Once again, he cuts me off mid-sentence. “I guess we need to assess the most urgent thing in the room at this very moment.”
I lean back, curious. “What’s that?”
“I think we all know.” He makes a show of giving me his undivided attention. “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?”
“The fact you even need to ask that tells me what caliber of a human being I’m dealing with right now.”
He dies laughing. “Fucking agreed, one hundred percent. Not only is it a Christmas movie, it is the best Christmas movie of all time.”
“A-fucking-men to that. It’s the one thing I’ll agree with you on—ever.”
“I guess that only leaves one thing left to determine.”
“Again… What’s that?”
“Who is the biggest Die Hard fan out of the two of us?”
I scoff. “As if that needs to be determined and isn’t already decided.” I can’t stop grinning right now, and I really should stop.
He nods, looking off at the wall. “You’re right. I thought maybe you could compete, but it’s okay. I realize I’m on another level.”
I set my beer down. “Okay, listen up, assface.”
“Assface?” He feigns offense, his jaw opening as wide as it could go.
“Yes, assface. I shouldn’t even dignify this competition with a response, but if you must know, I still have an original movie poster on my wall, in my bedroom, as a twenty-four-year-old adult.”
“A movie poster. How cute.” He smirks right at me. “My Instagram has a selfie of me in front of the building they used for Nakatomi Plaza in Los Angeles.”
“Speaking of cute. That definitely takes the cute award.”
He leans in. “I visit it annually, on July fifteenth, the day the original film released.”
I mirror him by leaning in. “I dressed up as John McClane for Halloween when I was ten.”
He laughs. “You really think that matches what I just told you?”
“My mother had to reluctantly buy me a flesh-colored swim cap, then I colored in a receding hairline with brown Sharpie. She had to threaten to ground me to make me wear shoes, because I wanted to go barefoot with fake blood all over my toes.”
The entire time I tell this story, Matthew’s cheeks poof out farther and farther, like he’s picturing all of this in his head. Finally, he manages to cackle out, “Did you say, ‘yippee kiyay, motherfucker,’ instead of ‘trick or treat’ when you went door to door?”
Now, I’m the one trying not to laugh. “Oh, I wanted to. Bad. My mother has never forgiven my dad for letting me watch it while I was so young.”
“Seems like a valid concern.”
“I’ve always been into action movies. Blood and guts and heists and stuff like that. I think it’s because my dad loved them too. Plus, it was like he was letting me in on something. It felt like he was trusting me in some weird way, like it was a rite of passage toward adulthood. A secret bond we shared, and it started with Die Hard.”
“I get that.”
“So, why do you love the movie so much?”
Matthew shrugs. “I mean, it’s just fucking Die Hard, man. There’s something about that movie, the first time you see it. You’re glued to the screen and it never lets up. Willis is fantastic, but Rickman absolutely slays. You can’t have a phenomenal hero without a phenomenal villain. It’s perfect. The gold-standard for action flicks, the one everything gets compared to.”
“Totally agree.”
And just like that, Matthew freaking Graham shifts gears with no warning. “Wanna play ping pong?”
My head whips back around to him. “What?”
He’s already standing up. “Come on, let’s get some paddles.” He walks over to where the bartender is standing there, watching a TV.
Guess you’re playing ping pong.
My eyes dart over to the door. I could make a run for it. It’s the smart thing to do, especially now that I like him even more. It’s dangerous and I really don’t trust myself around him. I glance back over at Matthew. It almost looks like he’s glowing, the way he’s smiling, like he’s having the time of his life.
Then, it really crashes into me. Is this a date? It feels a lot like a date now. Before, it was drinks with a colleague who happens to be my boss. Now, we’re sharing intimate stories and doing activities like ping pong. Is putt putt next?
How do you get yourself into these situations, Karli?
“Karli.”
I realize I’ve started staring at the door again. My head slowly cranes around to him.
He nods at the table. “Come on.”
Sure as shit, my Judas feet start that way before my brain can think this through or convince me to run out of the place. That’s the thing, though. I don’t want to. I think I’m starting to like him even more, which absolutely cannot happen.
How am I going to make it through months of this shit? I can’t even get through a day without going on a date with my boss.
He’s not your boss anymore.
Real nice; rationalize it.
I beat him the first game, but I have a strong suspicion he lost on purpose. Regardless, by the end of it, we’re both laughing and joking. It’s absurd, but I think he’s managed to erase every doubt about him from my brain.
Okay, I’ll be completely honest. I haven’t had this much fun in a very long time.
“Two out of three?”
I shake my head, slowly. “I really need to get home.”
“It’s like that, is it? Win one and run?”
“No, I just can’t stay out all night. I need this thing called sleep.”
He stalks around the table, or maybe my mind just imagines him walking that way when he’s really just strolling like a normal human. Though when he gets next to me, he’s way too close—again.
It looks like he’s searching for a way to convince me to stay, and there’s a small—okay, large—part of me that wants him to actually win the debate this time.
But then, his lips twist up into his most devilish smirk yet. “You’re right, I’ll walk you home.”
Everything inside me bursts into flames at once. Is he being a gentleman, or…?
Holy shit, does he want to come inside when he gets to my place? Do I want him to?
No, no, no… You cannot sleep with him on the first day… No, sleep with him at all! What the hell is wrong with you?
I don’t even know if that’s what he wants, or if he would do it either, but just the possibility of it has me wetter than I care to admit. All of this happens within a matter of a second, and I can see him analyzing my reaction. He clearly likes what he sees.
Before I can say anything, he’s paid the tab and grabs me by the hand. “You live far from here?”
There’s an urgency in his voice, which only ratchets up the sexual tension to a new level.
How long has it been since I’ve had sex?
You don’t know that he wants to sleep with you!
The second our coats are on and we step out into the freezing Chicago air, I know.
It’s like a damn tornado just swept through.
I’m spun around and my back is against the wall next to the entrance, like he couldn’t even wait to get us around the corner.