Chapter 6 #2
“So what? It’s just for fun.” Blake fed a token into the coin slot and stepped up. After planting his feet and squaring his shoulders, he swung the mallet over his shoulder, wielding it like a sledgehammer.
The mallet struck the lever and sent the puck hurtling skyward. The clang of the bell rang out, followed by the whine of a siren.
Ethan’s mouth fell open, and a tiny eep escaped.
The tinny voice of the carnival barker announced, “Ladies and gents! We have a certified strongman!”
The ticket dispenser whirred, and so many tickets flowed out of the machine that the strip pooled on the floor.
Blake tore off his tickets with a smug flick of his wrist. He waggled his eyebrows. “Not bad, huh?”
Ethan playfully punched his bicep. “You dick. You owe me some cotton candy now, strongman.”
“Coming right up.” Blake swept Ethan off his feet and slung him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Ethan yelped as his world tipped sideways.
Sniffing the air, Blake took off toward the food court, with Ethan squirming and laughing in his arms.
The midway’s food court had every high-calorie indulgence imaginable, from corn dogs to funnel cakes to bushel-sized buckets of butter-drenched popcorn. Blake set Ethan down, and they ordered a stick of wispy pink cotton candy to share.
They sat on a nearby bench, and Ethan scooted over until his thigh touched Blake’s. He tore off a piece of the gossamer fluff and popped it into his mouth. “I hope you don’t think I’m a man of loose morals.”
“Why would I?” Blake asked, his suddenly serious expression signaling that the set-up for Ethan’s joke hadn’t landed.
Ethan winced. “I mean, uh, I should have at least asked for your last name before I let you buy me cotton candy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, that joke sounded better in my head.”
Blake relaxed with a soft chuckle. “It’s Larsen. I guess I should have asked your last name before I let you tempt me with sweets.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile.
That smile did things for Ethan. A pleasant warmth pooled in his belly. “My last name’s Whet.”
Blake tilted his head to the side. “Like, water wet?”
“No, but I get that a lot. It’s spelled W-H-E-T, like a whetstone.”
“A wet stone?”
“A whetstone… used to sharpen knives?” When Blake frowned, Ethan moved on quickly. “We think it used to be ‘Wheat,’ but somewhere along the way the ‘a’ got dropped. Anyway, it’s a silly name.”
“I like Whet. I’ve never met someone with that name before. It’s unique. Like you,” he added softly.
“Keep sweet-talking like that Blake Larsen, and I won’t need cotton candy to give me cavities.” Ethan rested his head on Blake’s shoulder with a hum of contentment, threads of sugar dissolving on his tongue.
Blake
Blake froze, his heart racing.
This was so different from what he was used to with men – the frenzied foreplay, the dirty talk, the hungry eyes and roaming hands.
Here, everything felt tender, almost innocent. Sitting side by side at a carnival, eating candy beneath a riot of colored lights, surrounded by laughter and cartoonish sound effects.
The moment was sweet and delicate, like spun sugar on the verge of melting. Carefully, so carefully, he angled his head until his cheek brushed the top of Ethan’s hair. He inhaled the clean, citrusy scent of his shampoo, and relished the warmth where Ethan’s body pressed against his.
Ethan looked so handsome tonight. He’d been cute at the diner, in his apron and Heyday T-shirt, but tonight Blake had a chance to really look at him.
He kept discovering new details, like the dusting of tiny freckles on the apples of his cheeks, or the way his eyes shifted in the light – sometimes appearing grey, at other times blue.
And damn, he could write ballads about the way that black shirt hugged Ethan’s wiry body, highlighting every plane and angle Blake wanted to trace with his fingers.
He ached to cup Ethan’s jaw, gently turn his face, and gaze into his eyes before kissing him. As he imagined tasting the sweetness on Ethan’s lips and tongue, a pleasant, tingly warmth spread through his chest.
For a few fleeting minutes, the rest of the world fell away and it was just him and Ethan, eating cotton candy in cozy silence.
When the cardboard dowel was picked clean, Ethan patted Blake’s thigh. “That was good, but really sticky. I’m going to wash my hands. Save my spot for me?”
“Absolutely.”
Blake watched Ethan cross the food court toward the restroom, clocking the tiny spring in his step. Ethan’s hips were narrow, and his perky butt was adorable. Each of his small cheeks would be a perfect handful…
“Excuse me?”
Blake turned and found a man standing beside the bench. He must’ve swooped in the second Ethan stepped away. “Are you talking to me?”
The tall, gangly guy shoved his hand through his shaggy mop of blond hair. “You’re Dirk Slocum, aren’t you?”
Blake glanced toward the bathroom and sighed. “Yeah.”
“I’m a big fan of your work.” The guy held up his phone and gave it a hopeful shake. “Can I take a picture with you? My friends won’t believe I met you.”
“Look, I’m on a date––”
“Please, I swear it’ll be quick.”
Blake clenched his jaw. “Fine.”
“You’re the best. Thanks!” The guy crouched down, leaned in close, and threw an arm around Blake’s shoulders.
Blake grimaced at the whiff of stale sweat, but forced a smile while the guy snapped picture after picture.
“Epic,” the guy said, scrolling through his gallery. “Seriously, man, thanks again.” He gave Blake a slap on the back and jogged over to a group of friends near the pretzel court. They huddled around the phone, talking excitedly and glancing over at Blake every few seconds.
Shaking his head, Blake got up to toss the empty cotton candy stick.
Ethan was a few steps away, his brow furrowed. “Who was that?”
For how often this kind of thing happened, Blake should’ve had a go-to lie, but it caught him off guard every time. He scrambled to come up with something plausible. “He, uh… thought I was Peyton Beckett.”
“The actor who plays King Tyron in The Call of Iron?”
“I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong.”
Ethan tilted his head, squinting one eye. “I don’t see it, but I’m not surprised he thought you were an actor.”
“Yeah, well.” Blake glared at the group, and a short man with a pinched, puglike face mimed a blow job. Tightening his fist, Blake crushed the cardboard cotton candy stick. He forced his attention back to Ethan. “Are you up for more games?”
They strolled through the midway in silence, the awkwardness hanging in the air like an errant boom mic, intrusive and impossible to ignore.
But after a few rounds of shooting water guns at clowns’ mouths and scooping plastic ducks out of a pond, the tension began to melt away, and the playful, flirty vibe from earlier was back.
Blake told Ethan about his roommate Dustin, who tested all his magic on Blake because his girlfriend always figured out the illusions.
He shared silly stories about Spencer and Xander.
When meeting new people, Blake sometimes spoke as little as possible, self-conscious that he might say something dumb and embarrass himself.
But Ethan was hanging on his every word and laughing at all his jokes.
Soon, Blake was looking for every opportunity to draw a smile or a laugh out of Ethan.
Talking with Ethan was fun.
“Ooh, a magic claw!” Ethan exclaimed. He grabbed Blake’s hand and they jogged over to the machine, its lights flashing in time with cheery 8-bit music. Inside the cabinet, a four-pronged hook hovered like a metallic spider over its hoard of cheap toys and stuffed animals.
Ethan pointed to a pudgy orange cat, with upside-down U’s for eyes and a pink plastic nose. “That looks like my cat, Creamsicle.”
“Then I need to win him for you.” Blake fed a coin into the machine and navigated the hook over the cat. He dropped the hook, and its prongs closed around the doll’s body. “See? Easy,” Blake gloated. But as the hook began its ascent, the prongs slipped open and the cat fell back onto the pile.
“Don’t sweat it,” Ethan said. “They purposely keep the hook loose so it can’t pick anything up.”
“Fuck that. I’m getting that cat.” Blake slammed another coin into the slot and maneuvered the hook over the cat again. This time the hook lifted it a whole inch before the doll slipped loose and dropped back onto the heap.
“Come on!” Blake slapped his hand against the side of the cabinet. He plunked in another coin, gripping the joystick so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Maybe if you try to hook the loop on its head you…” Ethan’s voice fell off.
Blake glanced over. Ethan was staring into the distance. “What’s wrong?”
He ran out of time and the hook dropped, coming up empty and returning to its starting position with a whirr.
Ethan motioned with his chin. “Those guys from earlier are watching us again.”
Fucking assholes. Blake didn’t understand why people couldn’t just leave him the hell alone when he was out living his day-to-day life. “Let’s move along, then. I think you’re right about this thing being rigged.”
Blake took Ethan’s hand, and they strolled in the opposite direction from the guys, who were hanging out near the Whac-A-Mole machine.
Ethan kept glancing over his shoulder.
“They’re really bothering you, huh?” Blake asked.
“They’re probably wondering what you’re doing with a guy like me.”
“Why?”
Blake’s question surprised a laugh out of Ethan. “Because you’re hot? You have those pecs, and biceps, and, um––” He swept his free hand down his body. “I look like this.”
It physically hurt – a sharp twinge of pain in Blake’s heart – to hear Ethan talk like he wasn’t worthy of dating because he wasn’t jacked.