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“He really looks sad that you aren’t stopping or acknowledging him. I almost feel bad for the guy,” Palmer muses.
“Not many things cause me grief in life, Tess Powell, but you sleeping with a carnie is right at the top,” Bodhi complains, the happiness from his sugar high long forgotten as he looks back over his shoulder with a frown at the man running the balloon dart game, heckling Tess as we walked by. “I’m not high enough for this.”
“It was just a crazy thing I did in my twenties; I didn’t know he’d be here. Come on, baby,” Tess coos, wrapping her arm around Bodhi’s shoulders. “I’ll let you feel me up in the Tunnel of Love. How does that sound?”“No, you cannot feel me up in the Tunnel of Love,” I remind Shepherd for the third time as our cart shaped like a swan turns on the metal track, taking us through another curtain of heart-shaped beads and into another dark room with nothing but red heart lights on the walls.
“Come on, just thirty seconds under your sweatshirt; that’s all I’m asking for,” Shepherd pleads in a whisper, his lips right by my ear as we snuggle together in the front seat. “Come on, why can’t I?”
Shepherd’s palm rests on top of my bare thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth under the frayed hem of my jean shorts, making me seriously reconsider my stance on this, his breath against the side of my neck making my nipples harden and beg for his touch.
“Yeah, why can’t he, Wren? Just let him do it.”
“That’s why,” I remind Shepherd, my nipples immediately deflating.
Looking back over my shoulder, I glare at Birdie while she curls up into Palmer’s side then turn back around to move a few inches away from Shepherd.
“I told you we should have gotten our own swan,” he complains as we turn another dark corner.“You are so bad at this.”
“I know!”
“Maybe you should just stop. I don’t really need a third one.”
“I am not a quitter, Wren! I will give you that third one or die trying. Just let me keep trying.”
“Slow and gentle, Shepherd. Stop rushing it.”
“The more you tell me to slow down, the faster it just makes me want to go. How many times do I have to tell you this?”
“And once again, you’re trying to cram it in there without any finesse and ruin everything. You are so out of practice. Here, let me—”
“Oh no! You aren’t going to get all up on me like you did that day at the Dip and Twist when I kept breaking all the cones! I can toss a fucking baseball into a laundry basket from ten feet away, all right? That third stuffed otter will be yours; mark my words.”
“People are staring.”
“They’re staring, because you’re currently holding seventeen stuffed animals in your arms, soon to be eighteen, and they are in awe at my festival game-winning ability. Step back. Give your man some room.“Jesus, Eryka Cook just knocked that woman out with one punch,” Tess says in awe from our blanket on the beach, watching the boat parade right off the shore.
“I had no idea Shepherd bought one of those cannon things to shoot squishy foam baseballs into the crowd,” I reply, wincing when Kimberly Clark straight-up shoves Celeste Devries facefirst into the sand to grab a ball that flies out onto the beach as Shepherd’s Field of Dreams boat slowly floats by, the boys all having a grand old time out there in their old-fashioned uniforms.
Even with a Christmas-themed boat complete with ten giant Christmas inflatables, a snow machine, and a man dressed as Santa who walked along the beach handing out candy canes while their boat went by, I’m pretty confident Shepherd’s Field of Dreams boat will take first place.
Regardless of the small amount of bloodshed, the entire crowd of spectators is laughing and shouting for Shepherd’s boat, having the best time of their lives while they hilariously wrestle and knock each other down along the shore to try to grab one of those squishy baseballs.
“I’m never going to hear the end of how Shepherd’s balls won this boat parade, am I?” I ask the girls.
Birdie and Tess just laugh as everyone finally calms down when Shepherd’s boat is out of sight, and Abba starts blasting from the loudspeaker of the next boat in line, flashing with strobe lights and a disco ball while people dressed in costumes from the ’70s dance around the top of the boat.
“You will literally never hear the end of the ball jokes,” Tess reassures me as we all get up and disco dance with the rest of the beach.“I’ve never had so many people holding my balls at one time.”
“My balls were just flying at faces.”
“Wars were waged over my balls.”
