Chapter 35 Hug Circle #2
Except for that one truth I’ve omitted. A truth she doesn’t need to know.
“I want to see it.”
I reach for my belt buckle. “I’ll pull it out right here.”
She smacks my arm. “No. Stop. I’m joking.” Then her expression changes, dead serious, chin lifting a bit. “It must be really tiny, ‘cause I picked a good amount of fire ants off your, you-know-what, and didn’t see a tattoo down there.”
I raise an eyebrow and slide her a quick side glance. “You sure?”
“I’m pretty sure.” She sits back, unfocused, trying to put the pieces of our side road encounter back together in her mind.
The idea of her envisioning my cock sends blood rushing straight below.
Think of anything else.
Fields on a summer day.
Cattle roaming by the creek.
It’s no use, my eyes barely move away from her long enough to drive safely. Not that I’d have it any other way. Because she’s sitting next to me. Right next to me.
This isn’t some fantasy or dream I’ll wake up from hard as a bloody rock and covered in sweat, only to be slammed with the realization I can’t be with her.
This is real.
This is now.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
I didn’t realize I was staring, or that I got caught.
“Nothin’.” I look back at the road.
“Nothin’ huh?”
I shrug.
“Uh-huh.” She sounds so smug, and I want to drink in every part of her, including that smug side. “I lied, though.”
“About what?”
“I caught a glimpse of its edge kind of hiding behind your hair.”
My insides clench.
“Opposite side of mine. Interesting choice you made, Hart. Want to explain the thought behind it?”
My eyes darken. “You know why.”
“I do now. But I didn’t understand when I first saw it. Knowing you got it, but also knowing how much you hated me.”
“I never hated you.” I want to reach across the truck and take her hand, but I can’t when it’s this fresh—when we’re this fresh.
We sit for a minute of silence, appreciating the steps we’ve taken to overcome out past.
“You got the book.” I nod at it sitting on her lap. “Open it up and pick an item so I can figure out where I’m headin’. You know, since you have a secret tattoo, I pride myself on seeing one day.”
She snorts, opening the book. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“It ain’t hard with the looks you’re flashing at me.”
She blushes, and I love bringing that color up her neck.
I nod at the book. “Pick an item.”
The pages flip. Her fingers scan the drawings and doodles—another flip.
It’s almost like it’s the first time she’s been alone with it. And that feeling I used to get watching her with our bucket list trickles its way inside me. It’s a familiar warmth, like the world’s a little smaller and simpler when it’s just us.
I love it.
Her lips lift into a slow smile. “Found one.”
“Alright.”
“Alright.” Her smile is infectious, but she says nothing.
I chuckle. “Are you gonna tell me?”
She nods, but again, nothing comes out.
“And?” I pry.
“You’re not going to like it.” She tilts the partially closed book so I can’t see.
“Is that why you’re picking it?”
“Maybe.”
I grunt. “Out with it.”
“The Ferris wheel.”
Shit.
“Remember the day we agreed on it?”
“I do.” I remember every day with her.
“But we’re only doing the Ferris wheel. There will be no orgasms at the top.”
I barely hear her over the fact that she wants to travel into the air with a mechanical machine that could break at any moment and plummet us to our death.
“No kissing. No touching. No petting, heavy or otherwise.”
Maybe I’ll Google the statistics on how often Ferris wheels malfunction and how many deaths are attributed.
“Hart?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you think it’s silly.”
“Silly?”
Try terrifying, horrifying, one of my biggest fears. I’d rather wrestle a rattlesnake—a dozen rattlesnakes. Hell, throw in a crocodile.
“That’s what you said when I suggested it. You know, back in the day. I picked the Ferris wheel because it offered privacy, but you were too good for it. You wanted something with action. Something that would make your stomach turn.”
Yeah, that had been before the accident—and not the one on the football field.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
Foolish, stupid teenager. It’s coming back to me.
“It’s going to be fun,” she promises, in a way that makes me almost believe her.
“I only agreed because of the making out.” I’ll try anything to get out of it. “Orgasm at the top.”
“Suck it up, buttercup, because that’s not happening.”
I wish the whole thing weren’t happening.
“You have to turn around and head back to the rodeo.”
“We could get caught there. We’re supposed to be sick, remember?” I wonder how many excuses I can come up with to get out of boarding the killer machine?
“I think we’ll be safe. I’m sure if anyone sees us, they’ll turn a blind eye.”
I swing the truck around and head back to the rodeo. Not pleased, but I can handle this. I can handle a fifty-foot spinning wheel. Easy. Breezy.
I park, we grab tickets, and Jade tugs me toward a long line.
Why is it so long first thing in the morning?
It only gives me more time to regret agreeing to do this. And I should be reveling in her touch, but all I can focus on is not letting my feet pivot and run the other way.
Hell, I should’ve just stamped another tattoo on my body.
The Ferris wheel looms above, the sunlight glinting off its frame. Each enclosed cabin is a private sanctuary that would be ideal for making out. But she’s scrapped that, and the damn things are suspended so fucking high in the sky I wouldn’t be able to make out even if I tried.
“I bet the view from the top is amazing.” Jade’s eyes sparkle with excitement, and her voice is brimming with enthusiasm.
Nah, woman.
Just no.
I force a smile, or half-smile.
Damn, who am I kidding? I’m sure it looks like a grumpy scowl.
I try to look everywhere else as we inch forward—the people, the ground, the sky, and a strawberry ride spinning next to us.
It’s pointless. My eyes keep drifting upward, tracking the slow rotation, as it pauses to load the next set of passengers.
If luck were on my side, we’d be the last to load. Things are looking good. We are close, and they’re still loading. But as we step up to the gate, the wheel starts spinning, sending the passengers off, and I realize we aren’t loading the last bucket; we’re loading first into the next ride.
Just.
Fucking.
Great.
It feels like no time has passed, and the attendant waves us to the first empty cabin.
“I secretly love Ferris wheels.” Jade’s steps have a little bounce in them. “The view from the top gives me that same rush as sitting on Onyx and staring at the wide open fields.”
My throat tightens, and my heart pounds harder with each step. We load inside, and I sit next to Jade on the bench seat, my arm resting on the edge of the window.
The damn thing lurches.
Alright, it’s slight, but it feels like the whole cabin is going to rock itself off.
The gears groan as it slowly ascends, loading people on. Each metallic creak reminds me of the height we’re gaining.
Ah, hell, we’re only up two spots, but shit, this is enough to cause severe damage already if the bucket dislodges and smashes to the ground.
Broken ribs, a punctured lung, and an epidural hematoma from the head hitting whatever it comes in contact with.
Memories flood me.
That night of my big game.
I remember my determination. I’d been so cocky, so stupid. I followed my pa into the equipment shed to tell him about Jade, but I wasn’t the only one there.
It happened fast—so fast—and I’ll never escape the sickening crack that night. Especially now, riding so high.
“Hart?”
“Yeah?” My voice croaks.
Not masculine.
Not cowboy rancher.
Not a protector.
But hell, I don’t care.
The ride stops periodically to load other passengers, sending a fresh wave of anxiety through me.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
I barely notice her thigh pressed against mine. We’re close on the vinyl seat, and I wish I could appreciate it. How long have I waited to be alone with her without fighting?
“Am I?” My knuckles tap restlessly on the frame.
I inhale the sweet smell of cotton candy and the salty tang of popcorn, hoping for a distraction.
It works, and for a second, I see those clear bags of pink and blue cotton candy and long sleeves of popcorn. Something to look forward to if we survive the ride of death.
She twists her torso to look at me. “Alright, what’s going on—”
My arm shoots out in front of her. “Don’t move. Don’t rock it. Don’t do anything that could unhinge us and drop us to our doom.”
She’s quiet for a beat, and the ride jerks, lifting us higher.
My grip on everything tightens, and I close my eyes until it stops.
“Hart, are you afraid of Ferris wheels?”
I open my eyes, and a quick glance down turns my stomach. The world is shrinking below us.
My gaze snaps back up, and I focus on the metal framework inside the cabin. “Heights. I think I’m afraid of heights.”
“Since when? We literally climbed the ridge together all the time when we were young, and it didn’t have a bucket of protection like this.”
“I can’t talk about it right now. It’ll make it worse.”
“Okay.”
The damn ride jerks again. “Fuck.”
“Fuck,” she repeats, and I almost laugh.
A definite chuckle and half gasp comes out of me.
The ride stops.
“How many times is it going to do this?”
“I guess that depends on how many buckets are on the ride.” I feel her move to look below, and the bucket sways.
I swear it does.
“Don’t move.”
“The bucket is not going to fall off because I shift a little.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were scared before we got on?”
“You know why”—the bucket moves again—“that masculine cowboy shit.”
“That was stupid.”
“You’re stupid.” The words are out of me like she’s one of my brothers.
She laughs.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.
“Are you?” I hear her teasing.
“Yes.” My eyes are shut again. “Anything that happens on the Ferris wheel, here’s my apology in advance.
“Like your hand on my boob?”