The blanket of night had just settled in the sky above Agoura Hills, deep hues of purple and red fusing with the rich blues as the hands of clocks reached half past eight. The smell of processed butter more than generously poured onto cheap popcorn filled the air as soon as Carissa approached the cinema. She cringed, bringing her arm up to mask her nose from the horrendous smell in hopes that the weakening scent of laundry detergent on her cardigan would be able to overpower the saturated fat lingering about- it didn't. She wouldn't admit it, but she was type that snuck in her own food to the movie theaters. There was no way she'd ever be caught shoveling those nasty cinema confections down her throat.

She had been standing in line for nearly four hours to get her ticket to From Famished to Fame, a novel-turned-blockbuster-hit which she had read ten times cover to cover before hearing about its movie rendition that had even the toughest of critics giving standing ovations. It was Friday, opening night for the movie, and she was determined to watch it one way or another.

The wait wasn't as bad as she thought it'd be, for a tall gentleman with a coy smirk stood right in front of her the entire time. He had initially cut in line behind a friend, which infuriated her to no end, but she quickly let go of her irritation once she saw the mischief dance in the luminous green of his eyes. She observed him quietly, how he would run his long, lean fingers through the chocolate curls on his head, how he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when he was thinking about something, and how the scent of his cologne would occasionally drift her way when the theater doors adjacent to the lineup would open, allowing the gusts of wind to carry the smell of him and enveloping her in a cocoon of spine-tingling comfort. Swirls of ink mocked her eyes from under his white tee. She noticed a particularly large spot of ink on his abdomen, though she wasn't sure what it was. His broad shoulders and long, lean body was the perfect canvas for whatever fantasy her little mind could conjure up. He towered over her, standing at least- if not more than- six feet off the ground.

A feeling of guilt and shame rushed in from all sides once she caught herself staring at him for the third time that hour, and for what seemed to be the millionth time since she laid eyes on him that night. Stupid Carissa, she thought, a man like that? Single? You're too naive.

But the chagrin voices were silenced by the sight of his digits running over the curve of his lips when he found amusement in something his friend had said. She couldn't help but to wonder how those slender fingers would feel upon her skin; would they caress her the way other men had not? Would they find their way into the little crevices of her body that even she didn't know about? Would they ghost along the sides of her waist and work their way downwards against the fire of her core, causing her hair to stand up on end? Were they rough, or were they gentle? Would they tease? Would they please? They looked skilled; multi-talented; as if they belonged to a ventriloquist- no doubt he could operate any woman the same way too.

A frightening scenario popped into her head; one of them sitting beside each other in the cinema, pleasantly watching the movie. Suddenly, out of some daring attraction, his hand slipped onto the olive-coloured flesh of her thigh. It rested just above the knee, below the hem of her skirt, tracing little circles into her skin. It was a dangerous feat- someone could see them! Someone would call them out for their promiscuous behaviour! She wanted to scream out, "Stop! Pervert! Get your hands off of me!", but no one seemed to notice his antics, and she couldn't deny that it felt nauseating; revolting; absolutely...divine?

His hand wandered up her leg, that delicious grin playing on his face yet again as he gazed straight into her curious, almond-shaped, hazel eyes. She squirmed in her seat, but his eyes seemed to say, "Where do you think you're going?". So she kept still, as a little puppy learning basic commands would, and let his hand venture up, up, up, until her breath hitched in her throat when he could go up no further. She gripped the arm rest tight, as if one touch from him in the right place would send her skyrocketing to the moon, and anticipated the unraveling of her sanity. She had the sudden urge to close her legs; her face flushed red; her skin ran hot; she was more than just embarrassed- she felt humiliated. He noticed this, scrutinizing her reactions, and pried them apart for easier access.

He licked his lips, moistening the surface- she thought about how it would feel if they were to brandish her neck with multiple love bites- and seemingly sent subliminal messages her way as the long fingers she had been dreaming about slowly peeled down the waistband of her black cotton undergarment just enough so that his hand could slip under the fabric. Her heart raced in her chest- Carissa? Are you going to let this stranger touch you like this? Down there? You don't know him at all! she visualized her conscience scolding, to which she replied, "The hell I am!"- and spat fire into her throat; he was going to do it! He was going to make her relish in her heated thirst in the middle of the movie and have everyone stare at the woman getting fingered during the scene where the main character nearly dies of starvation- she couldn't care less about the money she spent on the ticket if he was the main attraction.

"I suppose it's your lucky day- you've purchased the last ticket."

Carissa snapped out of her daunting daydream and looked forward at the movie attendant, who handed the man she had just been fantasizing about a ticket. He couldn't have- he wouldn't! Did he really have the nerve?

"I'm sorry- last ticket for which movie?"

"From Famished to Fame," the attendant replied in the same tone someone would say, the sky is blue, or, water feels wet.

"No, no, no, you must have another ticket. I've been waiting in line for four hours!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's a full house tonight. Would you like to watch another movie?"

She was furious. How dare the attendant offer her another movie? How dare they have no more seats? Couldn't they disregard the fire hazard and place her on the aisle steps? She was too busy running everything through her head to notice the man that had purchased the ticket chortling behind a sly smirk with his arms folded over his chest, taking in her angry aura as he watched her from the side.

"No, it's fine," she managed to say through gritted teeth, "thank you anyway."

As she turned to leave, the man with the last ticket- her ticket- grinned in triumph, a dimple indenting to the left of his mouth. He had been observing her the entire time. Regrettably, she needed to cross his path to leave the building and he was still there beaming like a menacing idiot. She rolled her eyes and stomped past him only to have his hand brush against her forearm in attempts to draw her attention. She turned around and scowled.

"Piss off," she snarled, shoving her wallet into her purse. She heard a teasing tsk tsk tsk from him.

"That's not very nice. I was going to offer it to you, you know," another smile painting his face. He had a thick, English accent dripping off his tongue like molasses. It made her toes curl from inside her boots as she wondered what he would sound like if he were to moan her name into her mouth, his tongue working furiously against hers, his hand slowly slipping its way under her shirt and up her body to caress- stop, Carissa! her conscience repeated. She glared up at him only for her stare to fix upon the sharp curve of his jaw, chiseled to perfection like a marble statue- no, stop thinking about him, she thought, he stole your ticket!

“Offer it to me? If you hadn't cut in line, that ticket would've been mine!"

"All's fair in love and war. Persuade me, and it's yours."

She frowned, unsure of his sincerity. He waved the ticket, comfortably residing between his index and thumb, and raised his eyebrows as if he were saying, "Go on- impress me." She let a sigh fall from her lips.

"Please?"

"Surely you can do better than that,"

His voice was sultry, streaked with caramel, honey, and the finest Belgian chocolate. It was deep and resonated through his chest. She wanted to close her eyes and bathe in the lush pleasure that was carried through his voice.

"May I please have the ticket?"

"Really? That's all you've got?"

"Are you going to make me beg?"

"If you're any good at it, I wouldn't mind if you did."

Once again, mischief lit up his face as the intention of what he said was analyzed in her head. She was no longer filled with a desire for him, and if she was, it was only the desire to get as far away from him as possible.

"You're a pig," she spat, storming out the doors. Disgust filled her chest- she should've known that someone who looked as good as him would be a debauchee of some sort. She unlocked her car, getting into the driver's seat before speeding off into the night.

Little did she know that he had praised whatever force of fate or destiny that happened to put his friend in front of the young woman who had just driven off in the old station wagon. Her dark, tousled locks smelled of rich jasmine- a scent that he was quite fond of. He caught her looking his way from time to time from the corner of his eye. He didn't want to say anything, but the way she played with her hands when she focused on him caused a tight knot to form in his stomach- a simple gesture, but nevertheless frustrating. She gently massaged her knuckles with dainty movements of her thumb which caused him to wonder how her touch may have felt if were his own hand she were embracing. She came off as cautious and calculating; never one to make a move without thinking of the consequences first- something he certainly needed more improvement on. She remained a tick at the back of his mind for the rest of the night.

He cursed under his breath at the sight of her car pulling out of the parking lot. The night sky had gotten darker, the purples and reds transitioning into indigos and maroons, leaving an air of uncertainty to tangle between the two strangers who didn't know a single thing about the other.

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