Page 26 of Dealing Dirty
Papáloved to come here as a family when we were younger. My oldest brother was well into his late teens, and even he enjoyed chasing us all around and teaching us how to play the different games. Isabel kept me as her shadow, taking me on rides, but we always saved the Ferris wheel for last.
A slow ache builds. I’ve missed the closeness of my family something fierce.
The sun is tucked behind the clouds, shadowing the day with a gray hue, and the crisp fall wind rustles my hair when I step out of my car. My hand freezes as I reach across the seat to grab my grocery bag.
“Daddy! Hurry, Daddy!” a little girl shrieks. Her blonde locks flow wildly as she runs and he chuckles, following close behind.
Leaning against the driver’s side door, I flick my gaze to the bustling market, then back toward the fair. It’s been months since I’ve truly let my hair down and relaxed. Come to think of it, it’s probably been since we ran off to Vegas.
I tap my nails against the cool red metal of the top of my car.
Am I really about to waltz my way over to the fair all alone?
Yes.
Am I going to eat half my weight in buttered popcorn and whisper sweet nothings to a fat, juicy turkey leg?
Also, yes.
An older woman greets people at the gate as they squeeze their way through to get tickets for games and rides. Butterflies tickle my stomach and my mouth spreads into a tight-lipped smile. Before I can change my mind, a man waves me on, and it’s my turn to step up to the ticket counter.
The sound of music and a guitar plays from a stage I can’t see, and the smell of my favorite salty treat makes my mouth water. I mix right into a mass of men, women, and children, stepping into a memorable world that before today, I hadn’t realized I missed so dearly.
It’s easy to blend in when one doesn’t want to be seen, and I want to disappear. Forget the turmoil between The Pound and Bruce for a couple of blissful hours, and not think about the man who pushes me to the edge of pleasure with as little as a crooked grin and a Texas twang.
I want to liberate myself from the fear and worry that follows me daily and just… be.
* * *
“How did you do that?” I ask, setting my popcorn down before sliding up beside a man who’s standing in front of a game booth. I’ve been eyeing him for the last few minutes, wanting to play the game myself, but I’m absolute shit at basketball.
His strong hands wrap around the pockmarked ball.
“Funny seeing you here,” Ethan says, raising his arms to one of the four baskets that are nailed to the wall. The ball sinks into the net with a gentleswish.
I watch it travel down the long netting until it plops back into the trough that’s directly in front of us. Ethan reaches for my wrist, pressing his thumb over my pulse, and places the basketball in my open palm.
“Do you make a habit of hanging out at carnivals alone?” I hug the ball he’s given me against my hip, draping an arm over it.
“Do you?” he counters as he makes another shot.
“You can’t answer my question with another question.”
My response amuses him. “Here. Put your feet like this.”
Peppermint and vanilla envelops me as he steps to my back so our bodies are flush. I stagger my feet the way he’s suggested while my heart gallops away, and I watch as he raises his right heel so his body weight shifts onto the ball of his foot. I follow his lead, mirroring the movement.
Thick arms wind around me, and long sturdy hands dwarf mine as he helps me into proper position. I do my best not to stare at the sharpened angles of Ethan’s face and his nearly black eyes.
He’s handsome in a terrifying way.
“Place your right hand under the ball and your left on the outside,” he directs.
I nod as he bends his knees and springs back up, pushing a rush of momentum through our arms, flicking his right wrist to give the ball the little kick it needs to send it home.
“There you go!”
Ethan’s encouragement has me clapping excitedly, and my cheeks pinken when the man running the booth huffs.
