He chuckles and cups my cheek. “How the fuck can I say no to that?” He bends down and places a sensual kiss to my lips just as an attendant asks us how many people in our party.
I hold up two fingers and say, “Two.”
“Lane one,” the college looking student says in a monotone voice, not at all happy to be at work today, especially while wearing one of the most ridiculous outfits I’ve ever seen. Why do amusement parks torture their employees with ill-fitting, retro-looking outfits? They’re supposed to be happy, so give them something to wear to be happy in.
Together, we make it to lane one as the car pulls up. I glance at the seats and then back at Jason. “What the hell is that?”
“That’s the X-Flight. The first wing coaster in North America. It’s supposed to feel like you’re sitting on the wing of an airplane,” Jason says with pure excitement.
“But . . . we’re hanging off the track.”
“Which makes it fun. Come on, Dottie, you’re not scared, are you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Ma’am, you either need to get on or move to the other side and wait for your partner,” one of the ride attendants says, annoyed.
Jason holds his hand out. “Don’t go weak on me now, Domico.”
Damn it, when he looks at me like that, assuring me with his kind eyes that he’d never let anything happen to me, I find myself getting strapped into a roller coaster and praying to the heavens above that everything is going to be okay.
“It’s okay. Shh, yup, just let it out.” I rub Jason’s back as he hovers over a trash can, barfing his breakfast inside the canister as onlookers pass by. “Bad hot dog,” I say to a couple who are staring us down. “He’s not at all suffering from motion sickness. He’s a tough guy.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles and sighs.
X-Flight was AMAZING. And since there hasn’t really been any lines, we went on it three times in a row and then hit up Goliath, the largest wooden roller coaster, then Batman, and then Vertical Velocity, which was Jason’s undoing. He was looking green around Batman, but he swore he was okay and when we were waiting for Vertical Velocity, he looked pale. I told him we should probably get something to drink and take a break, but being the “macho man” he is, he swore he was okay.
Guess what? He wasn’t.
It’s been ten minutes and we haven’t moved from this trash can. Thankfully it’s in an alcove, tucked away so we aren’t dead center in the middle of the park for all viewing eyes.
“How are you doing? Do you want me to get you water?”
“No. Stay with me. I might need your breasts to rest upon.”
“I want you to get better, but that’s not happening in public.”
He takes a deep breath and then lifts up, holding on to the trash can for support. I grip his side, letting him know that I’m here for him. My breasts can be there for him later.
“You okay?” I ask, loving how vulnerable he is right now and not even caring to hide it.
He nods. “Much better. Man, those donuts must have been off to bring on this bout of food poisoning.”
“Yup.” I chuckle. “It was totally the donuts. It wasn’t the twisty turny—”
He brings his hand to his mouth and shakes his head. “Don’t mention them. Please, for the love of God, don’t mention them.”
“Oh, Jason.” I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. He immediately returns the embrace and sinks into it, resting his cheek on top of my head. “You’re too cute. Seriously, sometimes you are too adorable.”
“Adorable but sexy, right?”
“Really sexy.”
“Even if I’m barfing in a trash can because Big Daddy Boo-Boo Bear can’t handle roller coasters anymore?”
“Even if you call yourself Big Daddy Boo-Boo Bear.”
“That means a lot to me.” He squeezes me and says, “Maybe we should go play some carnival games.”
“Oh, are you going to show off your ability to win me a giant stuffed animal?”
“Normally, I’d puff my chest and say, ‘Yes, watch how amazing I am,’ but I’m feeling exposed and raw right now. I’m not sure how well I might do so I’m just praying I don’t make a fool of myself.”
We start to head toward the carnival games, screams passing every few seconds as well as whooshes of the roller coasters speeding through the air. I’m more than happy taking it easy with Jason since puking on a ride is the last thing both of us want, but I will say this, I’m pretty sure Jason made me into a roller coaster junkie. I need to find another way to come back here, even if it’s by myself.
“Just so you know, if you did make a fool of yourself, I’d still like you. I’d still go back to your apartment with you, and I’d still mount you.”
That puts a full-on smile on his face. “I see what’s happening here.” He stops at a kiosk and gets a water for both of us. When he’s finished his he says, “The tough girl from the boardroom, the ruthless vixen who makes men in suits cry . . . what she’s really into are sensitive men, men who will pull out the emotions she usually has to hide when dealing in business. Am I right?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say that’s how I am always, but I think I found someone who matches me nicely, who makes me escape my head, and shows me the fun in life, the beauty in everyday things.”
I’ve only known Jason for a few weeks now, but even in those weeks, I’ve come to realize one thing: he does make me feel like a different person. He helps me see the positive, how to bottle it up and experience it. Not that I was a super negative person before he came around, but I’d forgotten it was okay to stop, take a breath, and intentionally live in the moment.
“That’s a big compliment. Thank you, Dottie.” He kisses the side of my head and chuckles.
“What?”
“That old lady back there. She read our shirts.”
“Let me guess, a gasp with a cane shake?”
“You could not be more right. I think she’ll be writing a handwritten letter to the park tonight before she hits the hay at five thirty. A perk of getting older, eating dinner at four, yelling at some children for being too rambunctious, and then flopping into bed before the nightly news.”
“Why do I see that as a future reality for you?”
“You can see me as an old man?” We walk through an arch, indicating a new land, the carnival games up ahead. “Am I hot, bald? Bet my nutsac is super wrinkly.”
“Isn’t it already wrinkly? Scrotums aren’t pretty.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jason brings his hand to his chest in total shock, the color in his face coming back as his quirky personality starts to awaken. “Scrotums were carved by God and placed on a man as his own personal Baby Bjorn. Day in and day out, men are carrying the future of the world’s children between their legs. It’s a struggle every day, keeping them safe, making sure we don’t zip them up after a pee, protecting their intelligence from incoming kicks and punches. Women bitch and complain about having to carry a baby for nine months in their belly. Try a lifetime of carrying a dangling sac between your legs with the fear of getting punctured every day by a pencil.”