19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
“ H ow does this apply?” I ask Gigi. She’s leading the way as we snake through Saturday night crowds at the boardwalk. After our oh-so painful moment at the apartment, I knew I needed to switch gears. I can’t fuck Gigi, but I want to spend time with her, anyway.
And that’s weird.
I decided to bring up the deal we made—since I helped her gather enough nerve that night at the bar, and she ultimately found her summer fling that she’s calling her boyfriend now, she can help me become a gentleman. Like she promised.
“Girls love carnival dates,” she says.
“Do you love carnival dates?”
“My wants are irrelevant.”
“But do you?”
“I’ve never had one.”
That upsets me. I’ve never taken a girl on a carnival date, but I would if she asked. Shit, I’d probably win her a stuffed animal on an overpriced game, maybe hold her hair if she pukes from the Tilt-A-Whirl. I’m not a commitment guy, but I can have a good time with the right person.
“You were here on that date,” I remember. “With the artist.”
“I was, yeah.” Gigi adverts her gaze, becoming fascinated with the lights strung above our heads. “We got some food and some ice cream. We were going to go play a game, and then—”
“And then I showed up,” I guess. “Right?”
She nods. “Yeah. Not much of a carnival date.”
“I’m sorry about that. Still.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it,” Gigi says, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can we not talk about it?”
I had a feeling she’d react this way. If I said something stupid when I was drunk, she wouldn’t tell me. “Sure. Yeah.”
She smiles at me, all signs of worry disappearing.
I decide to pivot entirely. “How’s Belinda? She still dating?”
Gigi sighs. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”
I laugh. “What does that mean?”
“She’s started bringing dates home.”
“Oh. That’s…” Thinking about it for even a second makes me ill. “Wow.”
“That’s not the worst of it, though. Oh, no.” I raise my eyebrows, waiting. “I came downstairs this morning to have coffee before work, right? There’s a guy, probably no older than me, standing in a sweatshirt and boxers in front of our open fridge. He was drinking milk. He was drinking milk right from the jug.”
“Oh, no way.”
“Yes. I don’t know if him being a slob is the worst part, or if him being young enough to be mistaken for her son is.”
I wince at the thought. “Really?”
“The kid was wearing a University of South Carolina hoodie. I don’t think it gets clearer than that.”
“Any tattoos?” I ask.
Gigi winces. “I was too mortified to care about that.”
“Fair.”
“I want food,” Gigi decides as we walk. “Preference?”
I shake my head. “You’re showing me how these dates work. You pick.”
“Cotton candy first,” she says with a grin. “You can’t come to a carnival and not get cotton candy, Cade.”
I don’t disagree with her.
I don’t have a clue how this carnival date thing is supposed to work, but Gigi is happy. So, I’m happy.
It’s been fun, really, to watch her float around all night like a hyper kid with too much sugar in their system. I haven’t enjoyed myself like this in a long time.
Not with anyone but Gigi.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Every second, my mind goes to her. Those blue eyes, her smile, her laugh when I try to be funny. I like making her happy.
I know I’ve made my intentions with her clear; I want her in my bed, not my heart. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
I can’t give Gigi the relationship she craves—the stability, the significance—but I selfishly want to keep her as close to me as she can be. And away from the other guy.
“What do you want to do next?” she asks.
“You tell me, princess.”
She takes a moment to glare at me, then contemplates. “Ferris wheel?”
“Is that what you want to do?” She nods. I swallow. “Fine. Then let’s do it.”
Gigi grins. “Really?”
“Take me there,” I tell her, sweat starting at the base of my skull, “before I change my mind.”
Being close to Gigi in the cart of a Ferris wheel makes me nervous, sure. But her happiness supersedes my nerves. She’s fidgeting in her seat as we wait for the other riders to load on, her feet kicking. She’s like a little kid.
And it’s cute.
“Have you ridden a Ferris wheel before?” Gigi asks. She looks around as our cart raises a few more feet in the air.
I shake my head. My legs are starting to wobble. I clench my hands into fists in my lap.
“You’re scared of heights,” Gigi realizes as our cart rises again, higher this time, and we near the top of the wheel. “Cade. Oh, my god. You should have said s—”
“Shut up, Gigi,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Please.”
“Cade.”
“Gigi, if you don’t stop saying my name—”
“You are scared of heights,” she hisses, “and we’re on a fucking Ferris wheel, Cade.”
“At least it’s not something worse. I’ll be alright.” I clench my eyes shut tight, then open them again right as we rise. Our cart starts to wobble more fiercely as we near the top of the wheel. My muscles tense, my jaw flexes.
“Cade,” Gigi whispers. She reaches for my hand. “Open your eyes.”
“We’re at the top,” I hiss. Her hand is soft against mine, thin and dainty. She squeezes.
“Please. It’s beautiful. I’d hate for you to miss it.” I sigh, my leg shaking. “The cart is going to move again and then you’ll miss it. Please?” She squeezes my hand again.
I open my eyes and damned if she’s not right. So many feet in the air, we can see all of Geddington Beach—the expanse of the Atlantic, fading into the dark and starry sky, the lights from the downtown district, a small spec in the big world surrounding it. The carnival happening beneath us, all those people looking as small as ants from up here, the stations and booths looking like dollhouse furniture.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself.
“See?” Gigi squeezes my hand for a third time. “I told you.”
She’s watching me, the weight of her eyes dancing over my face, sparkling with joy.
I turn to look at her, tearing my eyes away from the view.
The view of her, I decide then, is much better. I lean in, cupping the back of her neck with my hands. She tips her chin up, those eyes searching mine. She’s so curious about me, about all these dark parts.
Lord knows why.
“What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” I mutter against those perfect lips. “Let me kiss you.”
It’s sweet and succinct, like I’d imagine a first date kiss should be.
The cart starts to move again as Gigi and I separate, wobbling its way around the circle.
“I wanted you to see the view,” Gigi explains. “I had no idea you were scared of heights. I just—”
“It was an adrenaline rush. I was just… The adrenaline.”
“You didn’t have to prove anything to me,” she says softly. She’s echoing my words from the night she got her tattoo.
“Now you’re just fucking with me,” I groan. Like I kissed her to prove that I’m capable of feeling. Nope. Just wanted to kiss a hot girl, simple as that.
“No, seriously. You don’t need to act like some swoon-worthy—”
“I didn’t kiss you to make you swoon,” I snap at her. My jaw pulses. “I was buzzing from being at the top of a god damn Ferris wheel. I told you it was excitement.”
“And I didn’t get my tattoo,” Gigi says coolly, “to prove to you I’m a spontaneous free-spirit. I hate people like that.”
“Then why are you trying to become something you hate?” I spit.
“Why did you ask me to help you understand romance,” she bites back, “if the prospect of being with someone long-term repulses you? I don’t know about you, Cade, but guys who want a fling don’t kiss girls who want relationships unless they’re an asshole.”
“I’ve been telling you the whole time,” I sigh. “I’m an asshole.”
Gigi sighs, scraping her teeth over her lip. “Forget it.”
“Gigi—”
“Stop, Cade. Forget it. We’re pretending that didn’t happen.”
Maybe, from this point forward, she can pretend that didn’t just happen.
But I certainly can’t.