Chapter 38
Vivienne
I don’t know what this deal makes us right now, but the thought of a temporary truce—setting aside our lies and my frustration for a night—is irresistible.
I’m not completely without misgivings. The more time we spend together means more chances to succumb to Lance’s charm. I might capitulate in the face of it, give in to the tempting pulse of energy between us.
Consequences be damned.
It’s worth the risk.
And I’m emotionally exhausted. A night off is exactly what I need. Exactly what we both need.
I know just how we should spend it, too. “I drove past a carnival yesterday.”
“A carnival? Like those rickety rides that come into town for a few days and have next to no safety regulations or oversight?” Lance’s face mirrors the distinctly unenthusiastic tone of his voice.
“Yep. Plus, funnel cake and games with enormous stuffed animals hanging overhead.” As an only child, my parents never took me to carnivals or fairs, their reluctance stemming from the same concerns Lance just mentioned. And maybe because I’d never gone, I still romanticize them.
“You want me to win you one of those stuffed animals, don’t you?”
I’m practically bouncing on the toes of my feet. “A unicorn, if they have it.”
He extends an arm toward the garage door. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I float into Lance’s convertible and give him directions to the fair. The whole way there, I worry that it’ll be gone. That they’ve already disassembled the rides and booths, picking up for another town, maybe another state.
But the carnival is right where I remembered, in all its tawdry glory. I clap my hands together as I exit the car, a wide grin splitting my face in two. Lance throws his arm around my waist as we walk up to the window of the rusty trailer where we both get fitted with laminated neon bracelets, allowing us unlimited rides until closing.
These aren’t the kind of rides you find at Disney or Six Flags, or even much smaller amusement parks. But Lance doesn’t complain as I drag him from the Tilt-A-Whirl to the The Scrambler and The Orbiter. There isn’t a Ferris wheel, but we walk through the Fun House holding hands and making faces at each other in the distorted mirrors. When something jumps out at me before we exit, I scream and vault into Lance’s arms. He carries me out the exit and leans against the exterior wall, holding me against his chest until my heart is racing for a reason that has nothing to do with the Fun House. “Lance,” I whisper, looking up at his face.
His smile is slow and intimate, meant just for me. “Worth the price of admission right there,” he mumbles, touching his forehead to mine, the tips of our noses brushing against each other. Our mouths are less than an inch apart, his breath a warm caress across my lips.
Seconds pass as I wait for Lance to kiss me. Yearning for the press of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the heated urgency of his touch.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “Tonight is all about you, Red. You’re gonna have to kiss me if that’s what you want.”
“Is it what you want?”
His gruff chuckle is more of a groan. “More than my next breath.”
My heart shimmies inside the cage of my ribs, feeling too full, too heavy, to be contained by mere bones.
“But don’t do it unless you’re ready to leave. Once you let me kiss you again, I won’t want to stop. And if I do it right, neither will you.”
When it comes to kissing, Lance does everything right. I close my eyes for a moment, tempted to go back to the house, or even just the car, kissing more than Lance’s mouth. But I resist, pulling my forehead away from his and looking into his eyes.
I’m not ready to leave yet, to go back to the way things were. As badly as I want to kiss Lance right now, I want this time together, feeling like a real couple, even more. “Let’s not leave just yet.”
There’s a flicker of disappointment inside those intense whiskey-colored orbs just before Lance loosens his hold, and I slide down the hard plane of his chest, my knees wobbling slightly as I find my footing. His sooty black lashes blink, and when he opens them again, he’s wearing a genuine smile. “Then we’ll stay.”
It’s not quite night yet, the sky a deep, radiant indigo that still holds on to some of the sun’s warmth. But the carnival lights—bright yellows and reds and whites and blues—lend a festive vibe to the air. We go on a ride shaped like a pirate ship, sitting in the very back row together. Just as it’s about to start, a slew of teenagers run up the platform, three sliding into our row. Lance wraps his arm around my waist as we make room for them. “You okay?” he asks, concern for me stamped across his chiseled features.
I don’t trust myself to answer. My throat is too tight. I nod instead. Because I am very okay. And this man by my side, riding creaky, rusty rides just because I want to, whose hungry stares make me feel like what’s between us will never expire, is very real.
A buzzer sounds, the lap bar descends, and with a mechanical groan, the ship begins to move, my Viking by my side. Back and forth we go, rising gradually higher with each pass of the platform until I feel myself lifting off the seat as we hit the highest point of each side, just as far as the bar will allow. It’s a brief reprieve from gravity.
And for a few moments, I’m as light as air. Weightless.
My stomach cartwheels at the unfamiliar sensation, my hair lifting off my shoulders, a giggle vaulting through my curved lips.
Lance and I turn to look at each other, his smile broad and beaming.
When was the last time I had this much fun with anyone?
I don’t have to think about it. The answer is precisely the twenty-third of Never.
And I don’t want the ride to end.
But, like all things, it does. Just like our temporary truce will end. Like the summer will end. And we’ll end, too.
The labored noises of the ship sound as disappointed as I feel. Lance takes my hand as the lap bar rises, helping me onto the platform, his palm cinched at the jut of my hip as we follow the crowd to the exit. “What next?”
My eyes sweep the carnival for our next ride, snagging on one game that stands out from the rest. Or, more accurately, the prizes arranged around it.
Following the trajectory of my stare, Lance chuckles. “Come on, let’s go win you a unicorn.”
Chapter 39
Lance
Just because I find these traveling carnivals to be tacky and unsafe doesn’t mean I haven’t been to my fair share of them. Growing up, it was practically a rite of passage to take your girl to whatever shit-ass fair pulled into town and win her a prize. And since I didn’t have endless amounts of cash to spend on trial and error, I approached it like I did everything else. Meticulous research.
Most games are rigged, making it difficult, but not impossible, to win.
In the milk can toss, the opening is made smaller by welding a concave piece of steel to the rim, reducing it to just one-sixteenth of an inch larger than the softball. Archery games are played using rifles with misaligned sights. Basketball hoops are oval rather than round, but the configuration of the booth prevents players from viewing their altered shape from the side.