Consider Me (Playing For Keeps, #1)

by Becka Mack

Carter’s digging into his second helping when he asks me a question, looking down at his plate. Actually, it’s several questions, spilled out in the form of word vomit, which is usually my forte, not his. “Do you wanna get married? What kinda wedding do you want? Big? Small? Chocolate cake or vanilla?” He makes a noise, like he can’t believe he asked that. “That’s a stupid question.” He twirls his hand, laying his palm faceup in the air. “Chocolate, obviously. Maybe decorated with those tiny Oreos. Or big ones. Double stuffed.” He raises his head to peer at me only after silence has stretched between us for a good ten seconds. It’s a slow raise, too, tentative, maybe a little nervous, and I watch pink splotch up his neck and pool in his cheeks, which, again, is usually common for me, not him.