22. Benji #3
We ran out, past the grandstand, onto a quieter path leading toward a white cabin housing the restrooms. I slipped on the gravel, but I caught myself and only slowed down when we ducked behind the shed into the corner between the wall and the fence that marked the border of the fair.
We panted, chuckles slipping out between each breath.
“That’s what I tried to warn you about,” I said, leaning against the stone wall. “Stuff like that always happens when I’m around.”
“But that was my fault.” Sam bent forward, his hands pressing into his knees, still catching his breath. “I shouldn’t have tried to tease you,” he gasped. “Do we have to leave now? Will they come looking for us?”
“Nah. The pigs only had a little scare. Nothing more. Stuff like that happens all the time.” I opened my arms. “Come here.”
Without any hesitation, he slipped into the embrace, resting his head on my shoulder.
“This feels way more exciting than it probably should.” He lifted his gaze and bumped his forehead into mine, putting on his signature grin. “And so does this.”
I brushed my fingers through his hair, unable to take my eyes off him. His cheeks glowed in the evening sun, giving him the cutest little tan.
He closed his eyes and leaned in, stealing a kiss.
“I promise, I’ll be more careful not to get us into trouble again,” I said.
“Me too,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll save the teasing for when we’re back home.”
“I mean, a little teasing should be alright. This is your first official date after all.”
Slinging my arms around his ribcage, I pulled him into another kiss.
Somewhere behind us, a crowd erupted into cheers for whatever was happening at the grandstand, but I couldn’t help pretending they were cheering for us, rooting us on.
Who knew? Maybe they were. Even with the countdown to Sam’s departure hanging over us, we still dared to enjoy every second, to live not in dread of the ugly tomorrow but in the warmth of right now.
Everything with Sam felt so hardcore against the odds, probably unthinkable to anyone else, and yet, we were here, holding each other.
If that wasn’t worth cheering, I didn’t know what was.
Who even needed the fair? I could stay right here all night, hidden behind the restrooms, pressed against him. He made my heart race faster than any roller coaster and filled me up more than anything from the food trucks.
“Sam?” I whispered on a whim.
I wanted to tell him what was going through my mind for a while now.
It was probably stupid, as it would only make things more complicated in the end.
It was definitely stupid to do it here in this nook behind the restrooms, when I should’ve saved it for the Ferris wheel or the love tunnel. But I couldn’t wait any longer.
He nudged his chin into my chest, squinting to see me through the beams from the setting sun.
I opened my mouth, and before I could second-guess it, the words tumbled out: “I love you.”
The air smelled sweet. Down the fair, some people on a roller coaster screamed as they rushed down a slope. And Sam grinned. Oh boy, did he grin!
“It’s probably stupid to say it after so little time,” I rushed on. “And it’s okay if you’re not there yet, or if you never are. But I would’ve died if I hadn’t said it.”
“I love you, too, Benji,” Sam said, his smile brighter than his pristine white shirt. “And I don’t think it’s too early. We get to feel what we feel when we feel it.”
“Fuck the rules, right?”
“Exactly.”
We kissed. Again, and again, and again. His lips felt even softer, his chest even warmer, his fingers even bolder as they climbed up my neck.
If we hadn’t been surrounded by thousands of people, I would’ve slid my hands under his shirt—but that would have to wait.
Our tongues, though, didn’t. They clung to each other like that was their only reason for existing.
Before we knew it, the night had settled over the fair, though the bright lights of all the attractions wouldn’t let us feel it.
We’d done everything: crashed into each other on bumper cars, screamed our lungs out on the free-fall tower, smacked into mirrors in a funhouse, mischievously eaten corndogs (teasing each other as if they were something else), blown powdered sugar from a shared funnel cake into each other's faces, and held hands in the love tunnel.
The only thing left before we could think about heading back to Red Creek was for Sam to show off his shooting skills at a BB gun booth.
“Just because I shot a gun once doesn't mean I’m good at it,” Sam laughed as we squeezed through the crowd.
“I still want to see it. And compete. Whoever hits more has to do something the other person asks them to.”
“Do something? As in no questions asked? No objections?”
“Yup. Them’s the rules.”
He leaned in closer. “Even sexual stuff?”
“ Only sexual stuff,” I whispered back.
His grin stretched so mischievously wide he had to hide it behind his hands, his eyes flicking left and right as if he feared someone else might’ve overheard. He swallowed a chuckle and thrust his hand toward me. I gripped it firmly, sealing the deal.
“Game on,” he said, turning toward our goal.
The booth glowed at the end of the path like the worthy finale our night deserved. Stuffed animals hung from the ceiling, and metal plate targets, some standing still, and others moving like ducks, waited for the next brave shooter to take them on.
I pointed to a large, plush frog with very pink cheeks. “I want you to win me this one.”
“Then you’d better win me that.” He pointed toward a plush corndog a quarter the size of the frog.
“Do you think I’ll do that badly?”
“With your ass on the line, you'd better win four of them.”
“My ass?”
“I’m not saying more than that.” Sam held his hands out in front of him, shaking his head like he had no idea what I was talking about.
Ahead of us, two guys fired away like they’d just escaped an action movie.
The one on the right, in a red flannel over jeans and sporting a three-day beard, hit every target dead-on; the one on the left, wearing a leather jacket that looked oddly familiar, tried hard but didn’t hit half as many.
When the trigger only clicked empty, he groaned in a voice I knew way too well.
The lumberjack shirt guy threw his hands up with a triumphant cry and slung his left arm around his friend as they set the guns down.
“You know what that means,” the lumbershirt guy said, pursing his lips. The other one turned toward him, pursing his lips too, and I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight. Because the man standing before me, about to kiss another guy, was none other than my cousin Pete.