Page 2 of Bound to the Orc Hunter

A little pang pinches my chest. Calvin always talks about putting on a show for the punters to keep them happy. But he also smiles atmelike that, and I want those smiles to be mine, to be special.

The girls break into giggles and move off as I slip through the entrance, then turn and stretch the closed sign across it. “Taking a little break, folks. Check back soon.”

Calvin’s smile doesn’t falter as he whispers out the side of his mouth, “What are you doing?”

“What areyoudoing?” I whisper back, turning my back so the fair goers can’t see my face—I can’t act to save my life—and shoot him an assessing glance. “Telling people to ride again when the thing’s about to break.”

“It’s fine.”

“You checked?”

“Of course I checked.”

I run my eyes over him. His tan cargo shorts and tight white T-shirt are pristine. I’m a mess in comparison, with a motor-oil smudge on the thigh of my jeans and another staining the hem of my pink T-shirt. And that’s just what I can see—I’m sure I have a few more, even though I haven’t needed to do any major repairs yet today.

So how can Calvin have gone anywhere near the motor and still be so clean?

“What’s making the grinding noise?” I stride toward the central column of the ride.

Calvin walks beside me. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know if you looked?” I pull out a screwdriver and use it to remove the brightly painted panels covering the access to the engine compartment. The smell of overheated metal and burning plastic smacks me in the face. That’snotsomething you ever want to smell.

“Come on, Grace. You know I’m not as good with machines as you.” There’s that smile again.

My knees go a little wobbly. Calvin’s the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in person, and the way he flirts with me is the headiest rush. We’re the two mechanics with the most seniority this year, and we work together a lot.

He picks up a lock of wavy blonde hair that escaped my messy bun and tugs on it. “You’ve got such beautiful hair. You should wear it down more often.”

I shiver at his almost-touch and at the thought of him wanting to see my hair down. Besides my boobs, it’s my best feature. I tried having short hair for a bit in high school, but with my height and build, I immediately got the nickname Brienne, like fromGame of Thrones. Brienne kicked ass, but guys never called me that in a nice way, so I’ve been growing out my hair ever since.

“How about this?” He leans close, dropping his voice until it curls around me, smooth and sweet as butterscotch. “You take a look at the motor for me, and afterward, we’ll get that drink we’ve been talking about.”

His breath brushes over my lips, and they tingle as if he’s already kissing me. My heart skips and skitters. This is it. He’s flirted all summer, and now he’s finally ready to date me! Dreams flit through my mind of how great the winter monthsin Orlando will be with a boyfriend, someone to eat out with, someone to call and text.

Someone to care.

“What do you say, Grace?” He gives me a knowing look.

My cheeks heat. I’ve been staring at him for too long while I dream of our future together. “Okay.”

Since I’m going to work on machinery, I tuck my crystal necklace into my T-shirt to keep it safe. It’s my one small bit of pretty, given to me by the elderly woman who used to read the crystal ball. Unlike all the fake plastic of carnival prizes, it’s a real stone, and even though it’s colorless and kind of plain, I love it. It’s got secret beauty—when I hold it up to the sunlight, it casts little rainbows of color. I like to hope that I’ve got secret beauty, too. That some day a guy will look at me in the right light and like what he sees.

The ride’s toolbox waits just inside, and I flip on the interior work lights and step into the cramped space, hemmed in by metal and machinery. Everything looks okay down here, but this isn’t the most critical part of the ride. No, that’s up above, where the spinning disk attaches to the central column.

I shove a few of the most useful tools into my pockets and climb the metal rungs of the service ladder. When I reach the tiny maintenance platform at the top, which is barely wide enough to stand on, I get my first good look at what’s going on.

Little silver curls of metal spill from several of the joins—curls made because the machinery is grinding together hard enough to start chewing itself up. It’s a combination of no lubrication and misaligned parts.

I’ve never seen anything look this bad. It’s hella borked, as in, nothing up here has been taken care of in areallylong time, not even routine maintenance. None of the carnival’s rides are new—they all need constant upkeep—and the previous mechanic told us as much when he trained us to take over this year.

Everything becomes crystal clear in an instant. Calvin’s been lying to me this whole time. And if he’ll lie about doing his job, which is crucial for people’s safety, he’s also lying about wanting to go out with me. I should have known all his flirting was fake—it’s easy to see in hindsight that he only did it when he needed help fixing something. As soon as I did it, he’d go back to being more distant. He’ll probably do the same thing tonight.

God, I’ve been a fool. Why would a guy like him be interested in me? Every single day, a new batch of beautiful women flirt with him. He’s got a constant pick of offers.

As much as I tried to escape it, I’m still Brienne, and he’s the worst type of Jaime, using his good looks to manipulate me.

A prickle of tears sting my eyes, but I harden my jaw. No. Calvin’s not worth crying over.

---