“You mean the face paint?”
“I mean you.”
“Oh,” she says softly. Then she gives me a very obvious once-over from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “You look fucking hot.”
Well, damn.
I’m aware that she finds me attractive, given she’s hooked up with me, but hearing her be unafraid to say it out loud almost makes me stumble my step.
For a woman who only very recently discovered her sexuality, she seems to be having no issues with accepting it. That doesn’t mean the issues won’t arise at some point, though. I’m too smart to think that everything will be smooth sailing from here on out. She might have happily accepted herself for who she is, but that doesn’t mean her management, her fans, and the media will show the same acceptance.
And what will she do then?
Not knowing the answer to that question is why I need to keep reminding myself to not get too involved with her. Obviously, I’ve already screwed up by fucking her twice, and truthfully, I have no intention ofstopping that for as long as she’s here and she wants me.
But I absolutely cannot get emotionally involved. That’s practically asking to have my heart thrown in a blender again. And it’s already been pureed from my last relationship.
So I shoot her a raised eyebrow and a flirtatious grin and keep walking.
When we find the guys, they’re standing at the start of a blocked off portion of the street in between the opposite rows of storefronts. There’s a very long table set up in the middle of the street. Actually, it looks to be made up of multiple plastic tables as well as a bunch of picnic tables, all pushed against each other. A few people are walking around, draping white cloths over everything.
“What’s going on here?” I ask.
“Pie-eating contest!” Toby says. “It starts in an hour.”
“They do it every year,” Andrew adds.
Riley’s eyes widen in delight. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I forgot about this. Is it still blueberry pies?”
“Yup,” Andrew tells her. Then to me, he says, “And just so you know, you’re hanging out with a bonafide two-time Mayweather pie-eating champion.”
“You’ve won twice?” I ask him.
He laughs loudly. “Nope. Not me. I’m talking about my little sister here. She may look tiny, but she can sure suck things down like a Hoover.”
Toby groans and smacks him in the chest. “Ew gross, man. You can’t say that about your sister!”
Andrew immediately looks horrified. “Ugh, fuck you. No! I didn’t mean it like that!”
I turn my gaze on Riley, who, to her credit, doesn’t look offended. Only mildly embarrassed. “I’m so glad I’m learning this interesting fact about you,” I tell her, unable to keep the teasing tone out of my voice.
“Shut up,” she says, shaking her head.
“It sounds so glamorous, though. Winning the Mayweather pie-eating contest. I’m duly impressed.”
She shoots me a glare, but there isn’t much heat behind it. “Okay, for the record, I was a teenager when I won. And both times, I regretted it when I had a stomachache for the rest of the day.”
“Is this eating the most pies?” I ask. “Or who can eat the fastest?”
“It’s who can finish two whole pies first,” Toby says.
“Wow, I think I’ll need to see a display of these skills in order to believe it.”
Riley shakes her head vigorously. “Not a chance.”
“You know what’s even more impressive than a two-time pie-eating champ?” I say, goading her playfully. “A three-time champ.”
Laughing, she says, “Good thing I’m not trying to impress you.” And then she nudges my side and winks at me.
