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“Your bitch,” he corrects.
He sounds so enthusiastic, I feel my mouth betraying me by furling upward. “Why is that so appealing to you?” I ask, straightening my face so he won’t see that he’s lightening my mood.
Aaron shrugs those sinewy shoulders, his merriment palpable. “I’ve always wanted you to leash me and make me walk on my knees. Besides, you never ask for anything, ever, even when you clearly want it. Do you know how frustrating that is for a service top, even outside the bedroom? I want to see what it’s like when you boss me around.”
By the time he’s fallen quiet, I’m radiating heat from every pore and regretting all my life choices. “Don’t just nonchalantly bring up sex things with me!” I croak.
He throws his palms over his mouth with an apologetic look. “I guess I’m spoiling our physical relationship. Sorry.”
“That’s not the problem here.”
His eyes are crinkled up, so I know he’s still grinning. He shuffles a few steps closer, eyeing me hopefully. “One hour?”
An evil part of me wants to make him regret upending my day without notice. Surely, I can drain his wallet in that amount of time. “Just…just an hour,” I say with a scowl.
“Excellent!” To my disgruntlement, he sweeps my legs out from under me and hurtles toward his pickup truck, kidnapping me in broad daylight. Someone might as well stitch the word welcome onto my forehead, because I’m exactly what my brother said I am.
A doormat.
17
The carnival is more crowded than I expect—maybe people have the day off or don’t work Fridays in the summers, because the lines are staggering for food, rides, and vendors selling personalized goods.
As I clamber out of Aaron’s truck, he reaches into the back seat, procuring a floppy straw sun hat with a white ribbon. He nestles it over my hair, flattening my dark blond locks to my forehead.
“I already lathered myself in your SPF 50,” I say.
“So? Extra protection.” He bops my nose, smirking when I scrunch it. “And you look extra cute, which is a bonus for me, your beloved.”
“You, my bitch,” I correct.
Aaron laughs, and I’d be lying if I said the sound didn’t make me want to smile. “Spicy. I’m into it.” Aaron locks the vehicle and offers his palm, grinning. “Then, my lord—”
“Do not.”
“—shall we make the most of this hour?”
I wonder if we held hands last time. The local carnival comes around in June for a few weeks, so at this point last year, Aaron and I would’ve been dating for two months. Would we have graduated to hand-holding? Maybe I shouldn’t overthink it, considering I just made out with him yesterday. But making out in a fit of sudden horniness is different from knowingly holding hands as if we’re a couple.
Whatever. Reenacting the physical aspects of our dates has been providing me flashbacks, so I’ll tolerate it. “This means nothing,” I say sharply, placing my hand in his.
Immediately, he invades the gaps between my fingers with his own, then draws up, flattening his lips against the back of my hand. He lingers just long enough to make me blush before winking and whispering, “Absolutely nothing.”
He tugs me to the carnival entry gates.
They handle things the old-fashioned way with printed tickets, each game or ride costing a different amount. Aaron gets a bundle for us both, and when I tell him we won’t have time to spend them all, he smirks like I’ve said something cute.
I’m glad he’s holding on to me, because otherwise I’d lose him in the beehive of people swarming around. At one point, we’re so crammed together on a walkway heading toward the street vendors that I have to hug Aaron’s arm to avoid getting jostled. I expect a flirtatious comment that’ll make me want to snap my teeth, but when I peer up at him, his normally marble-white cheeks are shaded pink. Sometimes I think it’s the simple things that fluster him.
It’s getting hot. I’m glad I have the ridiculous sun hat to keep my forehead from frying. I’m wearing a tank top beneath my sweater, but I’m still bruised and my skin isn’t a healthy tinge today, so I suffer through the heat. Until Aaron says, “Nobody is looking at you but me. You can take it off if you want, babe.”
I nearly choke with disgust. “Don’t call me that,” I plead.
He tightens his grip on my palm. “Sorry, sunshine.”
I should tell him that nickname isn’t better, but it is, and I’m not sure why. He used to call me that out of spite when I scolded him for taking up Logan’s time, and for being a general brat. He’d say things like Ease up, sunshine or You’re just a little ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?
I wonder when he started saying it genuinely versus mockingly.
