The man we’re going to have lunch with.
Sure, I feel nervous. Maybe even a little scared. But that would only make Rowan even more terrified than he already is.
It’s obvious in the line of tension he’s carrying in his shoulders and the way he keeps on glancing at his phone to check the time.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say, reaching out and resting my hand on his. “I get the easy job. I just have to follow your instructions, right? I’m good at that.”
“Yeah. Just follow my lead.” He flips his hand over, lacing our hands together. “We should go.”
“Okay,” I say, hopping up to my feet.
“You remember what we practiced, right?”
“Yup! Stay behind you, follow your instructions, and keep my eyes on the floor unless I’m looking at you.”
“Good,” he nods, standing from the couch and running a hand through his messy hair.
The central farmhouse is nearby enough to the trailers that we can walk, though I keep on having to stop and shake out the bits of gravel that get caught between my feet and the plastic foam of the slides I’m borrowing from Rowan.
My entire outfit is Rowan’s. His basketball shorts, his hoodie, his t-shirt.
It’s like I’m carrying him with me with every step. I like it, even though I’m kind of swallowed by the fabric.
The front door opens almost instantly after Rowan knocks.
“You’re punctual. Good,” Norman nods, stepping aside to let us in.
I follow the rules Rowan laid out for me tonight, my steps following behind his like a shadow as I keep my gaze glued to the floor.
“What’s for lunch?” Rowan asks as we follow his dad to the dining room.
“Pizza,” Rowan’s father answers, his chair scraping against the worn hardwood floor underneath.
There’s a large pizza already sitting at the table. It’s heaped with all different kinds of meat. I guess that would be the pizza a burly alpha like Norman would prefer.
There are more than enough chairs for me to take a seat at the table, but exactly like Rowan and I practiced, I sink down onto my knees beside him as he takes his seat.
I feel Norman’s gaze on me, watching my movements assessingly, but I just stare up at Rowan.
He reaches down and pats my head in acknowledgement.
It’s silly how much I like head pats.
Well, any form of affection, really.
Spending the past few days surrounded by Rowan and the fighters and their casual touches makes me realize I was touched starved back at the facility.
“I’m impressed. She’s so well behaved already,” Norman comments as they both start eating the pizza.
“She is,” Rowan says, shooting me a glance. He picks off a piece of ham and reaches down under the table.
My mouth waters at the scent. I lean up and take the bite of food from his hand, my tongue darting out to lick some of the tomato sauce off his fingers.
Wow. I like this.
I should ask Rowan if we can have some of it together in his trailer, later.
His breath hitches the slightest bit before he returns his attention to his dad.
