Page 56 of Catching Feelings

I tip my chin to Rowan to start. When we’ve placed our order and the waitress leaves, I loop us back to our game. “Why a coma? Defend. You have sixty seconds.” I look at my naked wrist and tap it.

Her brows dip down in confusion. “Coma?” It takes a second for her to catch up, then she laughs. “Okay. No fair starting the clock when I wasn’t ready yet.”

“Your stalling tactic won’t work on me. And don’t try to flirt your way out of it. You’re wasting time.”

All lies. Iwanther to flirt her way out of it. All she has to do is stretch those pretty lips into a smile and point those smooth, chocolatey eyes at me, and I’ll concede. Fuck. She wouldn’t even have to do that. She could justtellme she wins and I’d bow down at her mercy.

“Fine.” She laughs then straightens her shoulders. “Five years in jail would get in my head. I’d be sad, depressed, angry, miserable. I’d be aware of everything I’m missing out on in the real world. And orange isn’t my color.”

“Disagree. You can wear any color and any style. You could make a paper bag look sexy.” I wave my hand. “Continue your nonsense. You have twenty-two seconds.”

I have no idea how much time she’s used, and I’ll gladly sit across from her and listen to her talk for hours.

Fuck, I’m obsessed. Not mad about it either.

“I wouldn’t come out of prison the same person. But I wouldn’t remember anything I missed out on if I was in a coma. Yes, I’d be sad to see the world had carried on for ten years without me and be upset about missing Emmitt and Paisley’s birthdays and important milestones, but it’s the better alternative. Also, I highly doubt I’d get my job back after serving time in the slammer.”

The slammer.God, she’s cute.

“Time’s up. That was a decent argument.”

“Thank you.” She tips her head down in a bow. “Your turn. Ready. Set. Go.” She taps her wrist, mimicking me.

“My argument is quite simple and undebatable.”

“Mhm.”

Damn, she’s extra cute when she tries to be serious and stern.

“Ten years in a coma would leave my body emaciated. But while spending five years inthe slammer,I could work out all day and still come out looking the fine specimen I am. Maybe garner a tattoo or two.”

I pick up my ice water and clink it against her glass. “Match. Set. Point.”

“Do you even know how to play tennis?” She laughs. “And that’s not match, set, point. That’s the lamest, most superficial argument. Mine is deeper.”

“Um, have you met me? I’m as superficial as they get. No depth here.” I mean for my words to be a joke, but underneath the layers I hide from everyone else, there’s a lot of truth to them.

“I don’t believe that for a minute, Miles Buckingham. You have depth, you just like to hide it with your jokes and...body.” Her cheeks turn a delicious pink. “I see how you care for your aunt and sister.”

“I have money. Superficial.”

“No.” She shakes her head and rests her elbows on the table. “It’s easy to throw money at someone and pretend like you care. Even though I only met them for a few minutes, I could tell by the way they interacted with you and how you talked with them that you care. You’d give up everything for them, which is anything but superficial.”

How is it that Rowan can see the real me when no one else has? Hell, nobody else has ever even tried. I’m saved from coming up with a witty response by the arrival of our salads.

She doesn’t let it go though. “And I think you’re selfless enough to go to prison because at least then your aunt and Julia could visit you, while it would break their hearts more to see you in a hospital bed for ten years.”

Fuck. Me. Now.

Serious talk makes me itchy. Thankful for the distraction of food, I pierce a cherry tomato and inhale my salad. I push my empty bowl away before Rowan’s even made a dent in hers.

Needing to lighten the mood—my specialty—I continue our game. “Would you rather swim in a pool of Nutella or maple syrup?”

“No brainer. Nutella. Syrup is so sticky. I could probably scrub it off my body easily enough, but I can’t imagine how long it would take to wash out of my hair.”

Fuck. Now I can’t unsee the image of naked Rowan covered in sticky syrup. How she’d taste. Maple mixed with vanilla and carrot cake.

“You?” she asks before she takes another bite of salad.

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