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“I chose the last three times,” I remind him.

“Because I like to let you choose.”

The answer is so simple, yet it fills my stomach with butterflies. Ollie isn't trying to impress me. He genuinely enjoys seeing me happy, even over something as ordinary as choosing a movie. I scroll through the options, aware of how safe it feels to make a choice and trust that whatever I pick will be met with nothing but a smile. I settle on something light, romantic and easy, because if I’m being honest, I already know what I’ll be paying the most attention to. The movie is just an excuse to spend another evening together after putting Tilly to bed.

The opening scene plays while we settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crunch of popcorn and Ollie’s commentary about the characters. Every now and then our fingers brush inside the bowl. Neither of us rushes to pull away.

After another of his comments, I turn toward him, only to find him watching me instead of the screen. A slow smile spreads across his face before I can tease him about it, those dimples making an appearance. My heart answers with the familiar little skip it seems to reserve just for him.

I couldn't tell you what’s happening in the movie if my life depended on it. Not because the story was bad or boring, but because I’m so hopelessly distracted by the man sitting beside me. Every time I look at Ollie these days, the rest of the world has a habit of fading into the background.

“You know there's a movie playing, right?” I point out the obvious. “Eyes on the screen, handsome.”

“Don’t mind me; I’m just admiring you,” he says, his gaze lingering on mine.

I giggle, hoping it'll hide how flustered I am. “You mean you're staring.”

“Am I not allowed?” he asks, his voice full of mock innocence.

“I didn’t say that.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “No?”

I shake my head, my own smile impossible to contain. A pleased grin forms on his face, and heat creeps into my cheeks. I’m wearing one of his band tees again, my legs tucked beneath me and my socks mismatched because I accidentally managed to steal one of his. When I glance up, I expect to catch him looking at the shirt, but his attention isn’t fixed on any one thing. His gaze moves slowly over my face, stopping here and there as though he has all the time in the world to memorize me. No one has ever looked at me like I’m something priceless before.

“You know, you’re making it very hard to follow the plot, even with your commentary,” I tell him.

“Can you blame me?”

He reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger against my jaw before falling away. I already miss the warmth of them.

“I don't think I can focus on anything right now,” I admit. “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

I blink. “Me?”

“Peyton, I haven’t paid any attention to the film in at least twenty minutes.”

My cheeks ache from smiling. “Neither have I.”

The movie keeps playing, filling the apartment with voices neither of us listen to. The space between us seems to shrink, my awareness narrowing to the rise and fall of his chest and the tempting way his gaze drops to my mouth.

My breath catches and something shifts in his expression, making him reach for me. Ollie slips an arm around my waist and draws me into his lap. I go without resistance, settling with my knees on either side of his hips, our bodies fitting together in a way that feels right. His palms glide up my back before tracing the curve of my waist, each touch deliberate, sending my skin humming. They come to rest just beneath my shoulder blades while mine settle against his chest. Beneath my fingertips, his heartbeat is steady.

Mine is anything but.

His attention flickers from my eyes to my mouth and back again, silently asking a question he never has to voice. I answer by closing the space between us and brushing my nose against his. His breath hitches, matching mine. For one suspended moment, the anticipation is unbearable. Then his lips claim mine and the rest of the world fades into the background. There’s only the gravity pulling us together, his hand steady at the back of my neck. We fall into a rhythm that feels natural, like we’ve done this a hundred times.

I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, hoping my glasses will stay where they’re supposed to. His mouth moves to my jaw for the briefest moment before returning, the featherlight touches sending shivers down my spine. The touch of our lips is slow and unhurried, yet every lingering second leaves me wanting more. Without thinking, I inch as close as I can get, my body seeking his. I wish there were nothing between us. No layers of fabric or careful restraint. Just us.

“If you keep doing that, I won’t last long,” Ollie warns.

His strained words only spur me on, and I move against him with more urgency, rocking back and forth. He pants between kisses, each one growing messier and more desperate. The friction between us is delicious, winding the tension in my belly tighter and tighter, ready to explode any moment.

“Ollie,” I breathe against his mouth. His forehead drops against mine as a rough sound catches in his throat. From the way his breathing has turned ragged, I know he's right there with me.

And then⁠—