Page 86 of Catch Me
“You should try it,” I suggested.
“Burnt food isn’t my idea of gourmet.”
“Have some fun.”
“I’mveryfun.”
“More like very demure, very mindful.”
He threw a marshmallow at me, then burst into laughter. It was impossible not to do the same. Another one came for my face, and this time, I caught it in my mouth. Throwing my arms in the air, I let out a cheer smothered by the marshmallow.
“You ever played chubby bunny?” I asked.
“Is that when you eat a bunch of rabbits until you get chubby?”
Rolling my lips inward, I forced back a smile. “No.”
I grabbed another bag of marshmallows and asked myself who he thought he was feeding when he got these. It was a good thing he’d brought them, though.
“Alright.” I grabbed my chair and dragged it closer to his. “We each put a marshmallow in our mouth, then we have to say ‘chubby bunny.’”
“Simple.”
“Mhm. We add another and do the same thing. Whoever can keep saying it with the most marshmallows in their mouth is the winner.”
He clicked his tongue a few times while he processed it. When it had been silent for a few seconds, I kicked his shin.
“I’m thinking,” he drawled with a healthy dose of snark.
“It’s not complicated.”
“My brain lags like a 2005 Dell.”
This time, I did laugh. “Uh, okay. That’s weird.”
“Shut up. Auditory processing isn’t my strong suit. Okay.” He blew out a breath and tossed a marshmallow in the air. “Open.”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s no fun.”
He brought the marshmallow to his mouth, and fuck my life, I was an idiot for grabbing his wrist and pulling it toward me. I held one out to him and he snatched it with his teeth like I had, looking a little too smug about it.
“Chubby bunny,” he said proudly. “Another one.”
This time, we put our own marshmallows into our mouths. When we reached seven, he leaned forward and choked out a laugh.
“Erm gunn die.”
I wheezed, barely able to draw in air at this point. Grabbing onto his arm, I pulled him back up, then broke down in another laugh when I saw how full his mouth was. I made a sound to get his attention, and he turned toward me, folding his hands in his lap with mock patience.
I hummed as I prepared. “Churby berny.”
He shook his head. I narrowed my eyes and gestured toward him. When he pointed at me and shook his head again, I flipped him off. Apparently accepting that my response was good enough, he cleared his throat.
“Ubby bernie.”
Immediately, I spluttered, then nearly inhaled the marshmallows. When I was younger, I didn’t think about how dangerous this was. Had people ever died doing this?
