Chapter Fifteen Ruby
Chapter Fifteen
Ruby
Under normal circumstances, a fair atmosphere would be considered the ultimate form of punishment for me. It was crowded and loud and germy, and it smelled like deep-fried food.
But that particular fair, on that particular evening, felt just on the right side of magical.
Shrieks of laughter filled the air, whooping from various rides, ebbing and flowing on a slow loop as the machines whipped people through the air on swings, whirling teacups, and kiddie rides.
We’d invested a lot into this fundraiser, opting for a larger up-front cost with the possibility of a higher reward, knowing that the promise of community fun might sway people to be a little bit more generous.
The weather was perfect all day, the sun staying behind just enough intermittent cloud cover that no one got too hot, no one got sunburned, even though the temps were in the midseventies.
Instead of doing an all-day event, we’d opened the fairgrounds at two and were able to manage the volunteer list so that everyone was in their designated spot for a couple of hours on each rotation.
The gates would close at nine, and with a few hours left to go, I was more than ready to crawl into bed, but as one of the chairs of the event, I’d been moving all day, making sure everyone had what they needed.
“We’re almost out of cinnamon sugar, Ruby,” Lauren called.
“On it.”
After visiting the second funnel cake stand on the opposite side of the high school parking lot, I heaved a bag onto the counter next to the deep fryer.
“More sugar than a small country should consume, but here you go.”
She leaned over to kiss my cheek soundly. “Bless you.”
Because no one needed anything at that moment, I watched her deftly pour out more dough to create the lacy design of fried goodness for the next person in line, a towering lumberjack of a guy with red hair and a big beard, his massive arms covered in ink.
“God, that looks fucking delicious,” he said, leaning in to watch her.
She met his gaze and winked. “Cakes won’t be bad either.”
His eyebrows shot up, appraising her frankly. “I like a woman with confidence.”
“Do you?” Using the tongs, she flipped the funnel cake, nodding with satisfaction at the even brown color before she slid a plate next to the fryer. After shaking off the excess oil, she set it on the plate and eyed him. “What’s your pleasure? Cinnamon sugar or powdered sugar?”
He licked his bottom lip—an undeniably naughty lick too—and even though it wasn’t directed at me, my face heated nonetheless. “Your phone number would be even sweeter.”
Watching them from the side, I managed to hide my smile. Not that it mattered anyway; neither one of them paid me an ounce of heed.
Lauren laughed. “You’re too young for me, but I’m flattered.”
His brow lowered. “I’m thirty. You can’t be more than . . .” He paused, eyeing her carefully, and I held my breath for what he said next. “Thirty-eight.”
Lauren and I traded a quick look. She’d just turned thirty-nine.
“Close enough, cowboy.” Even though he hadn’t specified, she added a liberal amount of cinnamon sugar to his funnel cake, then handed the plate over the counter.
“If you’re not my age or within five years, you’ve hardly begun to learn what to do with a woman.
I don’t waste my time on the young ones. ”
With a dazed expression on his face, he accepted the funnel cake, looking at her like she’d just handed him a check for a million dollars. “What is your name?”
She shook her head. “Nothing you need to know.”
“Lauren,” I told him helpfully. She glanced over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes dangerously. I smiled sweetly. “That’s payback for my birthday present,” I told her.
The big beast of a man took a massive, wolfish bite of the funnel cake, staring at her unabashedly while his jaw worked. Then he swiped at his muzzle to clear the cinnamon sugar and leaned in again. “Lauren, I could have you screaming my name in five languages by the time I’m finished with you.”
I was in the middle of sipping some water, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, just barely managing to stem the flow of it out my nose.
Lauren laughed in delight, accepting his money and giving him change with a good-natured shake of her head. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that.”
“It’s well earned. I promise.”
“You might as well find someone else to entertain you. My ex-husband was just like you, and I’m not in the mood to soothe your ego because I didn’t rip my panties off at the sight of your smile.
” She grinned. “And unless you get me screaming your name in six languages, I’m not all that impressed. I can do that myself, honey.”
His jaw fell open. “Woman, if you don’t give me your phone number, I might actually die.”
Watching them was like a master class in unhinged flirtation, and not for the first time that day, I found myself missing Griffin.
The way he was helping me was subtle. Less, maybe, than what I’d assumed when I first asked for his assistance, but already I could imagine his commentary on what I was witnessing.
Lauren rolled her eyes dramatically, shooing him off to the side. “I promise you won’t. Off you go. There are other people who need funnel cake too.”
Despite the fact that she was rushing him off, I knew my friend. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes bright. And for the last six months, she’d been bemoaning her dry spell but wasn’t ready to jump back on the dating apps.
“I have her number,” I heard myself say.
The guy’s face lit up.
Lauren’s mouth popped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in her direction.
“Fuck a duck,” she muttered under her breath.
“You are a great friend,” he said, sidling up next to me on the side of the booth.
“I tell her this all the time.” I pulled up my phone and scrolled to her contact, angling the screen so that he could copy the number into his own device. Lauren was muttering under her breath as she made the next funnel cake, but it wasn’t lost on me that she didn’t tell me no.
He stuck his hand out once he was done saving her number. “Marcus Henderson,” he said, loudly enough that Lauren could hear.
Her movements slowed, her eyes widening incrementally, and I gave her a brief curious look as I returned the firm shake. “Ruby Tate. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You know, I had to convince my friend to come tonight, and I am so glad.”
“I’m sure Lauren is too.”
She fixed me with a fierce glare, which I ignored. “What did you say your name was?” Lauren asked slowly.
He held her gaze, finishing off the last bit of his funnel cake. “You heard me.”
The sexual tension was thick, and I cleared my throat. “Well, I think I’ll leave you two to it,” I said breezily.
Kenny came jogging up, halting my departure. “We have a slight problem. Our next two volunteers for the dunk tank can’t come. It was the mayor and the chief of police. They were going to be our biggest draws for tickets for that game.”
I blew out a short, harsh breath. “Okay. What happened?”
“Mayor Briggs is sick, and the chief had an emergency. Not sure what.”
Mind racing, I wiped a hand over my forehead. “Okay, um . . . We can figure this out. We need people who will bring in a lot of tickets.”
“Marcus can do it,” Lauren said smoothly.
My eyebrows shot up, gaze darting over to the man in question. “Pardon?”
Marcus was grinning at Lauren, his eyes practically shining. “Can I?”
“Oh yes. Didn’t you say you had to convince your friend to come with you? Assuming you two are coworkers,” she added meaningfully.
“I am so lost,” I whispered.
Kenny seemed to notice who we were talking to, his eyes widening. “Holy shit.”
My head swiveled in his direction. “What’s wrong with you?”
Kenny’s mouth dropped open, and he pointed weakly at Marcus.
Marcus nodded slowly. “We are coworkers. And I think I’ll agree to that—on one condition.” He gripped the side of the booth and stared down my friend. “You go out with me after the fair is done tonight.”
My eyes bounced between them. “What is going on right now? Why do we want Marcus to do the dunk tank? Who’s your friend?”
Marcus never took his eyes off Lauren. “He’s at the booth next door. Wasting all his money on some rigged shooting game because he saw a stuffed bird and said he needed to win it for a friend.”
Angling myself for a better view, I looked past Marcus at the shooting game, a surprised squeak coming from my mouth before I could stop it.
Griffin freaking King stood with a BB gun against his shoulder, his unwavering focus aimed at the small metal targets as they shuffled back and forth.
He was wearing a fitted white T-shirt and black athletic shorts today, which hugged the curves of his ass in a way that made it genuinely hard to look at anything else.
“You’re . . .” I blinked. Blinked again. “You’re on the team with Griffin?”
He nodded. “You know him?”
Lauren laughed. I swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.”
Marcus’s eyes sharpened. “You’re the friend.”
My gaze was not willing to be parted from the sight of Griffin handing over another fistful of cash so he could start the game again. Even from this distance, I could hear the plink, plink, plink of the small metal balls hitting the rusty targets. “I . . . Sure. Yes. I’m his friend.”
“Interesting,” he said smoothly. “We might need to trade some stories, young lady. He said you knew him when he was young. Was he horrible? You can tell me.”
Griffin finally got the last of the targets down, smiling at the small smattering of applause that came from the crowd gathered around him. He handed the gun back to the volunteer and pointed at one of the stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling of the booth.
After a nod to the volunteer, he tucked the massive plush under his arm, and my heart thudded erratically when he turned in our direction. Our eyes locked, and his smile deepened.
Oh boy.
This was not good.