Page 2 of Carnival Mayhem

I grab the chalk bag, ignoring how my skin heats when our fingers brush. "Can't let you have all the fun, can I?"

Nash wraps his hands in the chalky powder. I've watched this ritual a thousand times and memorized how his fingers flex. Every time, I have to force myself to look away.

It's not that I'm ashamed. I've known I was bi since military school, where stolen kisses behind the gym were as common as bloody noses from fighting. But here? In the carnival? Might as well paint a target on my back.

I watch Lars and Tyson by the entrance, their muscles bulging as they haul equipment. Everything about this place screams testosterone and masculinity. The guys here? They'd sooner break your jaw than look at you if they thought you swung that way.

"Earth to Colt." Nash's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You planning on joining me up here?"

And then there's Nash. Beautiful, straight-as-an-arrow Nash. The way he moves, all grace and power, it's like he's trying to kill me. But I've seen him with women, watched him charm them with that deadly smile. He's naturally fluid and comfortable in his skin in a way I never learned to be.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on." I chalk up my hands, hoping the routine will steady my nerves.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" He winks, and my heart does that stupid flutter thing it's been doing more often lately.

That's the worst part. The banter, the easy touches. To him, it's just how we are—best friends who've spent years learning to trust each other with our lives. To me? It's torture, sweet and slow.

"You're doing it again." Nash hangs upside down again, his face way too close to mine. "Getting lost in that head of yours."

I step back, maintaining the careful distance I always keep. "Just focused on the routine."

He rights himself with that impossible grace. "Sure you are. Come on, tough guy. Show me what you've got."

I follow Nash up the rigging, my muscles remembering every handhold. We've done this dance thousands of times, but my heart still races when he catches me mid-flip, his hands strong and sure against my skin.

"Good." His breath hits my neck as we transition into the next move. "Now the blind catch."

I release the bar, twisting my body in the air. For a split second, I'm flying—then his hands lock around my wrists. The momentum swings us in a wide arc.

"See?" Nash's eyes gleam with that wild joy he only gets up here. "Perfect trust."

And it is perfect. We move like one being, reading each other's bodies without words. If only he knew how much I notice—how his chest rises with each breath and his fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary when he steadies me.

We run through the sequence three more times. Each catch, each touch, adding another crack to my careful control. By the fourth run-through, I'm half-hard and grateful for the loose shorts I wear over my leotard.

"Last one," Nash calls out. He's sweating now, skin glistening under the tent lights. "Make it count."

We nail the routine. As we descend, his hand brushes my lower back—probably spotting me, making sure I'm steady. But my skin burns where he touched.

"Not bad." He grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink. A drop escapes, trailing down his neck. "Though you're still favoring that shoulder."

"Thought you weren't my mother?" I start packing the chalk, needing something to do with my hands.

"No." He laughs, and the sound hits me right in the gut. "Definitely not your mother."

I watch him gather his things, all fluid grace and natural beauty. My best friend. My torture. My secret.

If he notices my eyes on him, he doesn't show it. But then, that's our whole relationship—this careful dance of almost something, never quite crossing the line.

2

NASH

The lights dim across the big top, casting long shadows that dance like old friends across the sawdust floor. I adjust my sequined costume, watching Colt stretch his shoulders one last time. His muscles ripple beneath the fabric, and I precisely catalog every movement.

"Ready to give them a show?" I flash my performer's smile, which makes the audience believe I'm just another entertainer chasing applause. If they knew the thoughts that circle my mind while I'm up there, watching them all from above like they’re prey...

"Born ready." Colt rolls his neck, and I notice the slight hesitation in his left side.

---