Page 30 of Just the Tipsy
“Can we talk about the bucket list?” Waylon asks. “Just to make sure we’re both on the same page.”
“Sure, yeah.” I swallow. At least he doesn’t want to throw it away entirely. My pussy involuntarily clenches at the memory of his fingers inside me, immediately hitting the sweet spot I’d tried to get Kyler to hit for years.
“We’re keeping this separate from the fake relationship, right?” He turns onto a different road, where we run into traffic. I can see the Jepsen Festival far ahead. “It’s just…friends with benefits with structure?”
I press my lips together, trying not to smile too hard at his description. “Yeah, just that. Nothing serious at all.”
“Okay, cool.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Not that I thought you felt otherwise, but…y’know.”
“Just wanted to keep things clear. I get it.”
“What else is on the list, by the way?” he asks.
“Oh, jeez. It’s kind of a running list that changes,” I say, even though I know. I’m just too embarrassed to list everything out when I’m stone cold sober in the car. “Phone stuff. Stuff with toys. Other stuff.
“It’s cool. You don’t have to tell me now if you aren’t comfortable,” he says, glancing at me with a smile. “Let’s keep it a surprise, if that’s better? Just let things happen when they happen?”
“Yeah, much better.” Thank god he can pick up on what I’m putting down without me needing to flat out say it every time.
We inch toward the Jepsen Festival and finally make it to the parking lot, which is just an empty field. It’s packed, with families walking hand-in-hand toward the festivities.
I hop out, clipping Sadie’s leash onto her harness so she doesn’t have to be warm in her bag. Waylon takes my other hand, threading his fingers through mine. His hands are toasty warm but not so hot that I want to let go.
“Oh wow, this is big,” I say once we officially cross into the fairgrounds.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t all of this. Several large tents are to our right, and a bunch of carnival games are to our left. Way down at the far side directly ahead of us are a bunch of food tents and trucks.
“Yeah, it’s gotten bigger since I was a kid,” he says. “Same rickety rides, though.”
“Is that even safe?” I ask.
“Probably not, to be honest.” He guides us over to the tents to our right. “Do you want to grab photos for social media first, then take a look at everything else?”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
We walk past the tents, which are all setting up for their events or starting them.
“Oh, how cute!” I say, stopping in front of the tent for the baby pageant. Babies are everywhere, many of them dressed in cute costumes. I’ve always liked the idea of babies, but having one isn’t even on my radar right now.
“Wes won this when we were babies,” Waylon says with a laugh. “And Rose got second place.”
“What about you? You were an adorable baby too.” Excessively adorable — a little chubbier than Wes, with big brown eyes and round cheeks.
“I was too fussy.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “It’s hard to be cute when you’re beet red from crying. I got a participation trophy, which my mom probably still has.”
“Wow.” I start walking again so we can make it to the Stryker Liquors booth. “She kept everything, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. At least it was easy to put together my college applications - my mom had a whole record of everything I ever did.”
The Stryker Liquor booth is one of the biggest booths, with a line already building up. I snap a photo of the line, including the sign over the booth, and snag a few of the bartenders serving up drinks. Waylon waits patiently as I style a few drinks, snap a few more photos, and post some things to Instagram stories.
The booth for the shelter is next to it, with just two volunteers handing out information on the shelter and how to donate. I grab a few pics of them too.
“Okay, I’ve gotten everything,” I say, handing Waylon one of the drinks and take a sip of one for me. It’s not as strong as the drinks I had at Wes and Rose’s engagement party, but it’s strong enough that I’m going to feel it. “I think I’m going to need some food with this drink.”
“Do you want something fried, or something fried?” he asks with a smile. “Or something fried and rolled in sugar?”
“All of it.” My stomach growls. “I’ve never had fair food and I haven’t had fried food in god knows how long.”
