“I’m deciding where I would throw a dart at you given the chance,” she tosses back.
“I’d love a battle scar.” I grin and tap my knuckles on the counter. “Two rounds, please,” I say to the attendant who sighs like this is the most difficult part of his day.
“Are you sure you want to go against me?” Quincy curls her hands around the water gun and spins on her stool, facing forward. There’s a glint in her eye, the same steely determination I used to see when we’d go head-to-head in our Synoptic Meteorology classes. Arguing until our voices gave out. Declaring a winner and a loser. Watching her get riled up really is one of my favorite things. “I set the record for most victories in a row last year.”
“Were you going against eight-year-olds?”
“They were nine.” There’s a stretch of silence. The ghost of a laugh. “And one severely intoxicated man who thought he was in the bathroom.”
“Poor guy probably thought the water was something else.”
“Want to make this game interesting?”
“Are you a Mafia don when you’re not talking about weather, Monroe?”
“It’s best to keep you wondering.” She drops her head back and shakes her shoulders. She looks absolutely ridiculous when she shimmies on the seat. I can’t stop watching her. “Winner gets to pick the other’s punishment.”
“I haven’t kicked your ass in a while. This could be fun.”
“You haven’t kicked my ass because I’ve been too busy kicking yours.” Her smile is sharp, sure. Full of that goddamn confidence that makes my head spin. Her mouth curves into a smirk. She bats her eyes, and my imagination runs wild. “Sorry, Dunn. Your moment is over.”
“Is that right?” I move closer. My knee bumps hers under the metal counter. She doesn’t pull away, and we keep touching. The toe of her shoe knocks against my shin, and I don’t care if it was on purpose. My voice drops low. “Sounds like I need to prove my worth. Don’t worry, Quinny baby. I’ll be gentle when I win. Unless you like it rough.”
I’m playing with fire, but it’s too much fucking fun to stop now.
Quincy’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink. The color travels down her neck and to the top of her chest. It disappears under her dress, and I have to think about multivariable calculus and hydrologic processes. Linear algebra andanything fucking elseto stop myself from wondering how far the flush spreads. If her skin would be hot when I teased her with my fingers, my mouth. If I dipped my hand lower, under her dress, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The heat is getting to me. So are those two beers I had with Cooper and Nate earlier. My rationality is wavering, and I need to pull myself together before I do something stupid.
“I hate you,” she murmurs, snapping me back to reality. Yanking me away from some hazy version of us where I have her in my bed. Naked and tangled in my sheets while she says that when I make her come. I need another drink. Something stronger to wash the thoughts away. “And the last thing I want you to be is gentle.”
Fuck me.
A bell sounds. I scramble to grab my water gun, cursing when I see I’m already behind. Quincy has me by a nose, but she glances atme with a cocky lift of her eyebrow. I use her distraction to my advantage and blow her a kiss. Her aim falters. Her grip on the water gun loosens. She hits left of the target instead of on the bull’s-eye, and I edge her out at the last second to reach the top first.
“Player two is the winner.” The attendant hands me a stuffed dinosaur. “Congratulations.”
“I’d like to thank my mom for her endless support. And this carnival game for giving me a new purpose in life.” I put a hand over my heart and beam. “I used to think I had reached my potential, but with this dinosaur, I know the possibilities of my power are endless.”
“You are infuriating. But congratulations on your win.” Quincy stands. “What punishment are you going to pick? Please don’t make me look like an idiot on the internet. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I glance around, wondering what I can come up with. I could make her ride a mechanical bull or enter her in the hot dog eating contest slated to start in ten minutes. When I spot the Ferris wheel towering above us, I grin.
Decision made.
“You have to sit next to me on the Ferris wheel,” I say. “Ten minutes of coexisting by my side. We’ll see who breaks first. I think I can go two for two tonight.”
“You’re joking.” Her hands settle on her hips. A gust of warm wind ripples through the air and lifts the ribbon she’s wearing in her hair. The bow comes loose. I have the urge to wrap it around my wrist. To give it a tug. “You’re going to push me off the top, aren’t you?”
“Tempting, but homicide isn’t my thing.”
“I turned down a flight with NOAA hurricane hunters once.” She’s cautious when she says it, like she’s telling me a secret. “I had the chance to go into the eyewall of a storm, and I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“I hate heights.” Her shoulders curve in. Her eyes flick up to the top of the ride then back to me. I’ve never seen her so hesitant. “They’re my biggest fear.”
“Ah.” I rub the back of my neck and pop to my feet. This feels like a conversation we should have face-to-face. “A different option then.”
