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His eyes lift to mine. “Whatever you want.”
I jab him playfully in the chest. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, mister.”
“Maybe, but don’t think I’ll just let you win. I want that kiss.”
“As if you can’t kiss me anyhow.”
“But this isn’t the same, and you know it.” He lets go of me and slaps my ass playfully. “C’mon, Red, time to get your ass kicked.”
“Promises, promises,” I sing-song.
I’m still laughing at his silly demeanor as Miguel’s hand slips into mine, and we join the crowd going toward the festival. The music and chatter surrounding us grow louder the closer we get. My eyes scan the space, taking in the people and attractions around me. There are a bunch of food stands and people selling little trinkets. Kids shriek as they ride the attractions. There is the car cart game on one side, and I can see the little swings on the other. Kids that are probably around four or five are spun in circles, their small fists clutching the metal strings.
“Fuck, look at all that cotton candy.”
I shift my attention to Miguel. The colored lights hanging above us are illuminating the longing look on his face.
“How about a snack first?”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I clasp my fingers tighter around his. “You talked a big game about kicking my ass only moments ago. I won’t allow you to blame it on a sugar coma or whatever later. Challenge first, then you can come back and eat whatever youwant.”
“Whatever I want?” He wiggles his brows playfully, and there is no missing his innuendo.
“What are you, five?” I roll my eyes as I tug his hand and start walking toward the stands with the shooting range.
He laughs so loudly a few people start turning their heads toward us. Of course, the booth we need is packed, so I come to a sudden stop, and Miguel crashes into me, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer. He lowers his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
“I don’t know any five-year-old who’d even know what I have in mind for my snack, do you?”
A shudder goes down my spine at the sound of that low, husky voice whispering into my ear.
“Miguel…”
“Because nothing can ever taste sweeter than that pussy of yours, Becs. And I could eat itallday long.”
I bite the inside of my cheek—hard—my thighs clenching together to alleviate some of that ache building inside of me.
This man.
This freaking man will be the death of me.
And I don’t even have it in me to be angry.
I look over my shoulder. He’s standing so close his breath is tickling my face, the heat of his body seeping into mine through all the layers of clothes separating us.
“Stop teasing, Fernandez, because I might just challenge you to put your mouth where your money is.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, Red.”
I shake my head. “You’re inco—”
I don’t get to finish because the man at the stand yells, “Hey, you love birds. You playing or what?”
Color floods my cheeks at the question, and what feels like a dozen pairs of eyes on us. I bite the inside of my cheek as I slide out of Miguel’s grasp. “Let’s see what you’ve got, hotshot.”
“You’re on.”
Miguel pulls out a bill and hands it to the guy, who slides it under the counter and puts ten balls in front of each of us, explaining the rules. I listen with half an ear, my gaze on the ensemble in front of us. The moving plates take the central position with different stuffed animals sitting on the shelves above it.
