Authors: Emily Evans
Pause.
“Where’s your son? Well, when we realized his family didn’t come to the game, we brought him ‘round with us. He’s out back somewhere. Though he may have already taken off.”
Pause.
“We’ll send someone around to look for him.”
Pause.
“Hospital? No, we couldn’t very well take him there. Who’d sign for him?”
Pause.
“Eighteen. Yeah. Well, you can’t really make decisions for yourself with a head injury.”
Pause.
“Okay, yeah. I look forward to meeting you, too. There’s one more game left, you know. Your kid’s a starter.” Dad clicked off and shook his head at the phone.
“Trey okay?”
“Yeah. Star fed him and drove him home about an hour ago.”
I felt kind of disappointed and didn’t want to think about why. I drank some of the orange juice. “You take kids to the hospital every season, why’d you say that to his parents?”
Dad set a blueberry muffin in front of me. “Don’t underestimate the power of a good scare.”
I crumbled at the ruffled edges of the liner and pinched a blueberry, popping it into my mouth. “No symptoms?”
“No. He’s good to go.” Dad joined me, making short work of the two muffins in his hand. “His mom should have picked him up.”
“She lives in New York.”
Dad muttered something about the Yankees, and crossed his arms over his chest. “About your being in his room.”
“I fell asleep. Sorry.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” Dad tilted the chair back on two legs. “I probably shouldn’t have had you checking on him. Star said--” His voice trailed off and his face flushed.
I felt my own face heat. “Um, we don’t need to tell Mom, do we?”
“No.” Dad folded the newspaper under his arm and headed out of the kitchen. “I’ve got some plays to work on. What time are you heading over to the carnival?”
I glanced at the clock. “I’m assigned to the school booth from 4:30 until 6:30.”
Dad nodded. “Okay, we’ll meet you by the front after?”
“Okay.”
***
Six-thirty at night and people still poured through the entry gates. The great weather had drawn large crowds all day and Carla had declared the bake sale an official success. I grinned as I met up with Dad and Aster inside the entrance and told them the news.
“That’s great.”
Aster, who’d been touching up her makeup while I talked, snapped her compact shut and offered it to me.
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
“You’re so pale. You should consider a spray tan.”
I got a few steps ahead of them, my eye on the rides. “I’m pale because I’m tired.”
“The Tilt O’ Whirl can wait, Paisley,” Dad said. “Hold up for Star.”
I slowed my pace and stopped while Aster pulled one of her stilettos free from a paper hot dog wrapper. Dad offered her his arm and she leaned into him while making the maneuver.
I’d seen her balance on the ball of one foot while performing a high kick so I wasn’t sure what was so difficult that she needed Dad’s help, but he didn’t seem to mind. I shifted and looked around, wondering how much longer I’d have to hang with them before meeting up with my friends.
“Hi.”
I turned at the sound of Trey’s voice.
He jogged over to greet us wearing a bandage high up on his forehead. Otherwise, he seemed healthy.
“Good job at the game yesterday,” Aster said. “That was like best first quarter ever--well, until you got taken out.”
“Thanks.”
Dad looked him over. “How’s the head? You sure you should be doing these rides?”
Trey brushed at the bandage absently “It’s fine. I’m sticking to the upright ones.” He turned to me and pointed to a white, wooden, food trailer. “Want to get a funnel cake?”
A smile crossed my face. I don’t know if I was more pleased at escaping Dad and Aster or the thought of eating a deep-fried dessert. I nodded.
“Oh no,” Aster said. “You know we’re working on your thighs.”
Trey and Dad joined me in frowning at Aster.
My thighs didn’t need work.
Aster read our expressions and put a hand on her hip. “Fine. But skip the cotton candy.”
I muttered to Trey while we walked over to the booth. “I’m so not skipping the cotton candy.”
“Me either.” Trey held up a finger indicating our order to the creepy carnie.
A black bandana held the carnie’s long hair out of his face. He placed a white, paper plate on the counter, used metal tongs to plop the deep fried cake on the thin paper plate then sprinkled powdered sugar over the top. “Whip cream, strawberries?”
“Yes, please.” I snagged extra napkins and led the way to a picnic table, letting Trey carry the floppy plate. I scooted onto the tabletop with my feet propped on the bench seat.
He slid beside me balancing the plate, and bottled waters. “I thought we could do that questionnaire.”
The first bite melted in my mouth. “Mmm, sure.”
Trey’s gaze lowered to my lips. “Or after the cake.”
“No, that’s cool.” I wiped my fingers onto the napkin and dug around in my small purse. “I haven’t done them, but it doesn’t look long. Is your head really okay?”
Trey took a bite and nodded. Some of the white powdered sugar remained on his bottom lip. He had perfectly shaped lips. I lifted a finger to dust him off. His mouth was soft. So odd on such a hard guy. I wanted to press my finger against his lip again. I wanted more than that. I dropped my hand, shaking my head and turned to the questionnaire.
Trey unscrewed the cap on the bottled water and handed it to me before opening his own. The cold water helped redirect my concentration. Holding the questionnaire against my knee with my left hand, I smoothed it with my right. “Let’s see. Item number one. Would you rather have someone run--” I broke off and felt my face heat. “Oh.”
Chapter Nine
Trey leaned close, his big body blocking out some of the sunlight. “What?”
I frowned and looked around at the families strolling nearby There were little kids with balloons, for heaven’s sake. “Um. These are kind of adult questions. I’ll ask you later.”
Trey hopped down, his tennis shoes sinking into the grass. “Ferris Wheel.”
He would know how to find a private spot in a public space. I took his hand and let him pull me from the bench. “That’ll work.”
I dumped our empty plate in the nearest trash bin on the way to the Ferris Wheel.
After a short line, it was our turn. I hooked my purse strap across my chest and slid onto the padded seat. The car rocked a little when Trey got in beside me. Pop tunes poured from the speakers, drowning out the cart’s creaking.
After removing the questionnaire and a pen from my bag, I braced my feet on the metal floor and flattened the paper against my knee. The Carnie latched the bar, and the cart lifted a few feet into the air, safe and secure.
Creak.
I read, “Would you rather have someone run their fingertips or fingernails over your wrist?”
Trey’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t know. Show me.” He flipped his hand over, palm up with the back of his hand against the black foam bar.
I swallowed and ran my fingertips over the blue veins on his wrist. His fingers twitched. I looked into his eyes when I lightly scraped my nails over the same spot. His fingers flexed and touched the back of my hand. His eyes widened and dilated. His dark green gaze dropped to my mouth.
I took my hand away. “Which one?”
“Yes,” he said. ”Both.”
I scribbled the answer.
The cart jolted upwards another two feet and paused. He said, “What about you?”
“Huh?”
“What did you answer?”
I shrugged. “I’ll do mine later.”
Trey flipped my hand over against the bar. He held it down with his right hand, and with his left rubbed calloused fingers down my palm and across the inside of my wrist. I felt the sensation from my fingertips to my elbow and reflexively tried to jerk my hand away. Trey tightened his grip, and ran his fingernails lightly over the same spot.
A shiver went through my whole body.
“I wonder if the order matters?” He ran his fingertips over my skin next. The tingles were amazing.
I shivered and yanked free. Staring hard at the questionnaire, I drew a column down the page and wrote my answer: Both.
Lights came on around the fair, refusing to let the day end as red, gold, and pink streaked through the sky with the sunset. The evening breeze pushed the cart and shifted Trey’s brown hair across his forehead, hiding his injury. He slid an arm over my shoulders. “What’s the next one?”
“Um. Favorite color?”
“Blue.” He sounded disappointed.
I wrote down
blue
, and in my column
purple
. “Number three, would you rather…” I stiffened as I read the first part of the question. “Um, do you want to write in your answers?” I offered Trey the pen and paper.
He shook his head and didn’t lift his hands. “Read it to me.”
I hesitated and glanced down again. “Would you rather have someone rub their hand on your leg or your waist?”
He blinked, and his palm moved across my thigh.
My eyes widened. “Uh, okay.”
Trey slid his hand to my waist and rubbed through my shirt.
My eyelids lowered.
That one
. He placed my hand around his waist. I clutched at the back of his shirt, and slipped my hand underneath the hem. The car stilled at the top of the Ferris wheel. Trey cupped my face in both of his large palms and kissed me.
He tasted like evening and powdered sugar. I scooted nearer to him, and he pulled my knees over his lap. I rubbed against the familiar warm skin of his back and tried to shift closer. Trey placed his hands on my hips to help. The restraining bar pressed into my leg. I tore my lips free. “Bar.”
Trey frowned, pressing the bar up, using its two inches of give, but there wasn’t enough space. The cart swooped into a downward swing. I inched back but left my legs in his lap.
The questionnaire stared up at me. The words were unreadable. I blinked and drew in a breath. A few moments passed before the letters grew clear. “Would you rather have someone kiss your top lip or your bottom lip?”
Trey leaned forward, tilted my jaw toward him, and pressed his mouth against my top lip then my bottom one. He pulled back, watching my reaction with lowered lids.
It took a full minute before I could write down my answer. Then I lifted my left hand, slid my fingers into his hair, and tilted his head to return the gesture. I angled my lips to the right and pressed against his top lip. His mouth parted and drew a breath. Lowering, I lightly kissed his bottom lip. My tongue touched rough, then smooth. My fingertips slid along his jaw. I repeated the steps.
“Exit to the right,” the carnie said.
I opened my eyes. The carnie was offloading the cart in front of ours.
We’d almost arrived at the bottom. I pulled away and slid down on the padded seat until my thigh hit the cold metal side of the car. Turning my face out to the park, I sucked in a deep breath.
A new couple got into the evacuated car, and the carts swung back into motion. Ours grazed the grass at the bottom and moved into the upward swing of the Ferris wheel.
Round two.
I licked my lips and looked from Trey to the questionnaire. Trey took the paper and shoved it into his pocket. Next, he tossed the pen over the side. He dropped one arm around my waist and threaded his free hand into my hair. A flush rode high on his cheekbones and he leaned toward me with bright eyes. Then, he kissed me.
I didn’t remember anything about the second trip around the wheel, only heat and tingles and Trey. The ride jerked to a halt, and the bandana-wearing carnie unhooked the bar releasing us. My legs felt unsteady when I stepped out of the swinging car onto the grass and I took Trey’s arm for help. We dodged other couples on our way out the small exit fence. I stilled and Trey turned to me. I met his green eyes. My lips felt swollen and I wanted him to kiss me again.
Trey pointed a finger at the Tunnel of Love ride. “Go with me.”
Yes
. The offer way beat out the funnel cake and the Tilt o Whirl. I tightened my hold on his arm and took a step toward the line.
“Hey, Trey,” a giggling group of cheerleaders called out and waved as they passed us.
I froze and dropped my arm from his. “No, thanks. That’s a date kind of ride, and you’re not my date.”
Trey nodded fast. “You’re
my
date.”
I backed up a step. “No. A date asks you out, picks you up, takes you home, and calls the next day.” I waved a hand in the air. “They send flowers. I’m just convenient.”
“No one would call you convenient.” Trey’s eyes had a bright look, and his voice had a husky edge. “Ever.”
He had a nice voice. I took a step toward him. “I—”
“Hey, kids.”
I turned my head. The heat faded from my face at the sight of Aster and Dad.
Dad said, “You ready to go, Paisley?”
“I can take her home,” Trey said.
“Nah, that’s all right. Paisley’s had a long day already.” Dad motioned toward the park. “A group of girls by the candied apple booth asked about you.”
Trey’s lips pressed together.
That clenched the decision for me. I joined Dad and Aster. “Have fun.” I followed them out of the carnival.
That was close
. Guys only treated you as well as you let yourself be treated. But man, Trey was tempting.
Chapter Ten
I was lying on the couch reading when the ringtone I’d assigned to Trey sang out. “Hello?”
“You forgot your questionnaire,” Trey said.
I put my book aside and curled my arm around my knees, sinking into the couch cushion. “Okay.”
“There are five more questions.”
“I’ll get it from you at school tomorrow.”
“Come over.”
“Uh.” I plucked at the fabric of the couch.
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Oh. Umm.”
“Are you at your Dad’s?”
“Yeah, I—”
“See you in an hour.” Trey clicked off.
I stared at the phone a second then ran upstairs to change.