Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
EVEREST
She’s real.
Not just “real” like standing-here-breathing real. Real like her smile feels like it was aimed straight at me. Like maybe I didn’t hallucinate her into existence after all those nights with her on my screen and my hand wrapped around—
Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
Not while she’s three feet away in a corset the color of cotton candy and a skirt that should be illegal in at least seventeen states.
“Want one?” she asks, holding up a pink puff on a paper stick.
I nod, but I don’t reach for it.
She tears off a piece and holds it out to me. I lean in, open my mouth, and she feeds it to me like it’s nothing. Like we do this all the time. Like this isn’t the first moment of a dream I’m not ready to wake up from.
We end up walking side by side, not touching, but close enough our arms almost brush.
She tells me about how she bribed the Ferris wheel operator to play dumb at the top, how she likes to stage her scenes for maximum drama, and how she once filmed an entire orgasm while slow-licking an ice cream cone.
I think she’s joking, but she also says it with the kind of confidence that makes me believe her.
I laugh too much. It’s like my body doesn’t know what to do with all the nerves and the adrenaline and the fact that she smells like marshmallows and cream.
We share a pretzel. She rips it in half and hands me the bigger piece without comment. I try not to stare at her mouth as she licks salt off her thumb, but it’s basically a lost cause.
She catches me. Smirks. “See something you like?”
“Everything,” I say, and immediately want to die. Jesus Christ. Pull it together, man.
But she grins. Like maybe she liked hearing it.
We stop near the ring toss booth. Music blares from the speakers above us—some overproduced pop remix—and kids run past in a blur of sugar highs. She looks around like she’s trying to decide if she wants to say something or keep pretending this is totally casual.
She picks the latter.
“So,” she says, eyeing the Ferris wheel. “I need to crash something.”
“What?”
She points at the bumper cars.
“Seriously?”
“I have rage, Everest. Let me work through it constructively.”
“Constructive vehicular assault. Got it.”
We head toward the ride, and my stomach is doing that thing where it flips and tangles itself in knots. She’s so close I can smell her—marshmellows and lime, like candy spiked with tequila. Her arm brushes mine as we wait in line, and I don’t even try to pretend I’m not affected.
“You any good at driving?” I ask.
She lifts a brow. “I’m great at making things wet. Does that count?”
I choke on air. She grins like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
When it’s our turn, she darts to the pink car and gestures like she’s already claimed it. “This one’s mine.”
I get in the blue one beside her, and the second the ride starts, she slams into me so hard I swear my brain shifts in my skull.
“Oh, it’s on,” I mutter, gripping the wheel like I’m going to war.
We chase each other around the little rink. She’s relentless—fast, aggressive, laughing so hard she snorts. I can’t stop smiling. She rams into me again, then throws her head back in a fit of giggles that makes my entire chest ache.
I don’t even care that I’m losing. Not when she looks like this—free, bright, fucking radiant under the crappy carnival lights.
When the ride slows, we coast to a stop with our cars facing each other. She’s still smiling, chest rising and falling with breathless energy. I lean on the wheel and watch her for a second longer than I should.
“What?” she says, cheeks pink now for a different reason.
“Nothing. Just… you’re exactly like your videos.”
She smirks. “Said that already.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, you’re more.”
She goes still. Her eyes soften—just a little—but it’s enough that my pulse jumps. I don’t know what this is, not yet. But it feels like the start of something.
We step out of the cars and wander toward the midway again, shoulder to shoulder, like the gravity between us is getting stronger.
COVE
My lips taste like strawberry lip gloss and powdered sugar, and Everest—bless his nervous, beautiful heart—has no idea what he’s in for.
We’ve spent the last hour bouncing from ride to ride.
First, the bumper cars. Then, the carousel, where he awkwardly helped me onto a plastic unicorn like a gentleman from a Jane Austen fever dream.
Lastly, the Tilt-A-Whirl, where we screamed like a kid and we ended up smashed against each other in the corner of the spinning cart, his hand gripping the safety bar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I haven’t felt like this in months. Maybe years.
I glance over at him as we walk toward the Ferris wheel.
He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets again, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the carnival like he’s prepping for battle.
His mouth twitches every time I bump his arm.
He’s trying so hard to keep it cool. But the tension radiating off him? Delicious.
“You doing okay over there?” I tease as we near the line. “You look like you’re about to meet your girlfriend’s dad.”
He snorts. “Honestly, that sounds easier.”
I laugh and flick my fingers through the ends of my pink curls. “It’s just me, Everest.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s the problem, Cove.”
God. The way he says my name.
I flash a signal to the carnie as we approach; two fingers behind my back, a quick whistle under my breath. He nods once, casually flipping the “Out of Order” sign down as we step into one of the enclosed gondolas.
This is it.
The door clicks shut behind us with a soft thud, sealing us inside the rounded cabin. It’s surprisingly roomy—bench seating on either side, low light filtering in from the surrounding fairground glow, and just enough space to move if you’re feeling bold.
Perfect.
We settle onto the bench, the gondola swaying gently as the ride starts to rise.
I reach into my purse, slow and practiced, like I’m just reapplying gloss or checking my phone.
My fingers close around the GoPro, and I lean forward, attaching it right to the small suction cup mount I brought and sticking it on the bench seat opposite us—centered, steady, ready to capture everything.
“Hey,” I say, voice barely above the creak of the cart. “Ready to make some magic?”
He turns to me. Swallows. His throat works like he’s trying to force the nerves back down.
“Yeah,” he says, and it’s not smooth.
And honestly, that’s hotter than any performance I’ve ever directed.
I lean back in the seat and stretch my arms like I’ve got all the time in the world. “You ever been filmed before?” I ask, teasing.
He laughs softly. “Only by accident. And definitely not with a GoPro strapped to a gondola in the sky.”
“Well, welcome to the weirdest first date you’ll never forget.”
We’re almost at the top now. The cart swings gently as the motor lets off a sigh and the whole ride shudders to a stop.
Everest looks around. “Wait… are we—”
“Stuck?” I grin, wicked. “Whoops.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“Is this… part of it?”
“Depends.” I angle toward him, resting one elbow on the back of the seat. “Are you scared of heights?”
“No.”
“Good.” I lean in close. Close enough that he can feel my breath, the space between us electric.
“But I’m kind of terrified of you,” he whispers.
I smile, slow and soft. “Smart boy.”
And then I sit back again. Let the moment hang. Let the tension stretch so taut I can practically hear it hum.
He’s watching me. Like he doesn’t know if I’m about to kiss him or shove him off the ride.
“Cove,” he says, and it’s not a question. Just my name, said like a prayer.
I run a hand up his arm, just enough contact to watch him shiver.
“This doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want,” I murmur.
“I want,” he says. Too fast. Too honest.
I nod. “Okay.”
Still, I don’t move. I want him to meet me halfway.
And slowly, slowly, he does.
His hand lifts, brushing my thigh where the hem of my skirt’s ridden up. His fingers flex like he’s still not sure he’s allowed. I cover his hand with mine. Guide it a little higher.
His breath stutters.
And I smile.
“Good,” I whisper. “Now, let’s see what else you’ve got.”