Sliding out the purple booth, I slip my hand into Rowan’s and the warmth of his touch seeps into my skin.
“Do you…Would you like me to go with you?”
I shake my head. “I think you’ve had enough dramatics from me for one night.”
“You’re not dramatic.”
“Yes I am,” I snap. “Just...whatever.”
The obnoxious clicking of my heels is left in my wake and I feel eyes burning into my spine as I walk toward the door, squeezing through groups of people waiting for a table. I push open one of the thick black doors and finally take in a breath.
I trail off to the side of the building, putting a hand at the base of my throat where I can feel myself breathing and my heart beating with my eyes closed.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
The next breath I take, I peel my eyelids open as a cloud of air forms around my mouth.
“Nat.” My heart leaps at the sudden sound and I look over my shoulder. “There you are.” Rowan takes few long steps until he’s in front of me, holding my coat on his forearm.
“Sweetheart, you forgot your coat,” he says.
“Don’t do that,” I pant, a giant cloud gathering at my mouth.
“Just let me put it on your shoulders,” Rowan murmurs as does so, setting the coat over my shoulders and adjusting it comfortably. “There.”
I sniffle. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
I lift my head to face him, the tears in my eyes be damned as I peer up at him. “Bethatway.”
His brow quirks. “Be civilized with your parents?”
“You don’t get to go around saying you named your restaurant for me!” I whisper-shout.
“I didn’t.” He smirks. “I named it after my favorite movie.”
“Beetlejuicewasneveryour favorite movie and you know it.”
He shrugs, nonchalantly slipping his hands into the pockets of his navy slacks—slacks that, I’ll admit, do something fantastic for her legs. “You don’t know that. It could be.”
“It isn’t.”
“It’s not like you pay attention,” he mutters so quietly I almost miss it.
I blink. “What? I…Of course, I…”Of course I pay attention to you.
“What’s my favorite movie then, Natalia?” Rowan muses, leaning into me slightly. “Since youknowit isn’tBeetlejuice.”
“It’s…” There have been so many. Fuck, there are so many things I know about him that I pretend I don’t because it’s so much easier tonot know.Knowing him is how I ended up here in the first place.
He’s still smirking, but now has a cocky, arched brow to match.“Well?”
I hate him.“Between the ages of sixteen and seventeen, you were weirdly obsessed withThe Breakfast Club,” I say. “Then, in college, your obsession was everything that had to do withThe Matrix.You had a stupidDie Hardera about two years ago and right now your favoritemoviesareGrown UpsandGrown Ups 2.Your favorite color is green and youlovewhite sneakers because you think they’re the ‘sleak-est looking kind of shoe.’”
