Holding Me Tighter [Still Flashback]

Holding Me Tighter [Still Flashback]
The movie had been running for almost twenty minutes, and I still hadn’t looked away from the screen. Even though I’d watched Twilight more times than Reagan had marched back and forth to his professor’s office begging not to flunk, I was still hypnotized by Forks’ gloomy atmosphere and Bella’s eternal look of despair.
The sound of rain in the movie blended with the low hum of my bedroom’s AC. And Reagan… that bastard was still holding me from behind, making me forget how to breathe properly.
His hug wasn’t the usual kind. Not stiff or awkward. But not pushy either. It was… just right. Exactly like where we were now, not entirely together, not completely apart. Our bodies fitting into spaces that felt destined for us.
His hand rested on my waist, but what made my pulse falter was the subtle movement of his fingers. He tugged lightly at the hem of my T-shirt, slid his hand beneath it, and pressed his warm fingertips against my skin. Slow, deliberate, and… strangely familiar. Which made no sense, because we had never been this close before.
“I don’t get why that guy doesn’t just use an umbrella,” Reagan muttered suddenly, his voice low and lazy near my ear. “I mean… he’s a vampire, not a fish.”
I smiled faintly, still watching the screen. “It’s part of the act. Makes him mysterious.”
“Act?” he echoed.
“Yeah.” My tone grew a little dismissive. “He’s supposed to look broody so high school girls like me can fall in love with his tragic aura.”
Reagan chuckled. A low laugh that brushed warm air across the back of my neck. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from melting.
“If I stood in the rain and looked at you like that, would you fall for me?”
“If you stood in the rain, I’d throw a jacket at your face and tell you to go home before you caught pneumonia and became everyone’s problem.”
He laughed louder, but his hand stayed under my shirt, stroking gently, circling over my stomach like he was casting some kind of spell. I forced myself to focus on Bella and Edward, on that iconic forest scene, on the cheesy dialogue that still made me roll my eyes and secretly swoon.
But it was impossible with Reagan breathing like that against me.
One arm propped his head up on the pillow, while the other stayed wrapped around my body. Sometimes I thought he did all this on purpose. Other times… like now… I was sure he didn’t even realize how ruthlessly he was tearing down my defenses.
“Bella wouldn’t last two weeks in the Bronx,” he muttered again.
I sighed. “She lives in Forks, Reagan.”
“Worse,” he said. “At least in the Bronx you could learn self-defense. In Forks? Even the sun refuses to show up.”
This time I laughed. Really laughed. And for the first time in two days, I felt lighter. He pulled me tighter, like my laughter was the thing he’d been waiting for.
“I like hearing you laugh,” he said softly.
I didn’t answer. Because if I spoke now, my voice would sound too honest. And I wasn’t the type of girl who gave away honesty that easily. Especially not to a man like Reagan Milano, the kind of man who could hold me like this and still look like someone who’d burn the whole world down if I ever got hurt.
“Don’t say anything during this scene,” I warned quickly, just as Edward saved Bella from the skidding van. But since when did Reagan ever follow instructions?
“Have you ever almost been hit by a car?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “In the campus parking lot. I wasn’t saved by Edward though… just a trash can.”
His laugh exploded, deep and unrestrained.
Damn him. He’s too comfortable, and too distracting. And his hand was still on my stomach, his fingers tracing lazy patterns as if writing invisible words only my skin could read.
I kept my eyes on the screen, but I wasn’t seeing Forks. Not Bella.
What I saw was Reagan’s chest pressed against my back. His breath stirring my hair. The warmth of his body seeping into me like a slow fire, wrapping around my soul inch by inch.
If anyone could make me forget how this movie ended, it was Reagan Milano. And right now… I didn’t care if Bella stayed human or not. Because tonight, I felt… a little more whole.
And a little more insane.
Because I didn’t pull away. Instead, I closed my eyes.
And let him hold me tighter.
“No guy has ever made me feel this comfortable.”
The words slipped out before I could catch them. I usually filtered myself, careful not to let softness turn into weakness. But tonight… I lost. Blame Twilight. Blame Reagan’s arms around me. Or blame the rain outside the window that made the world feel too calm for sarcasm.
Reagan didn’t answer right away. His arms just tightened a little. His fingers on my stomach slowed, his breathing heavier.
“I once dumped a guy just because he typed ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ in a text,” I added flatly.
Reagan snorted, amused but not surprised. “Of course you did. You’re Gretta.”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see. “And one guy called me ‘babe’ on the second day we met. I ghosted him immediately.”
“Ghosting,” he repeated, his voice low and rough against my neck. “Your weapon of choice.”
I gave a small laugh, eyes still on the screen but not really watching anymore. “Yup. Ghosting is an art form. And I’m the artist.”
He laughed too, then slipped in, still chuckling, “Including that time freshman year? When you disappeared like a ninja after we went out three times?”
I froze. Shit.
“Oh God. You remember that?” I winced, laughing nervously.
“Of course, I do.” His tone was easy, casual. “You wore a light blue dress. We saw The Revenant. You were hiding your face every time Leo got mauled by the bear. Then you left without a hug, without a kiss. And the next day…” He shrugged. “Poof. Gone.”
I burst out laughing, burying my face in the pillow. “Oh my God. I totally forgot we even went out back then.”
“Yup. I was very forgettable,” he said in mock drama, though his lazy drawl never shifted.
I turned slightly, glancing at him over my shoulder. “You weren’t mad?”
“Mad?” He laughed. “Gretta, I was honored. Being ghosted by Gretta Domingo is like… an initiation into an elite club.”
“What the hell kind of club?”
“The club of guys who couldn’t tame the most impossible girl on East Campus.”
I laughed again. “You’re such an ass.”
He nodded proudly. “A proud ass.” Reagan let his head sink back into the pillow, his breath brushing my hair again. “So,” he said softly, “since I’m the only one who’s ever made you feel comfortable… that means I win, right?”
I raised a brow. “Win what?”
“Win you,” he said simply, without hesitation.
I bit back a smile, but I knew my cheeks warmed. “Don’t get cocky, Milano. Comfortable doesn’t mean love.”
He chuckled low in his chest. “But it could be a start, couldn’t it?”