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“Will you slow down?” he growls.
I blink innocently. “Did you need something?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You are the one who manipulated me into coming here.”
I don’t agree or disagree, instead, I simply say, “You can leave whenever you want.”
“You aren’t going to block my car again?”
I shrug, my focus more drawn to the stand of fresh vegetables than the conversation. I tried, but he belittled me, and now I couldn’t care less what he does with his day.
“You wouldn’t care if I left?”
Again, my one shoulder rises, indifferent. I’m enjoying my time.
“You’re so stubborn!” he gripes to my profile.
“So leave.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” he vents adamantly.
Rotating, I give him the most attention I’ve given him in hours at the morsel of his admission. This is the least spiteful he’s been since we arrived.
I chew on my lip, an idea forming in my mind. I guess a part of me takes pity on him because I find myself asking, “How do you feel about games?”
“Love them.” He doesn’t hesitate.
Anobviouslyclinging to the end but is never verbalized.
Is that what we are? A quarrel of back and forth?
Disregarding it, I point, showing him exactly what I’m thinking. “Do you see the numbers? They’re on every booth.”
He nods, listening intently.
“I’ll pick a random number and you can pick out whatever you want, but you have to make us a meal from the items you choose.”
His shoulders fold in, hands finding his pockets like earlier. “The catch?”
“I can only choose nine numbers.”
Lines form across his forehead. “Nine? Why not ten?”
I clear my throat to cover my smile. “That was my favorite basketball player’s number in high school.”
For the first time in the history of history, Finn’s cheeks startle to a nice shade of red. Is he actually embarrassed? Did I do the impossible and throw Mr. Overconfident for a loop?
His eyes, I can’t decide if they’ve come more alive because of my symbolics—basketball his deepest passion—or if he’s upset because I’ve disrupted the privacy of our past.
“Nine works,” he agrees even as his voice fluctuates while doing it. A whole ocean of raw emotions trapped within the simple statement.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, using his own phrasing on him.
His chuckle, although small, is impactful. Finn knows what I’m referencing. The day back in his car after the tournament when he’d given me an ultimatum.
