I smile. “Maybe. Ignore them.”
“Ignoreants?”
“You heard me,” I retort.
“I’d like to see you ignore ants crawling up your vag—”
“All right, stand up, Parker.”
I get to my feet and reach down for her hand as her eyes study me. She takes it and brushes herself off.
“I’m sorry. I tried. It’s not the way my mind works.”
I study her face. “Let’s try a different tactic.”
Arching a brow, she crosses her arms. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to learn aboutnature.I was expecting—” She clamps her mouth shut and looks away.
“What were you expecting when you came here?” I ask her, watching as she shakes her head.
“I don’t know.”
Her cheeks redden, and I take a step forward. Her eyes find mine as I place my hands on her shoulders.
“Close your eyes,” I murmur.
Her pupils dilate slightly before she does, and then I wait a minute before I begin.
“What do you hear?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Your breathing. My breathing. Some weird bird sound in the distance.”
“Good. And what do you smell?”
“Your cologne.”
I laugh. “I’m not wearing cologne.”
Her lips twist to the side, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Of course you aren’t.”
“What else?” I ask.
“The dirt. The trees.” She inhales. “Water? Or something mineral-y.”
“Okay. And what do you feel?” I ask.
“Your hands,” she tells me, her voice low.
“What else?”
“My clothes. The breeze against my skin.” I lower my hands and lace my hands with hers. Then I brush the underside of her wrist with my thumb. “Your thumb.” Her voice is hoarse.
“And how does my thumb make the rest of you feel?”
“I—what?” she asks.
I do it again, ignoring the electric current shooting up my arm.
“My heart,” she whispers. “It’s beating really fast.”