In Waves | ✔️

38 | in backseats

"So it's actually a modern adaption of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew," I tell Matt as we walk across the grass. "Well, 1999 modern."

It's Saturday and we're at the drive-in, already parked and now equipped with the movie snacks we just bought. Cars are filling up the field, some people are settling down on hoods or truck beds. A cool night with no clouds to hide the ceiling of stars. The atmosphere is so thick it's as if it's cloaking around us as we weave to his car.

"1999? Maybe it's time for a modern modern adaption. A remake." Matt muses.

"A remake? What are you crazy? Remakes ruin everything!" I argue, and I can already feel myself getting worked up because this is a debate I've had with Rob far too many times. "They always try to recapture what made the originals great, and it never works. I mean, sometimes it works, but ninety percent of the time it doesn't. It just cashes in on nostalgia. I can live with adaptions of books and plays, but remakes and reboots are just shameless money-grabbing—"

Matt stops my blind ranting, pressing my back into his car that I didn't realize we'd reached. He's smiling like he's holding in a laugh, hands resting on the roof, boxing me in.

"I'm not going to remake 10 Things I Hate About You. I promise."

"Great, now you've said it out loud and it's floating around in the universe," I counter, feeling the cold window on my back. "If a crappy remake with B-list actors comes out, I'm blaming you."

He lets his laugh go. "And you think I'm crazy."

"You are."

"Only for you." His lips pull up. "And I don't care how corny that sounds, it's the cold hard truth. Just totally out of my mind, screwed in the head for you."

It's hard to tell where the stars end and his eyes begin. They're all blended and shining and it's giving me vertigo.

"Ditto," I answer, and it looks like he's going to kiss me, but he slowly pushes off the car instead. When I make a move for passenger door, he redirects me, already holding open the door to the backseat. A soft, suggestive tinge to his features.

My heart palpitates when I see the waiting blanket, but I breathe steady and climb in like I'm entering a treacherous cave, shuffling to the middle so we can see the screen. Matt sidles in next to me and drapes the blanket over us as we settle in.

If this was our first date, I know this is all it would be. Sharing popcorn, snuggled under his arm, maybe a bit of hand holding. But the sense of imminent step-taking is hanging over us like a heavy raincloud on the verge of bursting.

I relax as the movie plays, the comfort from it enveloping me, watching Matt watching my favorite parts. It's been a while since I've seen it, and I'm only realizing now how much Heath Ledger's character, Patrick, reminds me of Nate. The attitude, the grin. God, that grin. You could copy and paste it right onto Nate and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Thinking about Rachel's stance on him, Patrick has that in the movie, too. People judge the bad reputation, they're scared of him and the stories they've heard, and when you get a closer look there's really just a big, sweet cinnamon roll underneath it all.

I wish Rachel could see that side of him like I can. I wish everyone could.

About halfway through the movie, when the popcorn bucket is empty and our hands have nothing to do, Matt starts putting his to another use.

It's gradual at first. Soft strokes on my shoulder, fingers finding the nape of my neck. His mouth brushes against my jaw, easily luring my lips to his. I lose sight of the screen as I kiss him back, falling into the familiar rhythm we've established, losing myself in his taste and smell and the chokehold he has on my senses.

The rhythm increases, tongues dancing harder, hands dropping to my waist. His fingers tingle over my skin, and my palms glide over his shoulder blades, pulling him closer. His skin is so hot I almost expect to feel holes singed through his shirt.

I automatically jolt back when his hand bypasses my denim skirt, snaking onto my inner thigh.

My fingers clasp over his to stop them. "People can see us."

"The windows are tinted," he tells me what I already know.

In darkness under a blanket, no one can see anything unless they peer through the windscreen, and even then they'd only see us kissing. But the two sides of my brain are fighting each other. Wanting him to go further, paranoid about being surrounded by other people. And I think that part of my brain is just finding excuses. Chickening out.

This was the furthest I went with Nate at Rachel's party, and I was drunk. I don't have liquid courage this time. It's just me and Matt and my sober head. He has the same look on his face that he had at the bonfire. I've seen it a couple times since. Dark and hazy and dripping with hunger. His thumb moves across my bottom lip. Waiting.

So like Rachel told me, I go with the flow, unclasp my fingers from his - and I take the leap.

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a/n: I just know a lot of you would've preferred if lia was in that backseat with nate lol

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