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“Should be. Like we’d get an extra drink ticket or something.” Liam pointed. “Time traveling space invader.”
Dahlia snapped the guy’s picture. “Could be real though. That could have happened, we don’t know.”
Sci-Fi fan wasn’t wrong. Piper shot a picture of Dahlia’s plastic cup held by her well-manicured nails.
“Did she just take a photo of her cousin’s boobs? Good one.” Kiernan took a selfie of his biceps. “Put this bad boy pic under the incredible column.” His gaze shifted to Calista. “Speaking of, what you been hiding under those jerseys?”
Dahlia sliced her hand in front of her neck. “Calista’s not for you.”
Kiernan dragged his gaze from Calista’s cleavage.
Piper wasn’t concerned. Calista wanted the captain, not Kiernan.
“Mead is number three.” Liam snapped a photo of the horn he carried and uploaded it to Piper. “Easy. Those other teams will be crying in our medieval dust.”
“Thanks,” Piper said, pleased with their enthusiasm.
“We’re nailing this.” Liam rubbed his chainmail-covered abs. “Let’s break for lunch.”
They had turkey legs and elephant ears between the maypole and the far end of the jousting field. The ribbons bounced overhead against the blue sky, wandering musicians played, and Mikah stayed by her side. Mixed messages. Piper needed more from him but wasn’t willing to give up the fun for adult clarity.
“Oh, axe throw.” Liam pointed at a sign and punched the air. “We’ll go to that after the costume contest.”
Piper got a picture of a jester on the way to the contest arena.
Kiernan looked up at the pale-blue expansive Texas sky. “This time of year, I’m usually Jones-ing for apples, leaf-turning, and visible breath, but I’m enjoying this blue autumn day.”
Liam scrunched his chainmail covered shoulders. “I miss cotton.”
The same group of giggling cone-headed princesses went by. Piper had seen them more than once now, and their gazes were always on the guys. Kiernan flexed his arms overhead, chains pinging. Two of the women tripped over their own slippers as they snagged a better view.
Calista shook the paper. “Only two items left, we need a crown and a unicorn.”
Liam pointed to the judging area. “We win the costume contest, we win a crown.” He and Kiernan went to sign up.
The rest of them got fresh drinks and took seats on haybales to wait for the contest to start.
The second cup of ale went to her head, or Mikah did. Piper giggled. “I can’t handle how much fun I’m having.”
“I don’t understand it either.” Mikah leaned into her shoulder and then quickly straightened.
She had to talk to him, understand why he was here and hanging with them. Was this what his friend zone looked like? She couldn’t do that, not with him looking totally kissable and sitting so close. Sigh.
Dahlia pointed, and her engagement ring slipped sideways on her finger. “There’s Henry the Eighth, he’s a shoe-in.” She took a big drink.
The professor stood up ahead, his golden looks a standout. He was ditching his royal costume, shrugging on a chainmail tunic, and joining the men lining up to participate.
“We got this.” Kiernan and Liam bumped fists and got in the queue. They had the better bodies; the professor had the better accent.
The crowd greeted each addition with a “whoop” or a “hurrah.”
“I think Professor Terry is taking that crown.” Dahlia eyed the men on parade. “He’s got the accent down.”
Piper faced Mikah. “You could. Tunic-free. Win.” Her words came out slightly tipsy and muddled but sincere. Mikah was the whole package.
Mikah shook his head, a fake-modest expression on his face.
Piper touched his arm. “Please.” They were just playing, but mead made the request matter more than it should.
