Total pages in book: 203
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
“Baby,” he whispers. “I was not ever, not once willing to give up on this. I know it’s right. I feel it down to my bones.”
“It wasn’t necessary for you to buy Dad a TV,” I blurt, awkwardly, because I have to change the subject. Now. “It’s not your fault he broke it.”
Gosh, I’m so flippin’ awkward.
“I know it wasn’t,” he says, “But I wanted to do it.”
“And Mom is stoked about the spa.”
“I bought you the same package,” he says. “You can decide if you wanna go with her or on your own. Didn’t want her to know in case you didn’t wanna go with her.”
“Why wouldn’t I wanna go with her?” I ask. “I love hanging out with my mom!”
“Okay, okay. I just wanted the choice to be yours is all.” His hand flexes around mine and now our fingers are weaving together. “You and her have had some tension. You’ve snapped at her a couple times, so just wanted you to have a choice is all. I’ll email the package details to you, and you can book it when you’re ready.”
I feel guilty because I have been snappy with Mom. I’ve been snapping at just about everyone. No wonder he said I’m not the Bailey he knows. I sure don’t feel like the me I know.
His hand is soft, warm, and there’s heat creeping up my body in slow motion from my toes to my ears. I hear a not faraway-sounding whine that makes confusion float through all my cells.
He holds my hand for the whole drive. And eventually, my shoulders relax. Thoughts and memories float through a lazy river in my mind with all sorts of good stuff I have stored about Jason Creed. Excitement bubbles up when we finally pull down a dirt road with a dead end. I can smell the fried dough and happiness from here.
***
He watches me dip my corndog in the ketchup and mustard sauce with amusement in his eyes.
“I saw you do this when I was about six. I did it this way from then on,” I admit.
He smiles wide and then dips his corndog in my sauce.
“Hey!” I fake-complain.
Happiness dances in his eyes.
After we’ve eaten, we walk around with him holding my hand, my other hand holding my tall lemonade, which he casually leans over to sip from each time it leaves my mouth. And the way he does it… there’s sensuality oozing from his eyes.
“Let’s do the Ferris wheel,” Jase suggests, walking us up to a ride ticket booth.
I look up at it and gulp down a swallow.
“I don’t like heights, Jase.”
“It’s just a little one,” he reasons, buying some tickets.
“It’s too high,” I mutter.
“It’ll be okay, Bay.”
It’s dark and the place is lit up now. It’s not a very big carnival, but it’s still crawling with people and that feeling in the air that I love. There’s laughter around us, music, and the scents and the lights all add to the vibe.
Before I manage to voice further objection, I’m being divested of my lemonade, which he drains before dropping it in the trash and ushering me through the turnstile.
“I don’t…” I start to object, but I’m quickly ushered into a gondola.
Jase’s arm goes around me and way too soon, we’re climbing toward the top.
“Ugh, I hate this,” I mutter, turning my head into his body so I don’t have to look.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, adding, “promise,” while pressing his lips to my temple.
“I don’t like being made to do what I’m afraid of,” I tell him. “I’m a scaredy cat. And I hate heights.”
“Sorry. I thought it’d be fun.”
“It’s not,” I say.
And climbing up higher before descending, my belly wobbles and not with nausea that’d usually come from a ride like this. My belly is wobbling because Jase is snuggling me into him, his scent filling my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It’ll be over soon. I’ve got you. I promise.”
I can’t look down or I might hurl, so I look up at the sky. It’s lit with stars and a bright partial moon.
It’s pretty. Other rides are lit too and now I’m sort of looking down as well, and I’m not afraid to do it. The song playing through the carnival is kind of poignant. Dua Lipa’s Be the One.
Our eyes meet and he smiles big. “I was about to gesture to the carny to stop for us. But you don’t seem scared.”
And I’m not. Shockingly.
I’m up in the sky with Jason Creed, listening to music, seeing the flashing lights of a carnival he drove me to so he could feed me a corndog, deep fried carnival desserts, and win me another stuffed animal.
And he fought today. He was up all night fighting his urges and fought today with one of his closest friends, bleeding out the excess testosterone so he could greet me for a dream date, smiling with dimples like he didn’t have anything weighing him down.