Page 57 of Falling Into Forever
Warmth spreads through my body at the tenderness of the moment, but honestly, the crowd isn’t what’s setting off my fight-or-flight reaction. It’s my hyper-focus on the man next to me.
Heis too close. Too close to me. Too close to my emotions. Too close to making me break.
That’s how it always was, though.It could be again if you give him a chance. I dig my nails into my palm and focus on what’s happening around me.
“The rules are the same every year,” James shouts. “Each clothespin is numbered, and each target has a point value. You have two hours to tag ’em, and whoever has the most pinned at the end wins.”
Tag ’em and Bag ’em has been a highlight of the Lemon Festival since I was a kid. Unsuspecting targets are chosen randomly, and you have one hour to stick your clothespin to them without them removing it.
“I can’t believe this is still a thing,” Dante laughs. The carefree sound wraps around my anxiety like it can keep my fears at bay. Freaking Dante.
“Oh, it’s intense. You have no idea. Last year Harrison Reid almost got arrested for removing someone else’s pin.”
Dante’s gaze slides to me, assessing. He’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth, but he’ll find out soon enough.
“You may work in teams. However, you’ll only receive one set of numbers,” James says. “And now, the moment you’re all waiting for.” He glances at the crowd to make sure this year’s targets aren’t in attendance.
James reads off the first four names, but everyone is waiting for the whale—the top target. Anticipation fills the air, but the anxiety of so many people around me clogs my throat.
“And, finally,” James says, dragging it out. “This year’s Moby Dick is—Grady Reid.”
No one moves for a full five seconds. Once it sinks in, gasps and outcries fill the silence.
“No one can get close to Grady.”
“That’s impossible.”
“This is supposed to be hard, not a death sentence.”
Dante leans in conspiratorially. “So, if we bag Grady, we’ll be the talk of the entire festival, right?”
Shit. He’s really enjoying this. I ball my hands into fists so I don’t claw at my neck where I’m sure I’m breaking out in hives.
I shrug and roll my shoulders. “Probably. But Grady has been Moby Dick for three years in a row. No one’s gotten him, not even his brother.”
To my left, Grady’s brothers, Harrison and Adam, stand with their heads together, probably plotting against the eldest Reid, and everyone else must have had the same idea because they’re all branching off into partners.
“Game on, Oscar. How about a little side bet.” There’s mischief in his gaze, but damn him because I like it.
“What did you have in mind?” I aim for bored, but the words come out breathless, and my fist slowly unclenches.
“If we bag Grady, you agree to a date—a real one. With me,” he adds, like he needs to clarify.
“Dante.”
He stands in front of me and places his hands on my hips. “Fun, remember?”
Yeah, I remember just fine.
“Go,” James shouts, and people scatter around us.
Colors fly by, but my focus stays on Dante.
“No one has even come close to Grady. You know that, right?” Dang. Even I heard the sarcasm in that sentence.
“I’m not everyone, sweetheart.” At my scowl, he chuckles and says, “Maybe sweet-tart is a better nickname.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I say dryly. “Just because I like what I like and hate everything else does not mean I’m grumpy.”
