Page 94 of Her Goal
I’m cinching together the bottom of the dress, and our hands brush when he takes the zipper in his fingers. My breath washes through me like he already tugged it up, and the fit is snug, however I feel his exhale on my bare skin as he carefully lifts the zipper to the back of my neck.
The little hairs tickle when he says, “You look beautiful.”
“How do you know? You haven’t even seen me yet.”
“You always do, Leah. Even back when you wore those oversized sweatshirts. In your figure skating costumes. When you’re annoyed with me. Even when you’re not sure how you feel—you are beautiful.”
Which is right now. How do I feel other than a warm, throbbing sensation like my entire body is vibrating? I want to blame it on the rides and the general noisy carnival atmosphere, but that would be a lie.
Staggering slightly at his words, I shuffle out from behind the privacy screen with him right behind. He holds up his hand and twirls me in front of an antique mirror, eyes alight. Granted, this isn’t exactly my style, but when I come to a stop, our hands are still joined.
Bonnie stands behind a camera on a wooden stand. “My, you two make a very handsome couple. Are you ready for your photos?”
My instinct is to decline her compliment or chalk it up to her just doing her job and hoping for a big tip, but Hudson’s darkening expression with his lips slightly parted, the slight flush to his cheeks, and a certain possessiveness in his posture suggest that he very much likes what he sees.
I know exactly how that makes me feel.
I want him.
I’m afraid to admit it.
Bonnie has us try a few different poses and says we look too stiff. Like we only just met today. Could be that I only let myself recognize these feelings today. Right now, in fact.
She adjusts us so I’m perched on Hudson’s lap. It’s awkward for a second, then I remember we’ve done this before on the Zamboni. Maybe being with him is more natural than I thought. Like we belong together. Or perhaps the s’mores on a stick combined with the Gravitron, and these musty old clothes are messing with my head.
We have to wait about ten minutes for the photos to finish developing, a.k.a. run through the printer, because let’s be real, this is the modern day and everything is digital even though it’s made to look old-fashioned.
While we’re waiting, Hudson says, “When was the last time you came to the carnival?”
“Last fall. How about you?”
“Not since we were kids. Actually, probably sophomore or junior year … the same night Howie came into my household.”
I wince. “Your brother was such a misfit. You were such a jock.”
“And you were so nerdy, so brainy … do you still have those thick black glasses?”
I elbow him. “Yes.”
He lifts and lowers his eyebrows. “I like the look.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“Just being honest. Hunter used to always brag about you doing his homework for him.”
I can’t avoid how Hudson being aware of this makes me feel used and ashamed.
“Hopefully, we live and learn from the past, right?” I say offhandedly.
He plants his hand on the wall slightly above my head. “Totally. For instance, if there’s a girl that you think is pretty, tell her. If there’s a girl you would like to spend more time with, let her know. If there is a girl you want to marry?—”
“To the beautiful bride and groom, your portraits are ready!” Bonnie points her closed parasol at us and flutters a portfolio in our direction.
Conversation abandoned but not forgotten, we open it and look at the pictures. First comes my pink cheeks, then a smile, followed by laughter.
Hudson beams. “We look good. Actually, great.”
He’s not wrong.
