Page 102 of Penalty Kiss
"Pie-eating contest," he declares without preamble. "Bobby Morrison was supposed to represent the fire department, but his wife went into labor this morning. We need someone with your... athletic capabilities."
Tara snorts a laugh beside me. "Athletic capabilities?"
"I'm not eating pie competitively," I protest weakly despite my earlier interest, but Thompson's already steering us toward a table lined with what appears to be an army of blueberry pies.
"Five minutes, winner takes fifty dollars and a trophy," Harold continues like I haven't spoken. "Plus, the ladies auxiliary is running a pool. You're the favorite at three-to-one odds."
"The ladies auxiliary is gambling on me eating pie?"
"Welcome to small-town life," Tara murmurs, but she's grinning.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm wearing a plastic bib with a cartoon blueberry on it and facing down the largest pie I've ever seen in my life. The crowd has somehow tripled, phones are out documenting what will undoubtedly become local legend, and Tara is laughing so hard she can barely stand upright.
"On your mark," a judge calls, raising a starter pistol that seems excessive for a pie-eating contest. "Get set..."
"This is ridiculous," I mutter to my pie.
"EAT!"
Competitive instincts I don't know I had for non-hockey activities kick in immediately. The pie is actually incredible—sweet, tart, with a crust that probably wins awards—but I'm too focused on the methodical destruction of my opponents to properly appreciate it.
Blueberry filling explodes everywhere. The crowd cheers like we're in the Stanley Cup finals instead of a farmer's market. Someone starts chanting my name, which is both mortifying and oddly motivating.
I finish first by a solid thirty seconds, raising my purple-stained hands in victory while the crowd erupts. The judge presents me with a trophy shaped like a golden pie slice and a fifty-dollar gift card and I immediately hand it to the runner-up. A teenager who looks like he stuck his entire face in the pie.
"You’re the future champ, kid," I say, clapping him on the shoulder. "Keep training."
The crowd applauds, and I scan the faces, looking for one in particular. There she is, cheering the loudest. I jump off the stage and jogs to her.
"My abs thank you," I tell Tara as she helps wipe blueberry off my chin, still giggling. "That was definitely not in my training regimen."
"You're ridiculous," she says, but her eyes are shining with affection and pride. "And you have filling in your hair."
I like how she’s fussing over me. So I do what any lovesick fool would—I scoop her up without warning, shifting her onto my shoulders in one smooth motion. She squeaks, her hands gripping my head for balance, her thighs bracketing my face in a way that sends heat shooting straight to my groin.
The crowd loses their collective mind.
"Cameron!" she protests, but she's laughing. "Put me down!"
"Not a chance," I call back, adjusting my grip on her legs and trying not to think about how her hem is brushing against my jaw or how perfectly she fits here. "I just won a pie-eating contest. I'm feeling invincible."
"Don't drop the best thing you've ever carried, boy!" Chief Thompson shouts from the crowd.
"Not a chance, sir," I reply, grinning up at Tara. "She's mine."
The possessive declaration comes out rougher than intended, loaded with meaning that makes Tara's breath catch. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and for a moment the crowd fades away. It's just us—her warmth above me, my hands on her skin, the promise of everything we're building together.
"Yours?" she challenges, but her voice is breathless.
"Completely."
I set her down carefully, keeping my hands on her waist until I'm sure she's steady. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with arousal that makes me want to carry her straight back to the loft and finish what we started this morning.
"That was quite a show," she murmurs, pressing closer.
"Just getting started, sweetheart."
We're both breathless, the air between us crackling with the kind of tension that's needs to end with clothes on the floor very soon.
