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Chewing my lip, I return my attention to my phone and tap a picture of an extravagant Asian restaurant. “Well. I do like winning.”
Lace breaks the zipper and mutters a swear before she begins searching for a different bag.
I skim the sushi menu while my mind works. Oriental food can be an acquired taste, sushi especially is a love it or hate it kind of thing. In order to convince Rowan that he wants to take me out—when I know he most definitely does not—I need to rely on things he does like.
Familiarity.
Pasta is usually safe.
Even if we weren’t Italian somewhere deep in our heritage, close enough to link us to the mafia…and far back enough to juice all the olive tone out of that poor boy’s skin…pasta is generally safe.
Logically, it’s easier to manipulate someone into doing something they want to do.
Perhaps I should opt to throw together another PowerPoint. It worked in getting Rowan to agree to the amusement park, and I do believe dinner has lower stakes, so I can skip a spreadsheet this time. No mafia boss with info-posters plastering their meeting room walls can resist a solid PowerPoint. Even if every cell in them revolts at the ideas being presented.
Possibly…however…the kiss helped my case before.
Kissing impacts the frontal lobe. Shuts it down. Makes thinking hard.
Turning off Rowan’s ability to reason is not really the method I want to employ.
It is not ideal to make my pet treat-reliant.
Obedience should stem from trust and care, not a shot of oxytocin.
Brushing a finger over my lips, I hum and search specifically through Italian restaurants. Cheese and gluten. The backbone of society. Sucks to be a lactose intolerant celiac in this dairy, carbohydrate world. Thank goodness for the strides vegan and gluten-free options have taken. Some of that fake stuff even melts now, and the bread is…almost bread like, last I checked.
If twice the price and half the size.
This place has paninis. If Rowan liked the sandwich Chip made for us, mentioning the option of paninis might be a good angle.
Lace snaps her fingers in my face, and I drag my attention up off the screen. “Yes?”
“I’m done packing. And you’re getting lost in a very simple decision. Picking a restaurant isn’t that deep.”
My brow arches as I lock my phone. “Everything is ‘that deep’.” Falling back onto my bed, I cross my arms beneath my head and close my eyes. “We live in a spiderweb of minute decisions that cause vibrations down a thousand other strings. If I don’t account for every potential detail, I’ll wind up stuck in the strands.”
“Are ya sure this obsession’s not a trauma response?”
Yawning, I crack an eyelid at her. “How dare you.”
“Just wondering.” She sniffs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m the one psychoanalyzing the world. I’m just along for the ride. But overthinking is a concern, and last I checked, it wasn’t healthy.”
“Neither is underthinking. That leads to stupidity.”
“I’m almost positive there’s a balance between the two.”
I let my eyes close again. “Sure, but who’s going to calibrate the scales? How can anyone even begin to measure the hidden thoughts that spill behind every person’s eyes?”
“Whatever ya say, Aristotle. Just tryin’ to look out for you.”
Well, if that’s all this is.
I sigh. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
♠
After the eighteenth trip, Rowan’s closet contains more dresses than he’s likely seen in his entire life, his will to live has depleted, and I’m almost fully moved in.
