Chapter 19 #2
Addressing the cashier, Reed says, “Sorry, I didn’t ask for this earlier, but are there any first-floor spaces open?”
Either he noticed my reaction, or he somehow knows about my phobia and wants me to be comfortable. Neither of those things aligns with my view of him as a selfish donkey, which causes a single hummingbird to flutter in my belly. Just one.
I will not fall in love with Reed Hayes.
The cashier nods animatedly, his smile widening. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you,” I grit out, narrowly avoiding a squeak. An exhale audibly leaves me because I’m nothing if not composed.
“Not a fan of heights, huh?” The guy chuckles, and it carries a mocking tone. Not a ton, but enough for me to pick up on the energy shift. He’s giving me frat boy vibes and not the good kind. My suspicion is confirmed a second later when he murmurs, “Or is it the stairs?”
Reed bristles, posture stiffening and jaw clenching. “I’m the one who doesn’t like heights. Go ahead and say that again while looking me in the eye.”
Another hummingbird sneaks into my midsection, high-powered wings and all.
After we get a sputtered apology and a stack of free drink coupons, Reed laces his fingers through mine and leads me to our first-floor station.
Unable to resist, I give his hand a tiny pulse. “I didn’t know you were scared of heights.”
“I’m not. But you are. And fuck that guy.”
A dozen more hummingbirds appear inside me, making it an entire charm of winged invaders.
I scroll through my past with Reed, wondering how he knew. I can’t recall any time when he might have witnessed me losing it. “Was my reaction that obvious?”
“I already knew.”
“That I’m afraid of heights? How?”
“Because I have a working memory,” he retorts.
I may have told Reed quite a bit about my life when we were younger, but there’s no chance I confessed why I can’t stand heights.
“Okay, but what are you remembering?”
He pauses at the entrance to bay twelve, flashing an obscene dimple. “Kenzie’s eleventh birthday party. At that shitty excuse for an amusement park with the rickety rides that were somehow less stable than the ones at the Strawberry Festival.”
Mmm. Strawberry shortcake.
But that’s not important right now.
My brows furrow as I’m still unable to recall what he’s referring to.
Reed uses his index finger to smooth the crumpled skin over my nose. “Remember our bumper car marathon?”
Gasping, I cup my mouth with my free hand. “I totally forgot about that.”
While Kenzie and the rest of our friends—her friends, honestly—stayed on the Ferris wheel for a dozen rotations, Mrs. Hayes made Reed take me to the bumper cars so I didn’t have to sit there bored.
I made him go on it like four times in a row.
Later, he rode the swirly teacup ride with me when the others went on the death drop thing.
All these years later, and I still stand by my decision not to go on that ride.
It has death in the name for goodness’ sake.
I lower my eyes as uncomfortable recollections surface. “Wow. You have a top-notch memory. Sorry about that.”
He shrugs, the movement making our still-joined hands swing. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Well, what teenager wants to deal with his little sister’s scaredy cat friend? I bet you hated every second of it.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to do it.”
“Hold on. What do you mean you offered? I thought your mom made you do it.”
“You thought wrong. She’s just as self-absorbed as Kenzie and didn’t notice until I pointed it out to her.”
My jaw sags.
He adds, “Plus, Kenzie was being a little bitch. You were better company. Still are.”
My head kicks back. “Reed! Hush. She was not. It was her birthday.”
He rolls his chocolate eyes dismissively, which shouldn’t be hot. Yet here we are.
“She knew you were scared of heights, but she didn’t even alternate with the smaller rides so you could join them. Her birthday or not, that was rude. And you were a funny kid. I was much happier hanging out with you anyway.”
Words fail me, other than a paltry, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
It’s been a while since we’ve gone this long without snarking at each other. I just can’t find it in me to be petty right now. Perhaps he can’t either.
We stand inches from the door that leads to our game area, simply stuck in the moment. Gazes locked like we’re seeing the other through fresh eyes.
His fingers stroke mine tenderly, and I decide we aren’t stuck in the moment. Rather, we’re indulging in it.
And all those hummingbirds start to take flight.
Oh no. Not again.
I blast those stomach-dwelling pesky birds with frigid air so they go to sleep.
Time for a topic change. “When we left the front desk, why did you ask the cashier what kind of car he drives?”
Reed smirks and opens the bay door, tipping his head to encourage me to head out first. “I’m gonna find his car in the lot before we leave and run his plate to see if he’s got any outstanding warrants. Maybe bring him in for a little chat one day.”
As he ushers me into our private game area, I try to keep my laughter muted. Additionally, I attempt to ignore how much I like the sound of his.
I fail on both accounts. But there’s something to be said for consistency, right?
Bay twelve has two comfy couches and a bar-height table that box out our space. In the center is a rectangular patch of green turf that butts up to the edge of the deck. Clearly, that’s where we’ll tee off. A computerized console is on one side with a rack of golf clubs.
I glance around, noting we’re essentially on a large patio that runs the length of the entire building.
It’s covered on top but opens onto a gigantic driving-range-type space.
There are big fans and chillers to keep it comfortable, which my deodorant will no doubt appreciate.
On both sides, there are other alcoves matching ours, most of them filled with people who are eating, drinking, laughing, and hitting golf balls.
This place reminds me of golf’s version of a bowling alley.
For a better view, I pad to the edge of the deck.
On the golf green, which is somewhat downhill from our vantage, there’s a smattering of multi-colored holes in varying sizes spread out with no apparent rhyme or reason.
Those must be our targets. My superior powers of deduction also lead me to believe the smaller or farther away the target, the more points it’ll be worth.
Beyond the range, giant netting spans the property, rising well over one hundred feet.
Maybe even two or three hundred feet. I have to bend my neck to take it all in.
The posts holding the netting are so dang tall they give me a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. My chest tightens as I stare upward.
Oh, boy. Don’t like that.
I blink and retreat a few steps to relative safety. I won’t be spending much time out on the ledge. Even if we’re on ground level, there is something unsettling about being near super-tall things like that.
Reed’s sitting at the table, so I join him. A server comes along to set up our game console, explain the rules, and take our beverage orders.
I smile at my date. “This seems like it will be fun. Good choice, Reed.”
He plucks a plastic-coated menu from atop the napkin dispenser and slides it across the table at me. “Well, I did some thinking after our last date.”
“Oh, look at you, big guy. You must be so proud,” I jest.
He licks his lips and melts me with an earnest smile.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat or not this time, so I figured I’d pick a place that has entertainment too.
Eat or don’t. It’s up to you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable about meals in public.
Even if I don’t agree, it wasn’t fair of me to force my opinion on you.
Especially when you’re the one living with those thoughts and experiences. ”
Words. I’m sure I’ve got some. I just can’t find them now.
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I’m sorry I was heavy-handed about dinner. I won’t do it again. When we’re together, I only want you to be content and happy.”
I’d like to amend my earlier statement.
Please let the official record reflect that I will not fall in love with Reed Hayes willingly.