Page 76 of Game Plan

He pressed pause as the credits rolled across the screen and angled his upper body so we could face each other. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a mix of everything. The cast, the storyline, the tension between the two main protagonists, the side characters, the soundtrack, the swoony happily-ever-after. I love it all.”

“Even the grand gesture when the guy hijacks the hot air balloon and proposes to her after just a month of dating?”

“Especially that. Even if it sounds far-fetched, they make it seem believable.” I smiled big. “You can’t say it leaves you indifferent. Be honest.”

“I have to say, Shepard. It somehow works even though they’re both eighteen, and in real life, it would probably never go down like that. Anyway, I can see the appeal.”

“See? No one can resist a great love story with a heartbreaking plot.” I placed my bowl on the floor and moved across the couch until I could sit beside him. “Wanna share the blanket and watch another movie?”

“Yes. Let me check what we have. Not sure Amber left any other chick flick behind the last time she came over.”

After discarding the ice pack, he went by the makeshift media unit and opened a DVD case, flipping through the sleeves.

“Want to tell me what’s the deal with that chair? The hand-shaped one?” It looked like a bad designer piece, the fingers acting as the backrest, the palm being the seat, and the thumb turned into some sort of armrest.

“Rutherford found this at a garage sale during football camp. It’s freaking creepy. Nobody wants anything to do with it except him.”

“It looks like something from a bad horror movie. The killer would keep it in his basement, amongst his many computers, recording devices, hidden cameras, and the frozen bodies of his victims.”

“Jesus, Mel. You and horror movies. Don’t spook me, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“You’re a six-foot-tall football player in college, and you’re scared of a made-up movie plot that isn’t even real?”

“I hate those things. You’re fully aware. People who write these screenplays are psychos if you think about it. They could be serial killers themselves. It’s no joke. I bet they could give you a crash course on how to bury a body without leaving any forensic evidence behind.”

“Gosh, you’re so dramatic tonight. Let’s talk about that plant, then.”

“Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Yeah, we named it. Move-in gift from my mom. It’s supposed to act as a testosterone filter.”

“A what?”

“Don’t mind it. It’s stupid. She thinks it will purify the air or make us less horny or something.”

“Anyway, I like its outfit. It’s very trendy.”

“Thank you.” He spun, waving a DVD in his hand. “How do you feel about a thriller? It’s not a horror movie, but it’s close enough. It’s about a detective following the hints left behind by a serial killer.”

I rubbed my hands together, excitement bubbling up inside me. “Sold.”

He put the DVD into the player and came back to sit on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I think that soup possesses real healing powers.”

“Glad you agree.”

The movie had only been playing for fifteen minutes when Mason started cracking his knuckles and bouncing his leg. He’d been doing it a lot lately. He had told me once he’d been feeling restless lately, but this was something he’d never done before—at least not to this extent. He kept raking his fingers through his hair, not seeming to realize he was doing it.

I placed a hand on his knee, stilling his leg. “Something you wanna talk about?”

He watched me with a frown, as if I’d just spoken another language.

“Mase, what’s going on?”