Page 1 of Stripped Down at the Fair

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CATE

Even in caricature form, the carnival worker was hot—hotter than any man I’d ever seen, caricature or otherwise.

I sat back and set down my pencil so I could gather the loose tendrils that had fallen from my messy bun. I pretended to stare at my work, but behind my large-framed sunglasses, my eyes were on the hottie directly in front of me.

There was a problem with the Tilt-a-Whirl. They’d been working on it all morning. I didn’t know much about repairing Tilt-a-Whirls, but from where I sat, it seemed like the gorgeous dark-haired guy with major muscles was the only one who knew what he was doing. And now the other two guys had left him there alone.

He stood, wiping his brow and looking around. It might be my imagination, but it sure seemed like his gaze went everywhere but my direction. In fact, I’d been gawking at him all morning, and he hadn’t even glanced my way.

Suddenly, he looked toward the sky, and I realized something I should have noticed earlier. The skies had turned very, verydark. When had that happened? I’d been so focused on him, I hadn’t noticed.

It was going to rain, and my easel was unsheltered. On top of it sat my large drawing pad.

Gasping, I stood and turned. Rain was exactlynotwhat I needed right now. The table next to me had a large tablecloth that draped all the way to the ground. I could slide my drawing pad under there. The cupcake vendors using it might not appreciate it so much, but they were busy covering their cupcake displays.

A giant burst of wind threatened to knock some more strands out of my messy bun. The wind had picked up significantly. It might even blow my easel away without me sitting there to hold it down. But as I walked toward it, I realized the easel was the least of my worries.

As I clamped my hand over my mouth, the wind caught the pages and pulled up on the corners. Luckily, most of them were still attached to the large pad. Unfortunately, one page wasn’t attached, and it was the most important page of all.

It was the drawing I’d done of the hot guy fixing the Tilt-a-Whirl.

I lunged forward, hands outstretched in front of me. My fingertips were within inches of the page when the entire thing whipped off, the wind carrying it over the top of the easel and across the small walkway that separated us. If the wind had taken it to the right, I could have rushed off to grab it. Since the hot guy seemed determined not to look in my direction, I doubted he’d even notice the page was blowing around.

But no, the wind was my enemy. It carried the sketch directly toward its subject, and that definitely got his attention. It landed several feet from him, but there was no way I could get there before he did.

Making matters worse, as I moved to step around my easel, I felt a big drop of rain. Crap. I couldn’t let the pages get wet. It was the only pad I had, and it needed to last the rest of the weekend. This town was so small, it didn’t even have an art supply store. I’d stocked up on everything before I made the four-hour drive here.

I snatched up the easel and slid it under the covered table without even asking permission. I didn’t glance at the women selling cupcakes as I did. If I didn’t make eye contact, I could ignore any scowls they might send my way.

I was already twisting around as I moved from a squatting to a standing position, sketchpad safe beneath the table. Suddenly, I found myself face-to-face with the subject of my caricature. Well, face-to-face in the sense that he was now looking at me. He still stood in the same spot, holding the page that had blown his way.

Was it my imagination, or was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips?

“Is this how you see me?”

I had the urge to look over my shoulder to check whether the cupcake vendors were watching us. If so, it was probably pure entertainment for them. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the gorgeous guy with the muscles, especially now that I saw he had ice-blue eyes that seemed to bore right through me. How was it possible that he was even hotter when he was looking at me?

“It’s a caricature,” I said. “It’s meant to be a little goofy.”

His gaze slid over to my easel and the big sign mounted to the plywood above it.Caricatures, it read. Simple and straight to the point. Yeah, I probably should have come up with something better, but my cousin told me about this event just days ago.

It wasn’t like I’d ever tried to sell my drawings, although I had a portfolio full of them. These days, I made my living as acashier at a grocery store. I spent my days beneath a lit-up sign with a number on it.

“The head’s kind of big,” the hot guy said. “I don’t guess I’ve ever had a caricature made of me before.”

He looked down at it. Was that admiration in his stare? Why did I care so much what this guy thought? Was it possible staring at him so long had led to me developing a crush on him?

For most of my teen years, I’d basically lived in a fantasy world, and I thought I’d outgrown that phase of my life. But this guy was better than anything I’d imagined. And he was looking at me like he might actually be interested in me.

“I was between customers,” I said. “It was practice. I have to keep my skills sharp, you know?”

That was my way of explaining why I was sketching him. I couldn’t tell if the explanation was landing. He was still staring at me, and something in his eyes sent heat rushing through my body. Suddenly, I was imagining what it might be like to have his hands moving over my bare skin as he kissed me, his tongue parting my lips.

I shifted and bit my lip to suppress a groan. This wasn’t the first time I’d fantasized about a guy. It probably wasn’t even the hundredth. But this particular fantasy was so vivid, it did things to my body.

Even weirder? I had the feeling he was having the exact same fantasy. Maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. That could mean any number of things, but right now, my brain translated it as desire.

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