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He fraudulently smiles down at me. “You ready for your Blue Beechpitch?”
I grab a bag of cotton candy. “I’ll listen, but I’m not someone easilyconvinced.”
“Oh, Miss Andrews, I can be a very persuasive man.” He must’ve given himself a pep talk on his way to the trash because his excitement meter has risen a fewnotches.
I shove a handful of cotton candy into my mouth before getting up. We walk in silence, side by side, passing annoyed parents yelling at their children and people spending their paychecks on games that are scammingthem.
Everyone stops and stares when we walk past them, like we’re the show animals. A few women have pulled out their phones to record us. We appear as platonic as it gets. Hell, maybe more like strangers, considering we’re not saying a word to eachother.
No story here,people.
Don’t twist it into something it’snot.
Because it’s way more complicated than us havingsex.
“How about a game?” Dallas asks, breaking my attention away from the crowd of women pointing ourway.
I throw them a dirty grimace and set my eyes back onhim.
We’ve stopped in front of a ring-toss game with giant animals hanging from the roof of thetent.
“The chances of me winning that small stuffed animal is one in a gazillion, and it will cost me a couple of hundred bucks. I’d rather save my money and buy a new handbag.”Or acrib.
“I like your style.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve blown so much money on those stupid things. Lucy loved them.” He tilts his head toward the flashing lights and spinning rides. “Ferriswheel?”
“I see you live on the wildside.”
“Risky is my middle name. Be rightback.”
I combatively stare at him while he jogs over to the ticket booth without waiting to hear myanswer.
How do I tell him I’d rather blow my life savings on a game than be stuck in the air withhim?
As bad as I want to, I can’t. It’s hard for me to give him shit when it looks like someone ran over hisdog.
So, I wait inline.
He hands the bored attendant our tickets and helps me into the car. It’s cramped as we sit across from each other. I blush each time our knees brush in the tightspace.
“You make a doctor’s appointment yet?” he asks when the wheel starts tomove.
I sigh playfully. “This was your plan, huh? Get me hundreds of feet in the air, so I can’t bail when you ask me complicatedquestions?”
He holds his hand up, a smile cracking at his lips. It’s not as real as the one he gave me at the beginning of the night, but it’s better than the artificial one earlier. “Convenient timing, I swear.” He pauses, the smile still flickering at his lips. “Subconscious smart move on my part, considering your history of being arunner.”
His jeans rub against my bare leg when I situate myself on the metal seat. Like my flats, shorts weren’t the best fashionchoice.
“Awkward conversations aren’t a favorite pastime of mine,” Imutter.
“You mean, making adult decisionsaren’t?”
“I’m twenty-six.” I mentally slap myself.That’s myargument?
“Last time I checked, twenty-six was anadult.”
“I mean, I don’t have much experience in making adult decisions that don’t only impact mylife.”
When I graduated from high school, I moved to LA for college and have lived my life without answering to anyone. I travel regularly for my job and don’t have to worry about anyone other than my boss controlling what I do. My personal decisions have never impacted anyone else’s lifebefore.
