I leaned away. “Fine. I’ll prove it. I will gladly just so you know I think of you as more than a hunk of meat.”
His eyes widened. “I hadn’t even called myself that.”
“Just doing it for you. I mean, you might as well have. That’s what you think I think of you.”
Roan’s hands flared. “Whoa. When did I ever say you think I’m a piece of meat?”
“I think you’re a trophy. What’s the difference?” I tipped my hands like scales. “Meat on one side. Trophy on the other. Who’s going to win?”
He rubbed his face. “You can be really difficult to talk to about sensitive things.”
“I’m not sensitive.”
“Right.” Roan rose and gulped down his wine. “Are you ready for me to walk you out?”
“Are you kicking me out?” Now I was fighting mad. First he tells me that I think he’s a trophy—I mean, the nerve of this guy thinking he knows my innermost thoughts. It doesn’t matter that he might actually be right about the whole rushing thing. The point was that I didn’t want him to know I had issues and that I thought rushing it might be the best way to go.
He didn’t need to know my hang-ups. Heck, I didn’t know his. Why was I so easy to read?
It annoyed me.
Roan stood, eyes wide like I was a panther about to jump on him. He hadn’t bothered to answer my question, so I repeated it.
“Is our date over? Are you kicking me out?”
He shook his head. “No. No, I’m definitely not. Don’t let your mind start wandering where it shouldn’t. It just seemed that our conversation had hit a bump.”
“Right. Because I think you’re a piece of meat.”
“I never said that.” He rested his hands on his hips and tapped his fingers against his belt.
“You are agitated.”
“You think? A conversation that was supposed to put you at ease exploded in my face.”
“I don’t see any pie.”
He cocked his head in confusion.
“If something was going to explode,” I explained, “it should be a pie, not a conversation.”
“Well, it must be invisible because I’m pretty sure I’m wearing it.”
We stared at each other until we laughed. Roan sank back to the couch, and I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“I don’t think you’re a trophy.”
He stiffly ran a hand down my back. “Do we have to keep talking about this?”
“No.” I squeezed harder, and Roan pulled me into an embrace.
He leaned back and knuckled hair from my neck. “Did I, daresay, hurt your feelings?”
“No,” I quipped.
He nibbled a spot on my jaw. “Promise?”
I shivered. “Okay, maybe a little, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I rush things and think about things the wrong way so that I don’t have to face the emotional impact of a situation.”
