22
The credits roll and the lights come on. I’m fine with car-chase movies, but there’s a limit to how many times a guy can survive an explosion.
I take Jason’s hand as we step into the foyer. “What did you think?” I ask, knowing full-well that he loved it.
“It was okay,” he replies, his tone a little cold. It’s been over a week since the lake. When is everyone going to drop it?
“Thought you loved those kinds of films.”
“I do. It was fine.”
There’s a real atmosphere in the air, so I’m guessing that he’s still mad about last weekend. “Is this about the lake?” I ask, as we leave the building. “Is that why you’re pissed off with me?”
He turns to me with a glower, pulling his hand out of mine. “I’m not pissed off with you. It’s late and I’m tired, that’s all.”
That’s usually my line.
