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But he doesn’t answer.
I lean in close to the shutter, training my ears. “Ten?”
I hear nothing.
The hair on my arms stand on end, and I straighten, calling again, this time louder. “Ten? Are you okay?”
But then something wraps around my waist, and I jump, sucking in a breath as a voice growls deep in my ear, “Welcome to the Carnival, little girl.”
My heart pounds in my ears, and I yank away, whipping around to find Trey holding a flashlight under his chin. The glow illuminates his face, emphasizing his devilish grin.
Jerk.
He smiles from ear to ear, his light-brown hair and cocoa eyes shining. Dropping the flashlight, he rushes up to me, and I barely have enough time to catch a breath before he dips down, lifts me off my feet, and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Trey!” I growl, his shoulder bone digging into my stomach. “Knock it off!”
He laughs, slapping me on the ass, and I cringe, feeling his hand graze down my thigh.
“Now, dumbass!” I shout, slapping him on the back.
He continues to chuckle as he sets me back on my feet, keeping his arm around my waist.
“Mmmm, come here,” he says as he backs me into the wall of the booth. “So you gotta taunt me, huh?” His knuckles brush the front of my bare thigh. “You wear that little cheerleading skirt at school, where I can’t touch you, and now when I can, you wear shorts.”
“What?” I play with him. “My legs look different in a skirt?”
“No, they look great either way.” He leans in, the beer on his breath making me wince a little. “I just can’t stick my hand up a pair of shorts.”
And then he tries to as if proving a point.
I knock his hands away. “Yeah, the thing is...” I say. “A boy whines. A man doesn’t let anything get in his way. Shorts or no shorts.”
His eyes fall down my body and raise again, boring into mine. “I want to take you out.”
“Yeah, I know what you want.”
Trey’s been flirting for a while, and I know exactly what’s on his mind, and it isn’t dinner and a movie. If I give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. I may not need a ring on my finger to have fun with someone, but I also don’t want to be a notch on his belt.
So I don’t give in to him. But I don’t reject him, either. I know what happened to the last girl who did that.
“You want it, too,” he shoots back, his wide shoulders and hard chest crowding me in. “I’m the shit, baby, and I always get what I want. It’s only a matter of time.”
I stare right through his ego, seeing a guy who toots his own horn, because he’s either afraid others won’t do it for him or he needs to remind himself how awesome he is. Trey Burrowes is a house of bricks balancing on a toothpick.
Something brushes my calf, and I look down just in time to see Ten crawling out from under the gaming booth. I move out of the way and push Trey back, noticing that Ten holds something in his hand.
“I got a sword,” he says, waving the plastic inflatable in front of us.
Trey snickers. “Yeah, me, too.”
And I swallow the bad taste in my mouth at his crude joke.
He turns away, growing quiet, his attention immediately drawn up to the Ferris wheel.
So easily distracted. So easily bored.
“Tell you what,” I say, speaking to Trey as I stroll over and hook an arm through Ten’s. “I’ll let you take Ten home.”
