We didn't speak throughout the entire movie.

When the end credits began, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen, too afraid to burst the bubble of sexual tension which had inflated for me over the last hour and forty-five minutes of watching Crash and Annie fight, flirt, and fuck.

But Ryan angled his head so he was looking at me. "Well? What did you think?"

Still cocooned beside him as I was, his lips were close to my ear, and the deep tremble of his voice carried on his warm breath, traveling directly to every erogenous zone of my body. I pulled the blanket we were sharing a little higher up over my chest.

What did I think?

Honestly, I was confused, and this day was turning into some kind of sweet torture. I could hear Laura's voice inside my mind saying, "For all of the reading you do, how can you not read this man's signals?" But characters in stories and movies are much easier to analyze than real life people. Emotions are messier. Riskier. And I still wasn't sure if Ryan was friend-zoning me or not.

My throat was painfully dry from my hangover. I swallowed and licked my lips, but it didn't help.

Ryan moved first. He pulled his arm from behind my back, leaned forward, lifted my water from the coffee table, and handed it to me. "Admit it, you liked this sports movie."

I finished my drink and found my voice. "It was good. I'm just not sure how I remind you of Annie. Other than teaching English I don't have much in common with her."

Tossing the blanket off, I stood up and grabbed Ryan's empty glass from the table. "Refill?"

He stood up too. "Sure."

Hoping to get a moment alone to collect myself, I hobbled towards the kitchen, but Ryan followed.

His voice came from the doorway as I pulled the water pitcher from the refrigerator. "You both have curly hair."

"True. But I'm not a redhead, not Southern, and I know very little about baseball. Certainly not enough to be a groupie. Hell, I'm not the type of woman to be a groupie of anything!"

I held out Ryan's cup and his fingers overlapped mine as he I accepted it. My bubble inflated some more, stealing air from my lungs. It squeezed my heart inside my chest, agitating it.

"I think you underestimate yourself Vivian." He lifted his glass and his eyebrows at me in salute, before taking a sip.

My heart raced as I turned back to the pitcher and put on the tap to filter some more water. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Ryan stepped closer, placing himself in front of the refrigerator door, and raised his voice enough to be heard over the running faucet. "Well, I don't consider Annie a groupie. I prefer to think of her as a muse."

I turned off the water, but the rushing sound didn't stop as my blood pumped even harder, filling my skull to the brink.

I knew if I let the torrent of thoughts, questions, and insecurities come out between us, there was no knob to turn them off again, and no drain to make them disappear down. They would just be there. Forever. And in my experience, the only thing that would disappear would be the guy.

As it was, I already felt like I'd said too much last night and I didn't want to add to my list of regrets. I knew if I opened the floodgates again it would make the rest of the day extremely awkward. Since Ryan was trapped at my place until the state of emergency happening outside improved, I pressed my lips together. Breathing through my nose, I tried to remain still, when all I really wanted to do, for what seemed like the millionth time, was throw myself at him.

Ryan stepped closer. "Hey, are you okay?"

I turned toward him. "I..."

Like you... Want you... Need you... Want you to want me... Need you to need me...

Holding out the pitcher towards him. My hands were visibly shaking, making the water come dangerously close to the spout.

"I'm..."

Embarrassed that everything I want to say sounds like some Cheap Trick lyrics... Suddenly aware of how tiny my kitchen feels whenever you walk into it...

Just then, my cellphone rang, jangling my nerves to the point of startling me. "Shit! What time is it?"

Ryan raised his eyebrows and pointed at the clock on my stove. "It's nearly one."

"Oh God! That's got to be my parents video conferencing me." I shoved the pitcher at Ryan's chest.

He smiled. "I'm good with parents. Parents like me."

I scooted past him and hustled as quickly as I could with my bad foot into the living room raising my voice as I went, "That might be true, but please stay silently out of their sights while I talk with them. I really don't feel like trying to explain who you are or why you're here. Let alone why you're wearing my Christmas onesie."

I heard the refrigerator door close in the kitchen as I grabbed my cell from the end table, sat down, and took one deep breath before answering.

"Hi Mom! Hi Papa!" My voice was too loud and artificially chipper, even to my own ears. So of course my mother's suspicious nature was activated.

She immediately scowled at me. "What's wrong? Why didn't you call us earlier? And why do you look so terrible? Are you sick? Your father was worried that you lost power from the storm and your cellphone went dead. This is why you need a landline!"

"But if we were using a landline right now Mom, you wouldn't be able to see my face in order to tell me how terrible I look." I rolled my eyes and prayed that Ryan wasn't eavesdropping.

My father's face appeared over my mother's shoulder, and his Italian accent wrapped around me like a warm hug. "Giuggiola, we just worry about you over there in that apartment all by yourself."

Rubbing a hand over my face I suppressed a groan. "I know, Dad. We've gone over this way too many times. I'm fine. I'm just a little tired today because I went out with Laura after work last night and had a little too much to drink."

My mother's voice rose an octave, "Did you happen to meet anyone nice last night?"

I dropped my hand and narrowed my eyes. "Did you talk with Laura this morning?"

"I'll never tell." My mother smirked and wiggled her eyebrows.

A small bark of laughter came from the kitchen. Clearly Ryan was listening. I growled.

My father frowned. "Giuggiola, you won't meet a nice man at a bar. And what was that strange noise?"

"What noise? Perhaps you mean the growl. That was just me acting like a feral animal whose been backed into a corner, because I'm tired of having everyone meddling in my love life."

My mother rolled her eyes. "What love life?"

This time another, louder snort emerged from the kitchen.

My father pointed his finger at me. "That noise. What is that sound, Giuggiola?"

My mother kept prattling on. "All I'm saying, is that you haven't introduced us to anyone since Donnie. Your father and I are not getting any younger, and neither are you. We would love to be a Nonno and Nonna one day. God forbid you have problems like I did with getting pregnant!" She folded the fingers of her left hand into a set of horns, and made a slight spitting sound three times.

"Jesus Mom! Really? The malocchio has nothing to do with whether or not I have a baby." My cheeks were as red as the ribbon she used to pin onto my diapers to ward off the evil eye when I was little.

They crossed themselves, and spoke in unison, "Don't take the Lord's name in vain!"

"I'm sorry. But can we please not do this today? I'm begging you!" I bit my knuckle resisting the urge to swear in front of my parents.

My father nodded his head. "Of course."

He turned and spoke to my mother, "Tell her, Cara Mia, that you will not bother her anymore today about men or babies."

Mom gritted her teeth. "Fine."

Papa kissed her cheek. "See Giuggiola, we both behave now. So... Do you have a strong shovel to dig your car out tomorrow?

"My super has one that he let me borrow after the last storm. Although I don't know if that's going to be enough against what this blizzard is dumping on us. I guess maybe I should look into hiring some help. Either way it's going to take me a while I'm sure, so I'm planning on making a sugo today instead of tomorrow."

Mom tapped her finger to her lips, which was the universal sign that she was plotting something. She looked at my Dad. "We can ask that nice neighbor of ours with the plow on his truck to go help her."

She turned towards me with a smile and a lilt in her voice. "He's divorced. No kids."

More suppressed snickering came from kitchen. I stood up and walked towards the sound.

My mother complained, "Vivian, you know I don't like when you walk around while we're on these video calls. It makes me so dizzy."

My father closed one eye completely and cocked his head to the side, listening as the noise of Ryan's smothered laughter grew louder.

As I turned into the room, Ryan was covering his mouth with both of his hands. Eyes wide, he bolted up from his chair, and immediately went dead silent. I must have startled the giggles right out of him.

He dropped his hands, face beet red now too, and silently mouthed, "I'm so sorry."

I smirked. "Oh you'll be sorry!"

My parents voices overlapped, saying, "What?" and "Who are you talking to?"

I stepped in front of Ryan, and held my phone so he was in frame behind me. "Papa, this is the strange noise. Mom, this is Ryan Pierce."

My father's jaw dropped open.

Ryan waved. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Giuliani."

My mother's eyes lit up and she smiled like she had just won the lottery. "It's very nice to meet you too Ryan, dear." She put on her reading glasses. "Are those Vivian's Christmas pajamas that you're wearing?"

I nodded. "As a matter of fact they are Mom."

At this my father closed his mouth and glared silently.

Ryan cleared his throat. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this."

With a finger pressed to his lips, I interrupted him. "The explanation is that I'm an adult. And I don't need to give anyone an explanation. Besides right now, we are going to end this call, because I have to make some meatballs and get them simmering in the sauce, so we have something to eat for dinner later."

Then I looked back to my shocked parents, said "I'll call you tomorrow night," and hit the red button before my mother could object.

Turning my back to Ryan, I put my phone onto the counter and opened up the refrigerator. One by one, I pulled out some eggs, cheese, parsley, garlic, milk and multiple packages of meat, piling them all on the workspace between the fridge and stove.

Then I retrieved my broiler pan and a large pot from inside the stove, before switching the dial on. I yanked the largest chef's knife from the block and dropped it onto my cutting board with a clatter. Out came breadcrumbs, a mixing bowl, colander, and the cheese grater from the cabinets, all the doors and drawers slamming.

Ryan stood silently by the chair.

Needing an onion from the basket of root vegetables which hung in the corner, I moved past him like I was a ghost.

As I tried to return back to my work triangle, he reached out and grabbed my shoulders. "Are you going to give me the silent treatment for the rest of the day?"

I looked up into his brown eyes, internally cursing both myself and him for the puppy dog look I found there.

It didn't matter how good looking he was, or that I knew he had some other nice qualities like a normal job, or having an immigrant parent like me. Because if I was just a joke to him, then I didn't even want to be in his friend-zone, let alone anything more.

I still didn't answer, and Ryan frowned.

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" He dropped his hands from my shoulders. "I swear I wasn't laughing at you. I just found the whole conversation that you had with your parents really... I guess the best word I can think of is... endearing. I mean... I thought your parents were charming and I could tell that they really care for you and I just... I wish I still had my parents around to nag me for grandkids."

His words hit me like ice cold water. "I must seem like a totally shit person to you for speaking to them like that."

He wagged his finger at me. "And don't forget hanging up on them."

"Trust me when I tell you that it will never be forgotten. Mom will bring it up at every opportunity she can from now on." I hung my head.

Ryan's hand gently lifted up my chin. His voice was just above a whisper, "I don't think you're a shit person."

My eyes searched his. "You don't?"

"Not even close." He shook his head.

There wasn't a trace of irony or deceit in his eyes or his voice. My heart grew lighter, and I smiled. "Thank you for saying that."

He smiled too. "Let's move on. In fact I have a great idea. You can teach me how to make meatballs, and that will distract us from the fact that five minutes ago you insinuated to your parents that we're sleeping together."

"I am sorry about that too." I started to feel flushed again.

"That's your mess to sort out," he said with a wink. "Now about those balls."

I stepped over toward my ingredients. "The secret is to not overwork the meat."

Ryan nudged my shoulder. "That's what she said!"

We both started to chuckle as we set about preparing the ingredients for our dinner later.