Chapter 24 #2
“Your confidence is admirable but a little premature.”
“You know what?” He throws an arm around my shoulder like I was just born to be his armrest. “You were right. This is fun.”
I smile to myself and breathe in the scent of his body. I consider letting him win, because seeing Reeve happy is becoming an addiction. Then I think better of it—it’s high time the president of Campbell Junior High’s darts team showed up an athlete.
Six minutes later, Reeve can’t believe I won.
“It’s rigged,” he insists. “Either that or the carney in the booth is your secret lover.”
“Why not both?” I clutch my prize tighter—a small plush football.
“Seriously, how did you do that?”
“I was the president of the darts club in middle school,” I say casually.
“What?” He laughs. “You dork!”
“Better to have good aim with a sharp object than an animal hide.”
“Animal hide, huh? That reminds me, you hungry?” he asks as we approach a food stand where the warm smell of fried dough hangs in the air.
Suddenly I am hungry. “I don’t think I’ve had funnel cake in ten years.”
“Let’s get one. That used to be my favorite.”
At the fried-food stand, Reeve smiles at the teen girl operating the booth and asks for extra powdered sugar on our funnel cake. By the time she hands it over, it’s more sugar than dough.
We make our way to a small clearing behind some food trucks where bistro lights crisscross and illuminate a cluster of wooden picnic tables.
I can’t believe it, but every time a stranger’s head turns to stare at Reeve or someone’s eyes linger on his semifamous face, I feel a little swell of pride to be the girl at his side.
“My mom used to bring me here every year when I was a kid,” Reeve says when we find a table and start tearing into the food. “Even when I outgrew the whole thing, it was worth it for the funnel cake.”
“Is it as good as it used to be?”
He runs his finger over my lip, wiping away a dusting of sugar, then licks it off his finger. “Better.”
I’m hit with a hazy memory of those same fingers against my bare flesh, and my stomach does a tiny flip. I push it away, reminding myself that I might want him, but I don’t need him, and tear off a greedy chunk of funnel cake.
“You never told me where you were from,” Reeve says.
“A little south of San Francisco. My parents wouldn’t have been caught dead at a carnival, but they’re two of the most boring people on earth.”
“The carnival was my mom’s thing. She met my dad here, actually.”
“Here? At this carnival? That’s adorable.”
“Not really. I think she was just torturing herself by coming back here every year with me. Or maybe she was trying to paint over the bad memories of my dad.”
“Were they together a long time?”
“A few years. I’m sure it wouldn’t have lasted even that long if I hadn’t come along.
” He glances around the carnival grounds, the blinking lights from the row of food trucks reflecting in his faraway gaze.
“Every year she’d drag me here all happy and excited, and then at some point during the evening things would go south and she’d tell me her sob story: how she was on a college scholarship and on track to be the first college graduate in her family.
Then she met my dad while he was working here.
She got pregnant, he convinced her to drop out of college and do the family thing, and then before too long he split. ”
“Did she still love him?”
He looks surprised by the question, like he’d never considered it before. “Maybe she did. She definitely hated him, but I guess that’s ’cause she loved him too. I think she was used to breaking dudes’ hearts before she met my dad. She couldn’t get over him doing that to her.”
“My mom’s like that in some ways. My dad has cheated multiple times, and she’s so devoted to him she stays.
She thinks someday things will go back to the way they were before when he was as in love as she is, and it’s just sad.
They might’ve been great together once upon a time, but that can’t last.”
He meets my eye. “You don’t think so?”
“Not if life has taught me anything.”
He’s quiet, watching thoughtfully as a young couple pushes a double stroller past our table.
“Don’t tell me you believe in everlasting love,” I say.
“I don’t know. I’d like to think it can happen for some people. Like Cam and Lenni, maybe. Just not for me.”
I follow his gaze to the couple with the stroller, watching the mom slide her hand through her husband’s arm.
“Let’s never be like our parents,” he says.
“Deal.” I sigh and dip my finger into the sugar left in the bottom of the cake plate. “Well, I feel pretty awful about bringing you here. I had no idea it would be a hotbed of childhood trauma.”
“Don’t be. It’s my mom’s heartbreak, not mine.” His eyes lock on mine and hold my gaze. “Besides, this is the best night I’ve ever had at the carnival.”
I tell myself not to turn his words into something they’re not, but my cheeks flush with heat anyway. “You know, I haven’t forgotten our agreement. You owe me a big, fat prize before we leave here tonight.”
“Great. Tell me what you want and I’ll start kicking ass.”
It’s full dark as we stroll between the game booths while I scope out the biggest prizes.
They’re all hideous, of course, ugly plush animals in garish colors with fur that looks like it was picked out of a stale hairball.
But the one little corner of my heart that’s not black and cynical is telling me there’s an irresistible cheesy romance in him winning me a big, stupid stuffed animal.
“You know what?” I say as we walk into the glow of a thousand dancing multicolor lights from the carnival rides. “Let’s put the prize on hold. I want to go on the Ferris wheel.”
We’re not even touching, but I sense him stiffen beside me. “Oh. Uh, yeah, go ahead. I’ll work on winning you the biggest stuffed gorilla this town’s ever seen.”
“What? No way! You’re going to let them lock me in next to some random townie?”
“If it means I get to keep my feet on the ground, hell yeah.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks everywhere except at my face.
“Wait a minute. Really?” I ask, incredulous. “Did I just discover the King of Shafer’s one weakness?”
“Weakness?” he scoffs. “A strong sense of self-preservation isn’t a weakness.” He shrugs and drops the self-important act. “But yeah, I’m fucking terrified of heights.”
I resist the urge to tell him I actually find this really cute. “Have you ever been on a Ferris wheel? You’re locked in pretty tight.”
He shakes his head quickly. “Nope. That’ll freak me out more. Go ahead without me, though. Killjoy I am not.”
“Okay.” I’m surprised by how disappointed I sound.
He watches me line up for the Ferris wheel. At the front of the line, the ticket taker yells “Single?” over the twinkling circus music, and when I nod, he orders the lone guy behind me to step on up. He’s not bad looking.
“Hold on,” I hear Reeve call out behind us. “She’s with me.” He doesn’t even need to throw elbows to make it to the front; the crowd just instantly parts for him.
“You don’t have to do this,” I hiss to Reeve as the operator hurries us to an open seat.
“It’s okay,” he says tonelessly. His face has gone pale.
“Are you sure?”
His body presses against mine as we drop onto the cold metal seat, and he’s stiff with tension. Then the operator pushes the bar into place over our laps.
“Too late now.” He grabs my hand as our pod jerks into motion and our feet leave the ground. “Just promise me that whatever you witness in the next ten minutes, it won’t take away from your image of me as a total stud.”
I squeeze his hand and try not to laugh.
He wasn’t kidding when he said “fucking terrified.” Minutes later, Reeve has a death grip on the lap bar, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his otherwise-flawless skin. Every time our pod rocks, he lets loose a string of curse words, then mutters a vague apology to me over the scene he’s making.
“You know, my mom always used to say being brave means being scared but doing it anyway. Which would make you—”
“A total pussy,” he interjects. “Nice try, though.” His eyes go wide as the Ferris wheel gives a little shudder. “Fuck! Did you feel that? Is that normal?”
“God, and I thought you were annoying on the ground.” I pry his hand off the bar and hold it in mine.
“Stop peeking over the edge and look at me.” Moving at a snail’s pace so as not to rock us any more than necessary, I shift toward him.
His body is frozen in place, but he turns his face to mine.
“Just breathe. You’re fine,” I assure him.
“Do I look fine?”
“You look good.” He does. Maybe it’s just fear and neon lights that make his eyes sparkle, but damn do they ever. “Really good, actually.”
He looks at me—really looks at me—for the first time since we sat down.
Suddenly I’m aware of the heat of his hand in mine, of how close it is to my thigh, of exactly what those strong fingers can do to me and the parts of my skin they’ve touched.
Despite the cool night air, my body hums with heat.
Almost like he can feel it, one corner of his mouth lifts into a smile.
The Ferris wheel jerks and I lose him again, his hands flying to the bar. This time I don’t bother going slow and gentle. I lean across the pod, take his jaw in my hand, and kiss him.
He’s still tight with tension, his first instinct clearly to pull away, but I take his lip between my teeth and I’ve got him.
I feel him melt under my mouth. He doesn’t move, but when I push my tongue past his lips, he opens for me and breathes into me like he’s been holding on to that breath since we left the ground.
I curl my fingers over the round of his shoulder and feel the fear go out of him. I did that.
It feels like a first kiss. Even though everything about his mouth is familiar by now, our lips move carefully, testing each other.
I know he craves the electricity that flows between us as badly as I do, so when I slowly slide my tongue deeper, I’m not questioning whether he likes it.
I’m asking if he feels how dangerous this kiss is.
I pull back an inch to look into his eyes.
His gaze is soft and unexpectedly vulnerable in the second before he moves for me and kisses me again, even slower this time.
It’s a kiss that feels forbidden. It’s not unexpected like our first kiss.
It’s not a buildup of desire spilling over into action like at the library, and it’s definitely not foreplay like the other night. This is something new and dangerous.
I kiss him harder, not wanting it to end, bracing myself against his chest. His heart beats under my palm, and instantly I know why this kiss is so dangerous: Because what I’ve fought so hard to avoid has just become my greatest desire.
Because when this kiss ends, we go back to just being friends.
Because the only rule we had in this agreement was the unspoken one: Don’t fall for each other.
And now I’ve gone and broken my end of the deal.