Young Annabelle (Y.A Series Book 1)

Chapter 7

I was a fool.

And a fraud.

The mirror of truth would have reflected back the image of a little girl so delusional she'd believe shit didn't actually stink. The tight grip of his rough, callused hand over mine sent my brain into overdrive. I was no longer on Earth as my brain pulled its entire offensive line and put them hard at work analyzing this thing that was happening between him and I.

What movie were we watching again...?

Thank God theatres weren't equipped with special lighting that illuminated bodily fluids. A warm layer of sweat formed between our hands, increasing by the second. My heart was pounding erratically, the handholding was too much for it to handle, or comprehend.

Unlike my body.

My body knew exactly what it wanted when his skin touched mine: to tell my brain to screw off and just go with it.

The movie theatre's air conditioning enveloped me. I shivered and my body covered itself in goose bumps. I grabbed the ends of my cardigan with my free hand and tugged them closer to one another. As I did so, I felt my held hand get jerked off the armrest. He was pulling my hand closer to his body. I subtly glanced at our joined hands, then to his face. He was staring fixedly at the screen, oblivious of anything monumental going on between us.

But it was monumental!

For me.

I was sweating like a whore in church. This was the closest thing to 'naughty' I had ever experienced, yet he just sat there, engrossed in the film, as if this handholding was no big deal. It didn't affect him at all. That bothered me.

Was he some sort of experienced Casanova?

Was this an everyday thing for him, charming girls and holding their hands?

Was I, simply, the lucky girl of the week?

I tried to pull my hand from his but I felt his grip tighten, not letting me go, not even a little bit. I pulled again and he gripped my hand even tighter. I stalled in my next attempt. If I tried again his grip would be so tight it would begin to hurt.

I leaned towards him and whispered, "Let go of my hand!"

His gaze didn't leave the screen as he answered. "Nope, I'm good."

"You're good? What about me? I'm not!" I hissed at him.

"Shush!"

My eyes widened.

Did this guy just shush me?

"I'm trying to watch the movie," James continued in a whisper, eyes still glued to the screen. He probably couldn't even look me in the eye because he felt like a fool, acting like a big idiot.

"You did not just shush me," I growled, offended. I decided to take my chances and tug my arm back, maybe he was even more engrossed in the movie now – I hadn't been watching it for the last several minutes, but every so often I heard a scream, a crash, and a body part getting sliced off – there couldn't be that many people left to die.

"Ow!" I yelped as he tightened his grip yet again over my poor, sweaty hand. "You're hurting me!"

"You're in pain?" He asked softly, continuing to watch the movie play out.

"Yes," I declared, gently moved my fingers in his grasp. "my hand's hurting."

He turned to look at me. "I'll make it better."

I was unconvinced. "Yeah, how are you gonna do that?"

A final scream blasted from the speakers and the screen went black as the credits rolled up.