Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
COVE
I tuck the GoPro back into my purse, and lean into the corner of the gondola with Everest’s warmth still clinging to my skin. My thighs are sticky. My lipstick’s gone. My pulse is doing laps around my chest like it doesn’t know the scene’s over.
Except—was it a scene?
I glance at Everest. He’s redressed, flushed, and quiet in that way that doesn’t feel awkward so much as anxious. Like he doesn’t want to break whatever spell we’re in.
Same, baby.
The gondola sways as the ride starts moving again, jolting us down in slow circles. He smiles at me like I hung the stars. Like I didn’t just go down on him on a carnival ride while filming it for a hundred thousand strangers.
When we reach the ground, he helps me out like a gentleman—hand on the small of my back, thumb grazing my spine like he’s still trying to memorize me.
God, this man could be dangerous.
The carnie doesn’t even look at us as we pass, which makes me want to laugh. Or cry. Or kiss Everest again right here and now just to see if the world will keep spinning.
Instead, I nudge him with my shoulder and say, “Well, that was subtle.”
He laughs and for once, I’m not performing. I’m just... here. With him. Cotton candy in one hand, Ferris wheel sex in the rearview, and a stupid giddy ache blooming in my chest.
“Now what?” he asks, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the high.
I grin. “Now, we live dangerously.”
“Oh yeah?”
I yank him by the wrist toward a neon stand. “Bumper cars, round two. The loser buys lemonade.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re both laughing so hard I almost forget what my real name is. He does lose—spectacularly—and when I hand him the world’s most overpriced lemonade, he takes a sip, grimaces, and declares it “absolutely worth the public humiliation.”
“I’m saving the receipt for my therapist,” he adds. “Gonna say it’s when my delusions of masculinity died.”
I roll my eyes. “You rammed me once. Then spent the rest of the ride apologizing like you’d bruised my ovaries.”
“Because you shrieked!”
“I shrieked because I was winning. And because the steering wheel came off in my hand.”
“Not my fault you picked the death trap car.”
I hum around my straw. “No regrets. I looked hot.”
“You did,” he says, so simply it stops me mid-sip.
And there it is again—that brutal honesty. The kind that creeps in when you least expect it and plants something stupid and warm in your chest.
I duck my head and fake a cough. “Okay, calm down, Romeo.”
He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m just—this is…”
“Surreal?” I offer.
“Yeah.”
We keep walking, past twinkling lights and kids screaming on spin rides, past games rigged to hell and teen couples making out beside trash bins. My shoes are starting to stick to the pavement.
And I feel... more like myself than I have in months.
Not CottonCandyKisses. Not a camgirl, not a brand, not a business. Just me. Just Cove. A girl in a short skirt and sticky thighs, falling too fast for someone who shouldn’t matter this much.
Goddammit.
“You okay?” Everest asks softly, like he can read me.
I nod, too fast. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
I tilt my head at a ring toss booth. “How I could definitely beat you at that.”
His mouth quirks. “Is that a challenge?”
“I’m undefeated in plastic ring warfare. Don’t try me.”
We stop to play. I win him a stuffed raccoon that looks sketchy as hell, and he acts like it’s the greatest gift anyone’s ever given him.
“My first fan gift,” he says.
“You’ll treasure it always.”
“‘Til I’m dead,” he promises solemnly.
Time gets weird after that.
We talk. Not about sex or cameras. Just..
. stuff. Favorite movies, worst jobs, and his mom’s obsession with thrift stores.
He even tells me about the time he accidentally wore a woman’s blouse to class because it “looked chill.” I tell him about my cat, Lemon Drop, and my unhealthy obsession with romcom movies that are cheesy meet-cutes.
It’s stupid and pointless and real.
And when the carnival starts to thin out, I feel that little ache settle in. The one that comes when something good is about to end.
“I should probably head out soon,” he says, glancing at his phone. “My roommate’s probably convinced I’ve been kidnapped.”
I nod. “Yeah. I need to go pack up anyway.”
Neither of us moves.
And then he shifts, just slightly, and says, “Can I…”
I lean in before he finishes. “Yeah.”
The kiss this time is soft. No camera. No performance. Just a brush of mouths and breath and something too big to name. He pulls back first. His thumb skims my cheek like he’s trying to remember the shape of me.
I swallow hard and force a smile. “Until next time, sugar.”
Then I turn before he can see the look on my face.
Because fuck.
I’m in trouble.