At least there’s a tub of Cherry Garcia waiting for me in the freezer.
As I turn to leave, male laughter catches my attention, and I look to see a few guys standing around one of those boxing arcade games—you know, the kind where you hit the punching bag to record a high score.
One of them is having a turn. Something about him catches my attention even though his back is turned to me.
He’s a big guy. Tall. Broad shoulders showcased in a blue denim jacket. My eyes go down. White T-shirt showing out of the bottom of his jacket. Black jeans on his legs. Nice ass. Fits his jeans well.
Fits his jeans well? Thank God I don’t say this kind of crap out loud.
My eyes go back up. I can’t see his hair, as he’s wearing a ball cap.
I bet he’s good-looking.
There’s just something in the way he moves his body as he prepares to hit the punching bag that screams confident. Like he knows he’s good-looking.
God, listen to me. I haven’t even seen the guy’s face, and I’m labeling him as hot.
He hits the bag hard. I could hear the slam of his fist against the leather of the bag, even all the way over here. The bag pounds up into the machine, and the board lights up with numbers running high.
Top score.
Wow.
His friends are laughing and punching him in the arm, like guys do, but he seems to just shrug them off.
Then, without warning, he turns his head and looks straight at me, catching me staring.
Shit.
I look away, turning to the store window. I use my long hair to curtain my face, trying to pretend I wasn’t staring when he clearly knows I was.
I’m such a loser.
My face is reaching inferno levels of hotness at the embarrassment of getting caught staring and also because I was right. Holy Christ on a hottie cracker, that guy is gorgeous. Beautiful. The quick glimpse I saw of his face was more than enough to confirm to me that he is super high on the sex god meter. And definitely older than me. A lot older, I’d say. Around twenty-ish at a guess.
Yes, I know I’m a dork.
And I also look like a complete dick, standing here, staring into the window of a closed store. But I daren’t turn around in case Sex God is still there.
I can’t hear him and his friends anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.
I look at the reflection in the store window to try to see if he and his friends are still there, but I can’t.
Okay, so I’m just going to have to suck it up. Turn around and casually walk away like I wasn’t just staring at the hottie.
One…two…three…
And they’re gone.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that I’m probably never going to see Sex God again.
I stare at the boxing machine where he just was and have the sudden urge to try it before I head home. Not because Sex God touched it. I’m not that much of a loser. I’ve just never tried one before, and I wonder if I’m any good.
I walk over to the arcade and stop at the boxing machine.
Fifty cents.
I dig into the pocket of my skinny jeans and pull out some coins.
I push them into the slot, and the machine lights up. The punching bag lowers.
I curl up my fist, ready.
Can’t be that hard, right?
I pull my arm back and punch it.
Apparently, it is that hard.
Because I don’t even move the bag back up to make a score. It just kind of wobbles a bit but stays put.
Well, that’s embarrassing.
I glance around to see if anyone saw, but no one is paying me any attention.
Okay. Try again, Cam. You can do this.
I prepare myself a bit more this time.
I shake out my shoulders, loosening up. I spread my legs apart and plant my feet. Then, I swing my arm back and punch the bag.
Yay! I did it!
But…oh…is that the lowest score you can get?
Yep, that’s me.
Right. I’m going again.
And, this time, I’m going to hit the crap out of this punching bag. It will not defeat me.
I get another fifty cents out of my pocket and drop the coins into the slot. The punching bag comes down.
“You’re wasting your money.”
“Wha—” I turn to the voice and—holy shit.
It’s Sex God. He’s standing right there. Looking at me.
Jesus. His eyes. Blue. Like the bluest of blue. The I-want-to-dive-into-them-and-never-again-come-up-for-air blue.
“Your stance is all wrong,” he tells me. “You’ll never get a good swing at the bag, standing like that.” He nods at my legs.
I look down at them. They look okay to me.
“What’s wrong with my legs?” I say.
He chuckles right as I hear those words echo back in my head, and I have to bite back a groan of embarrassment.
“Well, nothing’s wrong with them.” He lifts a shoulder. “They’re great legs. Best I’ve seen in fact. But the way you’re standing isn’t right. Your hips can’t turn while you’re standing like that, meaning there’s no swing in your punch. No swing, no force.”
Great legs.
Best he’s seen.
Honestly, I didn’t hear anything else after that.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He chuckles again. “You need to move your legs. Stand like this.” He shows me with his own.
“Okay.” I move my legs to mirror how he’s standing.
“That’s right,” he tells me. “And, now, you need to tilt your hips back a little, like this.”
I follow his instructions, tilting my hips.
“Then, put your hand into a fist, thumb on the outside. Pull your arm back, and let your hips pivot around. As you swing, put all your body weight into that punch.”
I do as he said. I swing back and then put all my body weight behind my arm. Along with all my emotions from leaving Baltimore and my friends and from those mean girls from before.
I hit that bag with everything I have. I feel the moment my fist connects with the leather, and I get a good hit in.
The bag slams back up, and the numbers start to rise.
Medium hitter!
Yes!
“I did it!” I bounce on my toes, excited.
“You did.” His lips lift at the corner into a half-smile. The sexiest smile I’ve ever seen.
And I’m a puddle at his feet.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thanks,” I say.
“No biggie.” He shrugs.
“How do you know about boxing?” I ask him.
“I’m a boxer.”
“Like, a real boxer?”
Kill me. Kill me now.
He smiles again. “Yeah, like, a real boxer. Well, I’m not pro. Amateur at the moment. I can’t go pro until I get my boxing license, and I can’t get that until I’m eighteen.”
“You’re not eighteen already?”
“Seventeen.”
“Wow. You look much older.”
He laughs. “I hear that a lot.”
“So, you’re a senior?”
“Junior. My birthday’s in September.”
“Ah. August baby here.”
“Junior, too?”
“Nope. Sophomore. I’m fifteen,” I add, like I need to highlight that fact to him.
Way to go, Cam. Turn him off with your age.
Not that he was turned on by me…but whatever.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I feel a stab of disappointment in my chest, which is crazy because I’ve only just met the guy.
“So…we’re only one school year apart, but you’re nearly two years older than me. Well, a year and eleven months older, which is weird if you think about it.”
Jesus, Cam. Stop your rambling. Why don’t you also tell him that your legal guardian is with the New York City Police Department and finish off any hopes you m
ight have had with him?
“You look older,” he says. “No offense.”
“None taken. I hear that a lot, too. I think it’s my height. Hopefully, not my face. I don’t want to have a prematurely aged face.”
He laughs. But I don’t feel like he’s laughing at me, like he thinks I’m a total goof. More like he thinks I’m funny, in a good way.
And that does something funny to my stomach.
“You don’t need to worry about your face,” he tells me and smiles that half-smile again.
Something swoops up and flutters into my chest.
I feel giddy and light.
Goddamn, he’s pretty.
“Where are your friends?” I ask, floating on a cloud of him.
“How did you know I was here with friends?”
Ah. Crap.
“I, um…well, I saw you before. You were on this game, and I was over there. But I wasn’t stalking you or anything. I just saw you, is all.”
I’m dying. Jesus. Kill me now.
He chuckles low and deep, and I feel it from the roots of the hair on my head to right down to the tips of my toes.
“I saw you, too,” he tells me.
Wow.
Yeah…just wow.
“So, what are you doing now?” he asks me.
Going wherever you’re going.
“Going home,” I say.
“Why?”
“I have no clue.” I’m fairly sure I can’t even remember my own name right now.
“Then, you should stay.”
“Why?” I hear myself asking.
That smile that turns me to Jell-O slides back onto his face.
“Good question. You want the truth?”
“Always.”
He takes a step closer to me. His scent is spicy and something completely masculine, and it overwhelms me in the best possible way.
“Because I find you interesting. And usually nothing but boxing interests me. But you interest me.”
“Why?” Apparently, that word is now two-thirds of my vocabulary.
“You’re funny and pretty. Really pretty.”
“And fifteen.”
“And fifteen,” he echoes.
“And my aunt is a cop.”
“Good to know.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you have someone looking out for you.”
Oh.
“I’m not having sex with you, if that’s what you’re after.”
Laughter bursts from him.
Filter, Cam. Filter, for God’s sake.
“I was just thinking of a walk. Maybe a ride on the Ferris wheel. But good to know where your head’s at.” He wipes the laughter from his eyes.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. You’re right to be careful. You don’t know me.” He pauses and lifts his cap from his head. His hair is dark brown. He runs his hand over his sheared hair. Then, he puts his cap back on and fixes those bright blue eyes of his on mine. “But I want you to know me. And I really want to know you.”
I bite my lip and then tuck my hair behind my ear. “Okay,” I say.
He smiles. A full smile this time, showing his teeth. They’re white but not perfect. His front teeth have a slight overlap to them. But it suits him. Makes him even more handsome, if that’s possible.
“I’m Zeus,” he tells me.
“Like the god?”
He chuckles, and I realize how that sounded.
“Not that I think you’re a god, of course,” I add with a roll of my eyes to try to come off as nonchalant. It totally doesn’t work.
“Of course not.” He smiles. “But, yeah, like the god.”
“Cameron. But everyone calls me Cam.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“My aunt.”
“The cop.”
“And my friends back home in Baltimore. I just moved here a few days ago.”
He nods, like he already knows this. “Have you been on the Ferris wheel yet?” he asks.
I shake my head, not wanting to say that I wanted to but didn’t because of a couple of mean girls.
“Well, you can’t come to the fair and not go on the Ferris wheel. It’s like the law of Coney Island.”
“Really?” I lift a skeptical brow.
“No.” He grins boyishly, and I laugh. “But you do need to go on the Ferris wheel. Come on.” He holds his hand out to me.
“Um…” I hesitate, and he sees it.
“Do you not like Ferris wheels?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I do. I just…well, without sounding like a kindergartner, I was in line to ride it just before, and…some girls were mean to me. And, after that, I didn’t so much feel like going on it anymore.”
“How were they mean?”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” I self-deprecatingly roll my eyes, exhaling a breath.
But he doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
So, I say, “They called me a loser because I was going to go on the ride alone.”
“And do you care what they think?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
“No, you’re not. Look, people like that are just shitty because they’re insecure themselves, and they need to try to bring everyone else down to make them feel better about themselves.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“No. I’m just smart.” He grins, and I smile. “Look, don’t let some mean girls put you off from doing something you want to do.”
I stare up at him. Not many guys make me feel small and girlish, but he does.
“You’re right,” I tell him.
“I know. I usually am.” Another half-smile. “And, anyway, you won’t be alone this time. I’ll be with you.”
My eyes narrow a touch. “You’re not going to try to murder me on the Ferris wheel, are you?”
Another burst of laughter from him.
“It wasn’t on my agenda for tonight, no.” His eyes are shining and flickering like blue flames.
“And you’re not gonna try to cop a feel?”
“Nope. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.” He lifts his hands up, palms facing me.
“Okay then, let’s do it.” I nod. “Ride the Ferris wheel, that is.”
“You got it, Dove.”
“Dove?” I blink up at him.
“Yeah. Doves represent peace because they look beautiful and appear gentle and fragile. But they’re actually feisty as hell. They have more fight in them than people realize. Just like you.”
Beautiful. He said doves are beautiful. Does that mean he thinks I’m beautiful?
Calm your jets there, Cam. Just because he said that does not mean he thinks you’re beautiful.
I give him a look of amusement. “Wow. You got all that from a five-minute conversation?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, a smile in his eyes. “I got all that from the way you hit the bag.”
He sets off walking. I fall into step beside him.
“So, how come you know so much about doves?”
He slides me a look. “I don’t. I just saw it on a nature show once.”
I let out a laugh, and he grins.
We walk to the Ferris wheel in comfortable silence, and I muse to myself at how things are so different from when I was walking away from this ride not so long ago.
We join the line, which is much shorter than before. And there are no mean girls in sight.
Zeus insists on paying for me, which is really sweet.
We walk up to the car. The fairground attendant holds the door open for us.
Zeus gets in first. Then, he holds his hand out to me to help me in.
I hesitate for a second, and then I slip my hand into his. I know this is going to sound cheesy and cliché, but I swear, the moment my skin touches his, it’s like everything changes.
The world suddenly looks a lot brighter. The noises a little louder.
Like I was expe
riencing life in 2-D, and I’ve just upgraded to 3-D.
I sit next to Zeus, letting go of his hand, and the attendant shuts the door, securing us in.
We move up for the next car to be filled. Going up and around as each car fills for the actual ride. Dusk quickly turns to dark.
Then, we’re moving.
“So, you live with your aunt?” Zeus’s voice moves through the dark, making the hair rise on my arms in the best possible way.
“Yeah. My mom died when I was three, and my dad wasn’t around, so my aunt Elle took me in. She’s great.”
“She sounds like it. Sorry about your mom.”
I shrug. “I don’t remember her, so I don’t remember losing her. But I don’t remember having her either, which is what sucks most.”
“Yeah…” His voice sounds pensive. “But maybe it’s not such a bad thing—not having to feel the pain of losing her, you know.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Anyway, sorry to bring the mood down.” I turn my face to him.
“You haven’t.” He gives me a gentle smile.
“What about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
He stares ahead. “Dad. My mom died last year.”
Ah.
His solemn observation makes a lot more sense now.
“Shit. Sorry.” I wince.
“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “She had been sick for a long time. Cancer.”
“Fuck cancer, right?” It’s all I can think of to say, but it must be the right thing because he looks back at me, a small smile touching his lips.
“Yeah, fuck cancer,” he agrees.
“What about brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers. One sister.”
“Wow. That must be awesome.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.” He chuckles.
“I would love to have siblings.”
“You can have mine if you want.”
I laugh. “If only. Tell me about them.”
“Ares is two years younger than I am.”
“Like me.”
“Yeah. Like you,” he echoes. “And the twins, Apollo and Artemis, are twelve.”
“You all have Greek gods’ names,” I say and then cringe. “And I’m clearly on fire tonight with my blatant observations.”
He laughs, and I realize that I really like the sound. A lot. And I want to keep on hearing it even if at my own expense.
“So, any reason for the choice of names?” I ask him. “I know some parents call their children names like River and Grass because they’re hippies.”
Ruin Page 3
