I grinned and shrugged. “You can pick the next one.”
I was trying to make nice with Quinn, but I loved this movie. He sat down, leaving a good cushion of space between us. I watched him throughout the movie, and he laughed more than I did. The hypocrite. Maybe Quinn just didn’t know much he needed to laugh. But seeing his face light up was something else. I felt a familiar surge of attraction, but I locked that shit down. The last thing we needed was me making another pass at him, like I did when we were teens, especially with him all jumpy.
After Home Alone, he picked out A Christmas Carol.
“I hate this fucking movie,” I grumbled.
He sounded shocked. “Why?”
“I want to enjoy the holidays, not get a morality lesson,” I said. “If I want to be greedy, I should be able to do that without the fucking Ghost of Christmas Past tormenting me.”
Quinn snickered. “That’s ridiculous. Christmas is partly about goodwill toward men.”
“Well, that’s a sexist statement right there.”
Quinn gaped for a moment, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. “Goodwill toward people, then.”
I shrugged. “I just want to exchange presents, drink spiked eggnog, and argue about the best holiday movies with a friend.”
Quinn sighed and sank back. “You forgot fudge.”
“Eh, I could live without fudge.”
He gasped. “That is sacrilege! Fudge is everything.”
He was so fucking cute. I had to get up and go to the kitchen before I gave in to the urge to reach out and touch him.
Don’t go there, Jonas.
Images of Quinn in my arms, kissing me back, resurfaced in my mind. Real fucking helpful. I couldn’t count on my damn brain for anything when my other head wanted to take charge. I wasn’t used to resisting my impulses. If I wanted a guy, I went for it. Life’s short and all that shit. But this was Quinn. He’d shut me down once before, and as impervious as I’d like to be to rejection, it had hurt.
Still hurt if I were being honest.
Why else would I be so hung up on him? Why else would I pour my stupid little heart out on paper for someone like Ollie to find? If Quinn had wanted me back when we were teens, we’d have lasted all of two weeks, imploded like most teenage relationships do, and I’d have moved the fuck on.
But that hadn’t happened, and I hadn’t moved on.
And it pissed me the hell off.
“No eggnog,” I said in the saddest voice I could call up. “You want a Pepsi? Ugh. You have the worst taste.”
“I do not!” Quinn called in an outraged tone. “Just for that, I get the next movie.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said as I grabbed a couple of cans of soda out of the fridge and a bag of Doritos from the pantry. By the time we got out of this cabin, I was going to have eaten my weight in junk food, but it was hard to care when Quinn made excited grabby hands toward the snacks. He was adorable when he got all excited about food. “I want to watch Elf.”
He groaned theatrically. “Of course you’d want to watch a movie about a big man-child,” he said. “It must remind you of yourself.”
I grinned as I plopped back on the couch and handed him his soda. “You’re imagining me in a pair of tights, aren’t you?”
“What? No!”
“Admit it.”
Quinn sputtered before saying, “Well, I am now. Thanks a lot.”
I grinned and winked. “My pleasure.”
Then I turned on the movie before I could show him exactly how much pleasure the thought gave me. I liked that Quinn had noticed my body, but hell, I liked that he was relaxing and smiling even more.
What kind of magic did this guy have, to make me such a sap?
I ripped open the Doritos, shoved a handful into my mouth, and crunched as the opening scene played across the screen. I could do this. I could be friends with Quinn. The fact I cared more about his happiness than his interest in me sexually was a good thing, right? It meant I was on the right track.
It was the beginnings of friendship, that was all. A real relationship with a guy I thought I’d never see again.
Talk about Christmas miracles.
QUINN
A day spent watching movies with Jonas was surprisingly fun. We binge-watched holiday movies all through lunch and dinner—pausing only to scrounge for food. We ate sandwiches and chips and, in Jonas’s case, the rest of the cinnamon rolls. That boy could pack away the calories, and the only explanation for his ripped bod was tons of physical exercise. He did not have that kind of muscle when we were teens. I would have noticed, wouldn’t I? Jonas hadn’t been particularly athletic. He’d been on the swim team in high school, but not much else. He’d seemed more invested in drama, doing plays each fall and spring.
By the time we were on our sixth movie, I felt like I knew him better. Not because we were talking about our lives or anything. Just through body language. When you live with someone who is temperamental like Clay was, you learn to watch people and to anticipate. It can be exhausting, trying to avoid conflict. But watching Jonas didn’t wind up my nerves, it slowly eased out the kinks of worry.
Jonas was so comfortable with himself. He smiled a lot. He laughed, loudly and unrestrained, at the funny parts of the movies, and since he picked out comedies, it was a lot. I preferred moving, emotional movies to easy laughs, but watching Jonas react to them was fun. He brightened the whole room with his easy happiness.
That happiness dimmed as the credits rolled on the last movie and his phone chimed with another text. He’d gotten a few throughout the day, and he’d glanced at his phone once or twice, but he never answered them.
I avoided that problem by turning off my phone whenever I wasn’t using it. Clay had been blowing up my texts ever since I left home.
“Someone sure wants to talk to you,” I said lightly. “You got a boyfriend missing you?”
Jonas gave me an unimpressed look. “No boyfriend. Just an annoying kid who thinks he deserves my attention.”
Huh. There was a story there. I felt like my boyfriend question was incredibly obvious. I shouldn’t even be concerning myself with Jonas’s dating status. But he didn’t seem to realize I’d been fishing.
He stood abruptly. “I’m gonna hit the hot tub.”
All his easy happiness had evaporated with that last text. I knew how that felt all too well. But I hated to see Jonas’s light turned down.
I could have joined him in the hot tub. But I sensed he wanted some time to himself. And besides, I didn’t think I needed another up-close view of Jonas’s fine body, no matter how tempting.
“Bacon and French toast for breakfast?” I asked. “I’ll cook.”
Jonas turned, hitting me with a weak smile. “Sounds good. See you in the morning, Quinn. Today was nice.”
“Yeah,” I echoed. It was nice because Jonas had made it nice. I’d certainly done my level best to ruin it, but he’d somehow put me at ease anyway. “Goodnight.”
I watched him walk away before turning to clean up our snack debris. Empty soda cans, paper plates, and chip bags littered the coffee table. I tossed our trash, then wiped down all the counters.
I was stalling.