Clara blushed and grabbed her own handful. After a few moments of chewing the treat, she leaned back. “You’re a genius.”
“Wow. More compliments?”
She nodded solemnly. “Seriously. You’re the full package.”
Josh examined the half-empty auditorium with mock horror. “Hey, quit talking about my package. This is a family-friendly theater.”
When she laughed against his shoulder he swore the vibrations went all the way to his roaring heart. He found himself bending down and smelling her hair. I’m such a goner.
The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the previews. He’d never seen Rocky but he knew the story. A man no one dreamed could compete wound up holding his own in the ring with a champion.
Speed. Die Hard. Rocky. Clara always seemed to fall for the underdog. Josh reached for her hand, ran his lips across the back of her knuckles, and wondered why he’d never noticed before. She leaned her head on his shoulder as the opening music played.
Throughout the movie, Clara lit up anytime Josh laughed and squeezed his hand when things looked bleak for the Italian Stallion.
When he got home he’d write a letter to his principal telling her how wrong she was. He’d grown up into the kind of man who went on dates with Clara Wheaton.
“So . . . what did you think?” Clara practically skipped as they exited the theater.
Josh would have sat through anything that made her glow like that movie. “I liked it. Rocky’s very lovable. Apollo was cool. Adrian’s a babe.”
Clara stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Well, what was your favorite part?” The rest of the theatergoers shot them dirty looks as they went around.
“Hmmm.” Josh wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a scowling gentleman a little wave as the hallway emptied out. “I really enjoyed the way you sat forward in your chair and shadowboxed along with Sylvester Stallone.”
Clara ducked her chin. “I may have gotten a little overexcited. Speaking of . . .” She backed him into a corner and kissed him.
“We’ve only got fifteen minutes before the sequel starts,” he said against her lips, figuring she’d murder him if they missed the opening credits.
“Maybe we could watch it at home?”
Josh’s dick twitched. “At home? You mean you don’t want to see your heroes duke it out on the big screen?”
Clara closed the distance between their hips and reached into his back pocket. “I thought I’d teach you a few sparring moves instead.”
“Okay, but league rules say all fighters must be topless.”
She yelped when he gave her ass a friendly tap and started walking her toward the door. If he had his way they wouldn’t get out of bed for the next forty-eight hours.
“You know how much I love rules.” She blinked up at him with a devastating set of bedroom eyes. “Oh shoot. I left my sweater in the theater. Wait a second. I’ll grab it.” Clara made it about twelve steps before stopping short.
Immediately, her posture changed. She stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest before taking another small but decisive step farther away from him. “Toni. Hello. Nice to see you.” Her voice changed pitch.
Josh recognized Toni Granger from the newspaper, even though the woman wore a casual outfit. She was taller in person than he’d assumed.
“I thought I’d take the team out for a little last-minute morale boost.” Toni gestured to a group of seven or eight people waiting in line to get into theater two. “Their boss kept them working late on a Saturday. We looked for you but Jill said you’d already left for an appointment.”
Clara wrung her hands.
The DA looked to where Josh stood waiting. “Is this your young man?” She gave him a polite smile.
“No. Of course not,” Clara said, going white.
Josh felt each word like a punch to the solar plexus.
“No,” she repeated, mercilessly hammering the point home. “I was asking this nice man if he knew where the bathrooms were located.” Clara’s eyes found his, desperate and pleading. “Thank you again for your help.”
“Don’t mention it.” Josh hauled his lead feet toward the exit.
He’d made it about halfway through the parking lot when Clara ran up beside him. “Josh. Josh, wait up.” She caught his sleeve between her fingers. “I am so sorry about that.”
Something inside Josh howled in pain, but he smothered its cries. “It’s fine.”
He’d known no one would buy a fairy tale about a princess and a porn star. “Where’s your sweater?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t care about the sweater. I care about you. I . . . I couldn’t risk someone on her campaign team recognizing you.” Clara worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
He lengthened his strides until she fell several steps behind him. How many times had people laughed when they heard his profession? Or stammered and refused to meet his eyes? How many people had called him disgusting? He should have outgrown this reaction years ago.
Somehow none of those slights compared to this. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the way Clara had looked at him when she thought someone she respected might see. Even now, the difference in her body language reflected the void opening between them.
He had been a fool and a half to think that a golden girl like her would ever acknowledge him as her equal.
Bile rose in the back of Josh’s throat. “I get it, Clara.”
“They’re politicians.” She stared at her hands. “Everyone’s skittish about the reelection campaign. Please understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t beat yourself up.” As sad and pathetic as it was, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to save face. He’d die if she knew how close he’d come to believing tonight meant something. “It’s not like this was a real date.”
Clara reared back for a moment. “Oh. Sure. Right.”
Another nail in the coffin. Everything made sense now, her unusual calm; she’d never thought they’d make it past the bedroom. He wanted to ease the guilt off her face. She wasn’t to blame for his feral hope. “We’re having fun. Messing around.” His voice sounded far away in his own ears.
Clara’s eyes turned the gray of a thousand thunderstorms. “Of course. I know that.”
He wished he could trade places with Rocky Balboa. He’d give anything right now to hit hard slabs of frozen meat and run until he puked. Maybe then he could replace the emotional pain that sat like acid in his stomach with physical pain that meant something. That showed up on the outside.