The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(43)
“You’d never believe it,” I say with a smile. I turn to Matteo, having a bit of a hard time meeting his eyes after the virginity comment. “Shall we?”
I escort him into the living room. This should be more than interesting. I’ve never seen Star Wars for anyone’s first time.
Matteo pops the bottle cap on a beer and takes a swig. “Let the beatings begin.”
“We will watch these movies in the only order that should ever be presented,” Kyle announces while slipping the first Blu-ray disc into the player. “Today will be episodes IV, V, VI. Next weekend I, II, III, and Rogue One.” There is some mild booing from the crowd at this, and Kyle waves his hand. “I know. We all have to deal with Jar Jar together, but I’m a purist, and we can’t skip them. And then we’ll watch the new ones, starting with The Force Awakens.”
Matteo leans over. “Why would we watch episode IV before episode I?”
“So much to learn have you, young Padawan. It’s the historical release order.”
Matteo’s eyes dart to the side, then back to mine. His tone is confessional, his eyes furtive. “I wasn’t expecting this to be so much . . . fun. It makes it hard to do my job. Your coworkers are a blast.”
I’m having fun too, and Matteo makes it hard for me to focus on the case. He’s too good at playing boyfriend. I smile and bump his shoulder with mine. The fun is just starting. “Just wait until you see the movies.”
I’ve seen these movies at least twenty times, and I’m used to making snarky comments and pointing out filming errors. I haven’t watched Star Wars without a liberal dose of cynicism since I was ten years old. But something funny begins to happen when we start A New Hope. The words scrawl across the screen, and Matteo reads them out loud, and a shiver runs down my spine. This whole universe is about to be opened up to him, and I’m the one who gets to introduce him to the marvels of the Millennium Falcon. And R2-D2. And I’m seriously hoping this is the old cut with the non-remastered Jabba. I realize I’m giddy. It feels magical. Like the first time I saw them myself and got caught up in the wonder of it all, instead of wondering where the stormtroopers got so much PVC to make their armor in space.
And it’s not just me. The enjoyment level amps up across the room. No one goes downstairs to play Settlers. Everyone is up here because it feels new and exciting. Instead of being on the outside, I can feel Matteo being encircled by my coworkers, and it fills my insides with warm fuzzies. I snuggle onto the couch, trying to walk the line of looking like a couple without crossing professional boundaries. I settle for legs touching, but no cuddling.
“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for” launches a whole conversation—which requires pausing the movie—between Matteo and Tej about the Force. Kyle jumps in, explaining the finer points of robotics in the Empire. I sit back and watch all of this unfold, feeling like a spectator on several levels. I’m grateful that my coworkers invited us and teased Matteo a little but then welcomed him into the fold. They didn’t have to do that. Heck, I don’t think I would have done it if the tables were turned. How many guys have I dumped after the first date because they just “didn’t get” my life or my geek culture references? I didn’t have time to educate people. Matteo kind of forced my hand, but he’s into it. My own universe expands a smidge.
Matteo laughs at the right times, sits forward at the right times. He’s not just pretending. I catch myself watching him more than the movie, my heart beating in my throat, pulse pounding in my body. This is sexy. Instead of being repulsed by his non-geekdom, I’m inarguably attracted by it. A wave of heat suffuses my face, and I sit against the back of the couch, needing a breath of air, a small moment to gain my composure. My heart is pounding like I’ve just run a mile.
“You okay?” Matteo leans his head into mine as the movie hits a quiet spell. He pats my knee in a way that is meant to appear classically affectionate but ends up shooting spirals of energy right through my middle. I’m having an internal meltdown because he touched my leg. How thirty going on thirteen can I get?
“Yeah. Of course. You?” If by “okay” you mean “melting inside.”
“I’m having a great time.” The words sound affable and normal. But our eyes meet, and there’s something that catches there. Something that sparks in his gaze to mirror my own unguarded reaction. His hand stops patting and holds my knee, his long fingers nearly encircling my leg. The gesture is no longer a play at affection. It’s a searing brand on my leg. The heat between us isn’t make-believe. In this moment it’s real and palpable. Our gazes lock in the slowly waning afternoon light. It’s the first moment that I know for certain he feels this crazy pull too. The crazy pull that we can’t do anything about because we’re solving a crime together.
The sounds of scuffle—Obi Wan disarming the ruffian threatening Luke—return us to reality, and we turn to regard the screen. Matteo’s hand falls off my knee, and he sits back, intentionally putting distance between our bodies. I don’t blame him. My own chest is rising and falling faster than sitting on a couch warrants. That was some sort of intense moment, and I know we need to focus on why we’re here, not give in to my urges to make out on the couch.
“So do you guys do this every weekend?” It’s a casual question for Matteo to ask, but I sense he’s going somewhere with this, like he just read my thoughts. Are we that in tune?