“Well yeah, prison is going to change me. I’m harder now—I’ve seen too much on the inside.”

I shoot him a smile, and he laughs. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Am I?” My shoulders give a careless shrug. “What about you? Prison or coma?”

“Coma, then I wouldn’t have to remember a thing about the time that’s passed.”

“But what if you wake up and have amnesia?”

“And have to learn everything all over again…” He plays along.

“And I pretend to be your fiancée even though we’ve never gone out a day in our lives, and you take me home to your family.”

“How will I remember my family if I have amnesia?”

“From the pictures in your wallet.”

Ashley laughs. “No one has pictures in their wallet.”

“My dad has a picture of me—a small two-by-three—in his wallet from when I was in fifth grade, buck teeth and braids. That’s the only way they could show off their photo gallery back in the day.”

“So one of your demands as my fake fiancée is that I keep your photo in my wallet?”

“Well, obviously we’d have to go get a few taken. Print off some selfies at the pharmacy.”

“Specifically in the likely event that I’m going to slip into this mysterious coma and need it to identify you.”

“Exactly. Ergo, we’d have to take a few to print them off for your wallet.”

“You said all that with the sole purpose of using the word ‘ergo’ in a sentence.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Fine. Let’s take a selfie.”

Now? “Here?”

“Don’t girls like taking selfies wherever and whenever they fancy?”

“Most of them.”

Ashley raises his shoulders.

I stare, blinking—inhaling a breath before pushing back my chair and rising from the table, hobbling over to stand next to him with my phone.

I hand it to him after poking open the camera. “Here, you take it. Your arms are longer.”

“Pity’s sake,” he grumbles, sounding ever so British.

I squat behind him and smile, not sure what to do with my hands. It would make a better photograph if I had my hands on him somewhere, his shoulders or…

“Maybe get closer,” he instructs in that deep voice.

I move closer, face next to his, boobs almost falling out of my dress, smile thanks to the wine.

One whiff of him fills my nose with aftershave and spice and whatever deodorant he’s wearing, making me want to plop down in his lap—or kiss the back of his neck.

Touch him.

Ash has gotten his hair cut, and his stubble isn’t shaven but he’s cleaned it up.

He looks rough and handsomely rugged and smells divine.

Like a hunky athlete.

He snaps a few more pictures and I pull a goofy face before returning to my seat next to him. Drink most of the wine in my glass out of frustration—I’m making this weirder than it has to be.

Stop overthinking it.

Have fun.

Be fun.

Be flirty.

I smile across the table at him when he returns his gaze to me, but I can’t for the life of me tell what might be going on inside his mind.

“Is keeping a neutral expression on your face one of the things you learned at school?”

“Pardon?”

Oh god, why the hell would I ask a thing like that?

“Your face—I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Ashley is quiet for a few more moments, lips parting as he gathers his thoughts. Takes a sip of his beer. Leans back casually in his seat, resting his elbows on the arm rest.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Ashley continues watching me, and I can see that he’s weighing his options as if I can suddenly read his mind. If he’s completely honest, he might turn me off. If he says nothing at all, I’m going to continue wanting an answer.

There is no winning this one, and he knows it.

“You want to play yes and no?” I ask him.

“Sure.”

“You have no idea what that is, do you?” My laugh is playful as I keep drinking wine.

“No.”

“I ask a question and you just answer yes or no until I discover what’s on your mind.”

That shuts him up.

“Do you still want to play?”

A nod. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Good. “Hmmm.” I twiddle my thumbs. “Are you thinking that you’re wondering where the server is so we can finally order dinner?”

They’ve brought us a basket of bread with a plate of olive oil and vinegar but haven’t asked what we’d like for supper.

“No.”

“Do your thoughts have anything to do with food at all?”

“No.”

“Interesting.” If I was in a swiveling chair, I’d be going in slow, methodical circles, like an evil villain in a movie. “Very interesting.”

Ashley rolls his eyes.

“So you’re not thinking about food.” Tap-tap go my fingers on the tabletop. “Are you thinking about school?”

“No.”

“The house? Did you leave anything on before we left?”

“No.”

“Are you thinking about rugby or any of the players on your team?”

His grin is slow coming and mischievous. “No.”

So ‘no’ to food, school, his teammates, rugby, the house…

Which just leaves.

Me.

“Do your thoughts have anything to do with this trip?”

I sense the hesitation as he says, “Yes.”

Now I remember why I love this game so much; it’s an innocent way to find out what’s on someone’s mind without them having to divulge it all at once with an uncomfortable confession.

I try to remain cool. “Are you happy with the hotel room?”

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you that there is only one bed?”

He smirks. “No.”

My stomach flips.

“Did it bother you when I told the server we aren’t a couple?”

Ironically, the server chooses that exact moment to make an appearance, sidling up to the table with her tablet to take our order.

Steak, medium. Mushrooms.

Baked potato.

Yes, we’d love an appetizer. Yes, I’ll also have soup.

I don’t have to eat it all and obviously I’m going to want dessert—I’m on vacation after all, one I don’t have to pay for, and I intend to live it up.

Cautiously, I weigh the wisdom of my next few questions, knowing full well I could spoil the mood completely by asking them, more than I’ve already done tonight.

They’re too direct and too honest, but at least I’ll know.

“Were you quiet before because you were thinking about me?”

A pause as his beer glass freezes halfway to his lips. “Yes.”

I won’t lie to myself and pretend I didn’t already know that—I knew what he was going to say before the question left my mouth, but somehow hearing him admit it does something to my insides.