Chapter 6
SIX
Ethan
“There it is!” Ethan exclaimed, pointing to the renovated warehouse on the waterfront. The building was painted with stripes, stars, and balloons in every color imaginable. Over the bright red door, a glittering sign with light-up letters welcomed them to The Midway By The Bay.
“What is this place?” Blake asked as he cut his car’s engine, staring up at the sign through the windshield. Reflections of the lights twinkled in his eyes.
“It’s an indoor carnival.” It was clear from Blake’s wonderstruck expression and goofy smile that Ethan had picked the perfect place for their date.
“It was built by a guy who collected classic carnival games. All the games are hooked up to ticket machines, so you win tickets that you can cash in for prizes at the end of the night.”
“Sounds like fun. I should warn you, though, I’m a little competitive when it comes to games,” Blake said as he rounded the front of his black BMW to take Ethan’s hand.
Ethan looked down at their joined hands in disbelief as they crossed the parking lot. How is this my life? He still couldn’t believe Blake said yes to a date with him.
Blake had been beautiful at the diner Sunday morning, but tonight he was stunning.
Rather than being smashed under a baseball cap, his lush chestnut hair was swept back off his forehead in a graceful wave.
His deep green Henley hugged every ripple of muscle in his arms and made his eyes look like emeralds.
It had taken Ethan an hour to choose the black sport shirt he was wearing. It was flattering on him, but now he second-guessed his choice. Why black for a date at a carnival? A brighter color would have distracted people from the cowlick he’d been unable to tame before leaving the house.
Blake jogged the last few steps and opened the door, holding it for Ethan with a courtly little bow. As Ethan stepped over the threshold, Blake’s hand settled at the small of his back. It was a small gesture, but its subtle message – I’ve got you – put Ethan at ease.
Blake followed close behind, and as the door swung shut, Ethan caught a whiff of his cologne – spicy and woodsy, like smoky cedar. The sexy, masculine fragrance left Ethan a little lightheaded, as blood from his brain rushed south.
The walls of the lobby were lined with framed vintage posters: acrobats, fortune tellers, bearded ladies, and strongmen in leopard print. While Ethan purchased a bag of game tokens at the front counter, Blake moved down the row, pausing to study each of the fanciful illustrations.
Ethan lingered at the counter a moment longer, pretending to fumble with his change while he watched Blake in the soft light of the room’s amber sconces.
Whenever something caught his eye, Blake leaned in, lips parted, his fingers hovering just above the protective glass over the posters.
It was rare to see a grown man look so curious, so openly delighted.
Ethan sidled up next to Blake and hooked his chin over Blake’s shoulder. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah! This poster is from the 1920s, and it’s in mint condition. My roommate collects vintage magic posters. He would love these.”
“It’s an incredible collection.” Ethan nodded to a set of double doors painted with a giant bulls-eye. “Ready to see more?”
They pushed through the doors and were greeted with a feast for the senses – a bustling carnival midway that could have been plucked out of the early twentieth century and dropped into downtown San Francisco.
Spots of colored light danced on every surface.
The sounds of bells, whistles, and delighted laughter surrounded them.
Best of all, the air carried the rich scent of roasted peanuts and buttered popcorn.
“Where should we start?” asked Blake.
“Do you like Skee-Ball?”
“I’ve never played before.”
“What? That’s criminal. Come on.” Ethan grabbed Blake’s hand and tugged him toward two side-by-side lanes. He dropped a token into each lane’s coin slot, and with a satisfying clunk, ten wooden balls rolled down each track’s side trough.
Blake picked up one of the balls, looking between it and the wall of concentric rings at the end of the lane. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s kinda like bowling,” Ethan explained, “but instead of pins, you’re aiming for those rings. Like a bulls-eye. The smaller rings are worth the most points. Here, watch me.”
Ethan scooped up a ball and blew on it for luck, sending it the message: Don’t embarrass me in front of the guy I like.
He swung his arm and sent the ball speeding down the lane. It hit the ramp, arced gracefully through the air, and dropped into the forty-point ring.
“Woo hoo!” Ethan cheered. A strip of blue paper tickets extended from the ticket dispenser like a mechanical snake’s tongue. “Your turn now.”
Blake picked up a ball and held it in front of himself.
His features tightened into a look of intense concentration.
Without warning, he wound up, swung his arm, and released the ball, which rocketed down the lane.
It struck the ramp and was launched into the air, soaring past all the high-scoring rings and tumbling into the catch-all ten-point ring.
Blake groaned, his shoulders wilting. “That was terrible.”
“No,” Ethan assured him, unable to suppress a chuckle. “It was... powerful. Dial that force back about fifty percent and you’ll have it.”
Ethan stepped beside Blake and held up his hand as if he were gripping a ball. “It’s all in the swing. Keep your eye on the target and follow-through. Like this.”
Ethan mimed the action, and had Blake practice a few times. “Okay, try it now.”
Blake picked up a ball and rolled it down the lane. It bumped the ramp, banked to the side, and plunked into the twenty-point ring. “Well, that’s better, I guess.”
“That was great,” Ethan said. “Keep practicing. You’ll get the feel for it.”
Blake improved slightly with each throw, but most of his shots still bounced wide or hit too hard, ending up in the ten- and twenty-point rings.
With a rumble of frustration, Blake rolled his last ball down the track and missed the ramp completely. He huffed a quiet laugh as the ball ricocheted off the side wall and rolled back to him.
“Okay,” he said. “I may be overthinking this.”
“Or underthinking it. Hard to say.” Ethan bumped their shoulders together. “Look, you’re doing fine.”
They played a few more rounds, and Blake loosened up a bit. His throws were softer and more controlled, even if his results were still hit or miss.
When Ethan finished his final set of balls, he stepped to the side and watched Blake play.
More accurately, he watched Blake. The way his jaw tightened when he concentrated.
The power rippling through his muscles. The way his bulky bicep flexed and released with every swing.
Just the thought of wrapping his hands around that meaty arm sent a jolt of heat straight to his dick.
“Last one,” Blake said, holding up his final ball.
“Yeah,” Ethan croaked, his throat suddenly dry. He forced a swallow and tried again. “Blow it, um, blow on it for luck.”
Cracking a smile, Blake blew a puff of air on the ball and held it toward Ethan. “You too? For luck?”
The tips of Ethan’s ears burned. All he could think about was blowing Blake’s balls. Shaking his head to dislodge that distracting image, Ethan blew on the ball. “Good luck.”
“Here goes nothing.” Blake drew back his arm, lined up his shot, and released his ball with an impressive follow-through.
The world switched into slow motion as they watched the ball roll down the lane, in a straight shot toward the center of the backboard. It hit the ramp and sailed through the air, as if their good-luck breaths were guiding it to victory.
The ball struck the inside of the fifty-point ring and, after circling the ring a few times, dropped through the hole in the backboard.
Blake pumped his fist and let out an excited whoop. He threw his arms around Ethan and pulled him in close. “Holy shit! I did it! Fifty points!”
Ethan squeezed him back, taking another hit of his cologne, which now bore a hint of Blake’s natural, manly scent.
He could have stayed there all night, resting his head on Blake’s firm pec, while those strong arms formed a protective cocoon around him.
Never before had a man’s touch made him feel so safe. Or so aroused.
Reluctantly, Ethan pulled back and smiled up at Blake, who was beaming. “That was amazing! Want to play again?”
“Nope. I want to end on a win. What other games are there?”
“Everything you remember from carnivals as a kid,” Ethan said, tearing off the long strips of tickets they’d won. “Water gun races, ring tosses…” His voice trailed off when he turned and saw Blake staring into the distance.
“I want to try that.” Blake pointed to where the High Striker towered over the midway, its gleaming bell taunting passersby, daring them to try and ring it.
Blake led the way and soon they were at the base of the imposing tower, looking up at the bell from below. The bell might as well have been a mile away. There was no way Ethan would get the puck to travel that distance.
Blake picked up the oversized mallet and tested its heft. He held it out to Ethan. “Want to take the first swing?”
“Only if you promise to respect me afterwards.” Ethan took the mallet and dropped a token into the coin slot.
A tinny recording of a carnival barker issued a challenge. “Step right up and let’s see what you’ve got!”
Taking a deep breath, Ethan raised the mallet over his head and slammed it down onto the lever as hard as he could. The puck rose about a third of the way, to a zone labeled 98-pound weakling, before falling back to the lever.
As if to add insult to injury, the ticket dispenser spit out a single ticket.
His cheeks burning from embarrassment, Ethan handed the mallet to Blake. “I’ve heard they sometimes rig these things, to keep the puck from ringing the bell.”