d
wanted went away when I felt his warmth. He had that man warmth that emanates
from the skin of a full-blooded male—no cold toes I’d shrink away from in bed, I
imagined. I snuggled up against him, this man who’d been a stranger twenty or
so minutes ago. I don’t know why, but I felt as if we both needed this. It was
like an excuse for a long hug.

Warmth being the ostensible point of this maneuver, Miles
draped one of his big arms along mine and suggested with light pressure that I
feel free to come closer. I took him up on that. I was at a momentary and
unusual loss as to what to do with my hands. They were in my lap, trying to
appear nonchalant, but were very close to one of his legs, which was crossed
toward me. He solved the problem by taking both of my hands in one of his big
paws. His palms were smooth, his nails cut short and rounded. Having recently
come from being with someone whose idea of grooming was using his teeth, I
approved yet again of this Miles. Now I was enveloped by his warm body, yet he
still managed to be polite about it. Our heads went back to resting near each
other.

On the screen, the theater ran its vintage signal that the
movie was about to begin, and we were serenaded with the old jingle—
Sit
back, relax and enjoy the show
. Miles took a deep breath, as though about
to do something that needed courage. “Here we go,” he said.

The credits ran, just a black screen with the names of the
actors, none of which was recognizable until about the fourth one in that read
Miles
Masterson
. I tilted my head toward him with a question unformed, but he
didn’t look back. He seemed to be concentrating on the screen. I let him be.

Cabin Fever
quickly showed itself to have followed
all the classic hallmarks of a crappy slasher film. A group of friends in a car
passing around beers and joints, the jokey guys leering at the giggling girls
in low-cut tops. I was about to roll my eyes when I noticed one of the guys,
the one doing the driving out to the remote cabin in the forbidding woods. The
hair was shorter and his face was clean-shaven, but the merry eyes were
unmistakable.

“That’s you!” I whispered. I looked back at Miles and it
took him a second to look at me. When he did there was something vulnerable
about him all of a sudden. “Kind of,” he said. Another cryptic statement, but I
didn’t want to quiz him now. I wanted to watch him.

And watch him I did, especially when the movie got to one of
the parts typical to slasher flicks, the gratuitous sex scene. Miles’ character
and his girlfriend had gone to check out their bedroom in the remote cabin, and
within seconds they were making innuendo-laden jokes about testing the bed. The
camera came close for their deep kiss. I could tell Miles was a good kisser,
the way he went in, backed off, teased and went in again, this time meaning to
claim the woman’s mouth. Damn, the way he kissed was hot, and I didn’t mean to
shift in my seat, but I did. Flashes of his tongue set my mind to wondering
what he’d feel like kissing me. And more.

In the movie, he took the girl’s halter top off, revealing
obviously plastic boobs. Not sexy. Then she took his shirt off and my eyes
devoured a feast of sculpted pecs and abs, the type that begged for a woman’s
finger to trace the spaces between them. When he unzipped his pants he revealed
a honey-colored treasure trail that led down to the rounded, full package in
his tight briefs. Damn, he had goods. I bit my lower lip in want as I watched
his bare butt, with those athletic delves in the sides, pump with torturous
slowness between the woman’s legs. Acting or not, it was obvious the man knew
how to fuck a woman well. I felt warm and needful between my legs.

After that tempting scene, it was all downhill. I understood
Miles’ vulnerable look. This movie was awful. Not even so bad it was good. For
a while I’d been hoping it was meant to be a comedy, but it fell short of the
kind of exaggeration that would make it so. I tried to watch politely, but when
the girl Miles’ character had been fucking announced she was going for a walk
in the woods alone, even after the one-eyed hunchback caretaker had warned them
not to, Miles groaned and looked at me apologetically.

I gave him a wry smile. “Let me guess. She’s toast.”

“I don’t want to give anything away,” he said, “but she
deserves whatever she’s about to get.”

“That seems harsh. She’s just a dumb character, not a
malicious one.”

“I’m still a little burned,” he said. “She’s my ex.”

I looked again at the screen, where the woman, who was
pretty gorgeous in a typical movie-girl kind of way, was oblivious to the
mask-wearing maniac following her. Then I looked at Miles. “If she’s dumb
enough to go off in the woods with a murderer from the prison at large, you’re
well rid of her.”

He laughed, a good guffaw that made him cover his mouth
until he remembered we were all alone up here. Then his smile drooped a little.
“She wasn’t too stupid to dump me for a more successful actor,” he said. “The
guy who’s doing that new superhero blockbuster.”

“That the only reason she left you?” I asked.

“No other situation,” he said, echoing the word I’d used.

I settled back against his warm chest. “You’re well rid of
her,” I said again.

He looked at me and I felt his hand squeeze my arm. “I
believe I am,” he said.

Miles had done what he could with a shitty script, so at
least his integrity was somewhat intact. This was his first movie, he explained
in a whisper. I was going to tell him he could speak normally, being that we
were alone, when I realized he was taking the opportunity to lean close to me
when he spoke. Close enough, as I felt his whispered words on my forehead, to
kiss. “After the reviews come out, it’ll probably be my last movie,” he said
with a sigh.

“You’re pretty good, considering what you’re working with,”
I told him. “It’s the movie that sucks, not you. Any decent reviewer will see
that.”

He looked at me and seemed to decide I wasn’t just shining
him on with empty flattery. “Thanks, Josie.”

I’d meant what I said. Miles had a spark. If he could get a
decent picture, he could go far. And while most of my friends would’ve been
planning a Hollywood wedding by now, I didn’t see myself co-starring in Miles’
show.

I frowned in the dark. Well, why the hell not? It’s not as though
I didn’t think myself good enough or pretty enough, though maybe not movie-star
material. The issue was a taste for potential. As in, I had a way of falling
for men who were dreamers, not doers. Maybe I’d never gotten over being
rejected by Hawthorne High’s cheerleading squad because of my tattoos, and
that’s why I went for men who needed some sis-boom-bah. Maybe I just had a
garden-variety fear of being left behind, though ironically I’d just been left
by someone who wasn’t going too far. Well, anyway, Miles was a man in motion.
He wouldn’t need me.

A few scenes later, Miles murmured, “Here comes your chance
to really judge my acting skills.” His character had gone down to the basement
without telling anyone, with only a flashlight. I knew he was going to buy it
and he did, extending his death scene as much as he could without being so much
of a ham that he needed to be studded with cloves. I took my hands away from
his just long enough to clap, and he stood up and bowed.

When he sat again he gathered me in his arms, and despite
everything I’d been thinking before he showed up, it felt right to be there. We
both knew we weren’t really watching the movie anymore. I felt his fingers
stroking my arm, lightly, and it gave me the tingles. He turned his face toward
mine. “Still cold?”

I looked up at him but didn’t answer. He was a lot smarter
than his character in the movie, because he took my cue, leaned in and pressed
his mouth to mine.

The kiss was tender. I could tell he was a sweet boy at
heart, because he wasn’t assuming anything, even after I’d given him the
go-ahead look. When I pressed back, he brought a hand up to touch my cheek as
he kissed me with more depth. My lips parted with his. Our tongues met halfway
and his did a slow courting dance with mine, not rushing in, not making a show
of force. His tongue slowly licked at mine, and his lips delicately sucked at
it, as though showing me some proper display of adoration before seeking his
own pleasure.

Kisses—they tell all. A man’s kiss is a preview of what’s to
come. Miles was taking his time with this kiss, and his tongue and lips were
gentle at first, then showing me what they could do, both to my mouth and to
other places. As for me, I was showing him I wanted this. I let his mouth adore
me and then I let him know I wanted to play, sucking at his tongue the way I
might at his cock. His mouth tasted of chocolate, sweet, with a trace of salt.
I moaned with the unexpectedly delicious flavor of him.

The warm response from my mouth was a message well received
by the rest of Miles’ body. One arm pulled me closer, cradling me, while the
hand that had been touching my cheek now caressed my neck and worked its way
over to my hair. His fingers wove from my temple to the nape of my neck and
into my braid. He pulled away from our kiss as his hand followed the pattern of
the braid until it got to the end, where I’d tied it loosely with a black
ribbon. He looked at me for permission. I nodded and watched him pull at the
end of the ribbon, freeing the auburn waves. He undid the three parts, and
watching him slowly wrap a section of my hair around his hand turned me on. It
was sexy, the way he handled me.

His mouth was back on mine in that claiming way, and his
hand let loose my hair so he could scoop up my legs. He lifted me easily and
pulled me onto his lap, right between his parted thighs, him facing forward, me
sideways on him. Now he had excellent access to one of my breasts and there was
that delicious high-school feeling again of being felt up, over fabric, by a
boy. But the boy was a hot man this time, and I could feel him getting hard
against the thigh that was pressed up against his button fly jeans. Damn, he
wanted me. And I wasn’t making any teasing attempt to pretend I didn’t want
him.

Everything was gone, the way it should be; whatever happened
before, whatever was happening on the movie screen. There was nothing but us,
our bodies and raw want. And this time, unlike in high school, it was fine.
Nobody’s momma was going to come in and bust us apart. I wasn’t a reckless girl
who did foolish things, but I was a woman who knew what she liked. And I liked
this. A lot.

As did Miles. He slowed things down, his mouth back to
taking its time with me. He wanted to savor this, draw it out. His kisses
became lighter and more focused on tantalizing me. His hand withdrew from my
breast and I felt it working at something before I realized he was undoing the
buttons at the front of my dress. He was going slow, letting me stop him if I
wanted to. As if.

He pulled away from the kiss. I liked the way he looked
around the theater quickly, making sure no one else was there to see, before he
peeled back the sides of my dress and exposed me. He gazed down as his fingers
trailed over my soft cotton bra, sexy in its girlishness, pink and trimmed with
little rosettes and filled round with my breasts. I thought about those plastic
boobs he’d held both in the movie and in real life. I didn’t know his
preference for fake or real, but I’d always thought mine were damn pretty. If
he had sense, he would too.

His fingers danced over the front closure. He brought his
eyes up to mine as he undid it and we both smiled. He looked back down as he
peeled the cotton layers away from my skin. Then he spoke, for the first time
in a while, his voice husky with desire. “Damn, Josie.” His free hand caressed
the round outline of one of my breasts. “Damn, you’re some kind of beautiful.”