I train my eyes on the screen, not wanting to miss a second of our conversation. Minutes later, she returns with a bowl of popcorn, movie-theater snack boxes, and a Coke. My mouth waters, practically tasting the buttery popcorn.

She darts a quick glance in my direction, as if double-checking I’m still with her, and settles her snacks onto the bed. Sliding back onto the bed, she fluffs out a pillow and makes herself comfortable.

“Want a virtual kernel?” She holds the bowl toward the phone.

“Funny.” My stomach grumbles like a chain saw. “You’re making me hungry.”

“Be better prepared in the future.” She pops a kernel in her mouth and shoots me a sly grin.

I frown in disapproval. “Give me a heads-up next time.”

“I love that you’re agreeing this will happen again.” She winks before tearing open a box of Junior Mints and tossing one into her mouth.

“Pause and let me see what I can wrangle from the kitchen.” I drop my feet and groan as I stand.

“Wrangle? What are you, a cowboy going to hunt for his next meal?”

I flip her off before heading into the kitchen in search of snacks. Since Archer and I prefer takeout to cooking, I don’t get my hopes up on matching Cassidy’s snack game. Rummaging through the cabinet and fridge, I return to the living room with a bag of pretzels, a beer, and a box of Thin Mints.

How the living hell my brother managed to have Girl Scout cookies is beyond me.

I plop down on the couch at the same time I rip open the pretzels. “Choose our movie.”

She nods, chewing the popcorn in her mouth, and rattles off some romance movie title.

Suppressing a groan, I type it into the search bar. “Got it.”

“All right,” she says, simulating a game show host’s voice, “one, two, three, hit start.”

We hit the button on our remotes at the same time, and the movie starts. Instead of watching the movie, I stare at Cassidy—all creeper-style but also justifying it as this is what she wanted. I soak up her surroundings, of the small area I can see of her bedroom.

“It sucks you’re over there,” Cassidy says, sliding the popcorn bowl onto her nightstand before tugging a white blanket up her chest. “We could snuggle.” She snuggles into the blanket, into the bed, the same way I’d want to with her.

It does suck that we can’t.

It’s also good for us that we can’t.

My heart quickens at the thought of her in my arms, but instead of agreeing, I say, “Eh, I don’t know. I’m putting my money on you not only being a bed hog but also a snorer.”

I joke.

It’s in my nature.

My defense mechanism without sounding defensive.