8. Vanessa
8
VANESSA
I don’t know how I was expecting the night to go after mini golf, but it wasn’t playing carnival food bingo while laughing hysterically at Ryder getting ripped off by the games.
“How do you keep being surprised?” I ask through yet another fit of laughter. “Everybody knows these games are rigged. There’s no way you’re actually going to win anything bigger than a bracelet.”
Ryder looks pointedly at the bracelet I slid onto my wrist as soon as he won it. I don’t tell him I already like it more than any other jewelry in my closet, solely because his expression of concentration as he tried to get a ring around a frog absolutely melted me.
“We’re not leaving this place until I win a stuffed animal,” he declares. Then he turns his glare on the kid working behind the counter. “And anyway, they’re not supposed to be rigged when you know the employees. Especially because your sister used to babysit that employee and once took the blame for him eating all the ice cream in the freezer.”
The teenager behind the counter just grins at Ryder, shrugging. “No proof, no assist. Sorry, bro.”
That earns him another glare. “I’ll remember this the next time you come by the restaurant with your family. You’re getting spoiled shrimp, bro .”
Laughing, I grab Ryder’s forearm to pull him away from the game and toward the one I’ve had my eye on for the past few minutes.
“Come on, I’ve always wanted to try the water shooting game.”
Ryder guides me in a different direction. “Uh uh. Between every game, we get food. You know the rules.”
I let out a groan. “Ryder, I can’t ,” I whine. “We’ve already had a corn dog, funnel cake, and fudge. I’m so full you’re going to have to roll me home.”
“I’m okay with that,” he says. “It’s unforgiveable that you’ve never experienced carnival foods. And besides, you had, like, one bite of everything.”
“I had more than that,” I say defensively, my cheeks warming at the memory of scarfing down almost the entire funnel cake.
Ryder pulls me to a stop before one of the food stands, and suddenly we’re closer than we’ve been all night. Or maybe it just feels that way because he’s smiling and looking at my lips.
“You’re right, that funnel cake did agree with you,” he chuckles. When he swipes a thumb over the corner of my mouth, I see it come away with some powdered sugar.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, mortified. I quickly wipe my face with my hands as much as I’m able. “Why didn’t you tell me I’m covered in sugar? Do I have more on my face?”
“Unfortunately not,” he says a little dazedly, his eyes still on my lips.
The heat between us becomes stifling. It’s been waves of this all night, with both of us mostly keeping our distance, but occasionally with one look or accidental touch, the flames roar right back to life.
And God … I want to give in so badly. The idea of letting lust take over my brain is so tempting. It’s not like I regretted the first night, so a second night wouldn’t hurt, right?
But then Ryder does something sweet, and I appreciate his friendship even more. Even him bringing me here and encouraging me to do a bunch of things I’ve never done before…it means a lot. And I don’t want to mess that up.
So it takes everything in me to whisper, “I think we’re up next.”
Ryder blinks the surprise from his eyes. Sure enough, when he turns toward the food stand, the guy behind the counter is waiting impatiently for us to order.
“Just a fried Oreo, please,” Ryder says in a tight voice.
“One fried Oreo, coming up. That’ll be five dollars.”
Ryder pays for the food. He’s been paying for most things tonight, actually—all the food, and for all the games he’s wanted to play. The one time he hasn’t reached for his wallet is when I wanted to play a game. Which is the only reason I didn’t say anything. If he had paid for everything, it would’ve made this already-too-friendly night feel a little too date-like, but as it stands, I think he’s just being…Ryder. He’s independent and capable, and I know he’d pay if he didn’t think me paying for my own things was important to me.
When the fried Oreo is handed down, my mouth instantly starts watering. Which Ryder notices, of course.
“Told you.” Chuckling, he nudges the paper plate toward me. “Go ahead, try it.”
“I’ve never had so much fried food in my life ,” I groan as I reach for one of the desserts. I place my lips on the dough to take a bite, but the heat seeping through it makes me pause.
Stepping closer, he blows gently on the dough. “Careful, it’s hot,” he says in a low voice.
And there burst the flames again.
I think I’m barely breathing as I take a careful bite. His gaze holds me captive, hunger glowing in his eyes. And when I moan at the taste of the dessert on my tongue, I watch his jaw clench.
“Oh my God. That wins. That’s the best food we’ve had tonight.”
Ryder swallows thickly, right before he reaches up and swipes more powdered sugar from my lip. His voice is rough when he says, “You’re killing me, smalls.”
And yeah, I’m kind of dying to kiss him right now. It would be so easy to just tilt my head up and ? —
But then his comment registers, and the fire recedes—slightly. Because Ryder just quoted one of my favorite movies.
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline in delight. “I’m sorry, was that a Sandlot reference?”
He grins, some of the heat banking in his eyes. “It was. Didn’t think I knew the classics, did you?”
My eyes narrow. “Were you even born when that movie came out?”
He leans forward and bites the rest of the Oreo out of my hand. “No idea. Math was never my best subject.”
I shake my head with a smile. Then I pop an entire Oreo into my mouth.
Ryder quirks an eyebrow at the action. “And let that be the last time you question my food judgment.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “I promise, O God of Food.”
Sighing, he throws an arm around my shoulders and moves me back toward the game we just came from. “Who knew fried food would make you so sassy.”
When that triggers a fit of giggles, I have a fleeting thought that I’m experiencing a sugar high for the first time in my life.
“Don’t act so innocent—that’s exactly what you wanted it to do,” I say through my laughter.
His lip curls in amusement as he looks down at me. “Guilty as charged, babe,” he says after a moment.
“Alright, folks, step right up for some water gun fun!” The carnival employee points at Ryder. “Test your aim and win a stuffed animal for your girlfriend, sir.”
The rush of pride comes on suddenly, so much so that I can’t stop the smile from tugging on my lips.
But then Ryder slides his arm from my shoulders, and the resulting chill against my skin brings with it a harsh dose of reality. Because I’m not his girlfriend. And that’s my fault.
The bounce from one emotion to the other gives me such whiplash, I feel dizzy as I quickly pull some cash from my wallet and hand it to the guy behind the counter. There’s a ringing in my ears as I say, “Excuse me, but I’m getting him the stuffed animal.”
The guy doesn’t even bat an eye, he just takes the money and sets up whatever he needs to set up behind the scenes. “Even better. We’re all about equality here.”
“You’re going down,” Ryder whispers from beside me. “And when I win that stuffed animal, I’m keeping it.”
“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, babe,” I say with a wink.
His eyes widen slightly before he shakes his head with a smile. “No more fried food for you.”
“Okay, who’s going first?” the guy asks, holding a water gun out in front of him. “Tradition or equality?”
“He can go first,” I declare. “I want to see what I’m up against.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, handing Ryder the water gun. “You get five shots. If you hit four targets, you get your choice of prize.”
I vaguely hear Ryder grumble something about “stupid carnival odds.” But then he’s taking aim and pulling the trigger.
He gets three of the five. When his last shot—and his last chance at a prize—misses, he sighs and lowers the water gun. “I don’t care what you say. You’re bad for my ego.”
“I haven’t even beaten you yet!” I exclaim defensively.
Ryder hands the guy the water gun. “And are you going to?” he asks me.
I shrug. “No idea. I’ve never held any kind of gun in my hand.”
“Same rules, miss. Whenever you’re ready.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift the water gun to eye level. It takes me a second to figure out how to line up the bump at the end of the pistol with my target, but by the time I squeeze that first shot, I’m fairly confident I’m at least aiming in the right direction.
Bull’s eye. Plastic duck goes down.
Another breath, another moment to concentrate, another target down.
And then another. And another.
A breathed “ dude” is all I hear out of Ryder. And suddenly, winning a bigger stuffed animal by hitting my fifth shot becomes less important than squeezing as much enjoyment as humanly possible out of my time with Ryder.
Before the guy behind the counter can stop me, I turn and spray my last shot directly at Ryder’s chest.
The world erupts with sound. The guy behind the counter is stumbling through his scolding, Ryder is spluttering with indignation, and I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe. I barely get the water gun on the counter before I’m doubled over.
“I cannot believe you just?—”
“Miss, you can’t just?—”
And I don’t even care. I’ve never had this much fun.
In the end, the guy behind the counter succumbs to a chuckle of his own. Instead of holding my stuffed animal trophy hostage, he asks me which animal I want, and I manage to point at one of the manatees before I dissolve into laughter all over again.
Ryder’s smile is taking over his face by the time we walk off, though he’s also shaking his head at the giant wet spot in the middle of his chest.
“You might actually be worse than my sisters,” he muses.
My laughter finally dies long enough for me to say, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Did you know you were a good shot? Or was that another hole-in-one surprise?”
“Definitely a surprise.”
Ryder’s sigh is exaggerated. “This might be the end of my trying-new-things movement with you. I’m nervous to see what else you’re good at.”
My answer is instant and comes without thought. “I think I might be, too.”
I’m more surprised by my comment than Ryder. He simply nods in understanding and asks, “What else have you wanted to try?”
I mull over the question as we start toward the exit of the carnival. We’ve hit every food truck Ryder deemed worthy, and we’ve spent the last hour playing games, so it feels natural to stroll toward the main part of town.
“Are you going to think I’m trying to impress you if I say cooking lessons?” I ask, tilting my head up at him.
“Definitely,” he quips.
Shaking my head with a smile, I give him a serious answer. “It is actually cooking lessons. I make the best chocolate chip cookies?—”
“I’ll need proof of that,” Ryder interrupts shamelessly.
“—but I want to be able to cook a variety of really good meals,” I finish with only a scolding half-glance his way. “I’ve traveled to so many places and had so many different types of incredible food, but I’d love to make those delicious recipes myself.”
Ryder couldn’t tamp down on his excited grin even if he wanted to. “Well, you’re in luck, because I am an excellent teacher.”
I roll my eyes as a smile peeks through. “Of course you are.”
When he lightly pokes me in the side, I yelp, the sound immediately turning into a giggle. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he says in mock seriousness. When I merely continue to laugh, he asks, “What else do you want to try?”
My gut reaction has my laughter slowing. My mood doesn’t sober, necessarily, but the answer in my head has my thoughts drifting. To a different time—a different version of me. The me that always felt selfish wanting something for myself, that never put my own needs and desires above those of the other people in my life. If it didn’t make me a better wife, daughter, woman—I didn’t let myself think about it.
And maybe it’s the sugar high, or maybe it’s Ryder, but… “I’ve always wanted to learn how to pole dance,” I admit on a rushed exhale.
There’s a pause, and then…
“Okay, so…why haven’t you tried that yet?”
And even in its simplicity, it’s so non-judgmental that all the tension rushes from my body in a whoosh.
“I…have no idea.”
Ryder is either oblivious to my world tilting on its axis or simply blowing right by it in that take-it-in-stride way of his.
“You should sign up for classes. Why not? If you want to try it, try it.”
And it’s so simple , that I can’t do anything but ingest the idea like air.
“Okay,” I whisper without hesitation.
Ryder’s smile is radiant at that response .
“First sharpshooting, then pole dancing. You’re a woman of many talents.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “I might be bad at it.”
He shrugs. “Who cares? Are you doing it to be good at it, or to experience it?”
I pause for a heartbeat. “That’s how you approach everything, isn’t it?”
“Damn right it is. Life’s too short to live in a box.”
Life’s too short to live in a box.
As we chat about random and inconsequential things, my brain keeps coming back to that. Because even though I knew my life before this was stifling, I never thought about how invigorating life could be outside of that box.
“You look like your head’s elsewhere,” Ryder says when we reach one of the taxi stands. “Everything okay up there?”
My attention jerks back to him, my cheeks warming. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ve been distracted the past few minutes. It’s not because of you, I promise.”
He shrugs, looking completely unoffended. “That’s okay. I like watching the gears whirl up there. Anything you want to share?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Ryder’s smile warms me. “Okay, then.” Then, for the first time tonight, uncertainty touches his voice. “Will I…see you again this week?”
I’m nodding before I can tamp down on the eager reaction.
The wattage of his smile intensifies. But then his eyes drop to my lips, and it’s replaced by that fire once again.
He wants to kiss me. I can feel it in my bones. But he’s also a good man, so I know if anything is ever going to happen again, it’s going to be because I initiate it.
But I can’t. So instead of giving in to the urge to press my lips against his, I merely push up on my toes and brush a fleeting kiss against his cheek.
“Thank you for an amazing night,” I whisper. “I had the best time.”
That smile comes right back. “Good. I did too.” It takes him a second, but then he steps away and flags over one of the taxis. When one comes right over, he turns back to me. “Text me when you get home?”
I nod. “You too, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze drops to my cheek, like he wants to return the kiss, but the taxi driver calls something from behind us and the moment is broken. With a sigh, I step around Ryder and reach for the door handle. He beats me to it, of course.
“Get her home safely, please,” he tells the driver as I get in.
And I realize…I love his balance of nurturing and empowering. He doesn’t smother me, he merely supports me while making sure I’m cared for. He’s the best of both worlds.
I don’t know how to make sense of that beyond knowing I want more of it.