by K. Bromberg
“All the juicy details, huh?”
“Yep!” His grin lights up his face, and he pulls me toward him so he can casually lay his hand over my shoulder. “Tell me everything.”
“Well, I grew up in a typical, middle-class family in San Diego. My mom owns an interior design company and my dad restores vintage memorabilia.”
“Very cool,” Colton exclaims as I reach my hand up to link it with his that’s casually resting over my shoulder. “What are they like?”
“My parents?” He nods his head at me. His question surprises me because it’s beyond just the superficial. It’s as if he really wants to know me. “My dad’s a typical Type A, everything in its order, whereas my mom is very creative. Very much a free spirit. Opposites attract, I guess. We’re really close. It killed them when I decided to stay in Los Angeles after college.” I shrug. “They’re great, just worry too much. You know, typical parents.” We move ahead in the line as the current set of riders vacate their cars and the next set moves on. “I’m very lucky to have them,” I tell him, a little pang of homesickness hitting me. I haven’t seen them in a couple of weeks.
“Any siblings?” Colton asks, playing with my fingers as he holds my hand.
“I have an older brother. Tanner.” The thought of him makes me smile. Colton hears the reverence in my voice when I speak of my brother and smiles softly back at me. “He travels a lot. I never know where he’s going to be one week to the next. He’s a foreign correspondent for the Associated Press in the Middle East.”
He notes my furrowed brow. “Not exactly the safest job these days. Sounds like you worry a lot.”
I lean into him. “Yeah, but he’s doing what he loves.”
“I can definitely understand that.” We start to shuffle forward again. “What do you think? Are we going to make it this time?”
I step in front of him and stand on my tippy-toes and gauge the line. A small thrill moves through me as I feel him place his hands on both sides of my torso, where my waist and hips meet. I look a bit longer than I need to, not wanting him to remove his hands. “Hmmm, I think next time,” I respond, lowering my heels to the ground.
Rather than remove his hands, Colton wraps his arms around me and sets his chin on my shoulder. I sink into him, my softness against his steel, and close my eyes momentarily so I can absorb the feeling of him.
“So finish telling me about you,” he murmurs in my ear, the coarseness of his whiskered jaw rubbing the crook of my neck as he speaks.
“Not much else to tell really,” I shrug my shoulders subtly, not wanting him to move. “Played lots of sports through high school. Went to UCLA. Met Haddie as my roommate freshman year. Four years later, I majored in psychology with a minor in social work. Got my job and have been doing it ever since. Pretty boring really.”
“Normal’s not boring,” he corrects. “Normal is desirable.”
I am about to ask him what he means when we move forward and are directed onto the uneven surface of the ride. We slide into the car, lower the safety bar, and wait for the rest of the ride to be loaded. Colton slides his arm around my back before he continues, “So what about vices? What do you need to have?”
Besides you? The words almost slip out, but I catch myself before its too late. I look at him, squinting my eyes in thought. “Don’t laugh,” I warn him.
He laughs loudly. “Now you have me very curious.”
“Well, besides the obvious female things, wine, Hershey kisses, mint chocolate chip ice cream.” I pause to think, a smile turning up the corners of my mouth. “I’d have to say music.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “It’s not very scandalous, I know.”
“What kind of music?”
I shrug. “All kinds, really. Just depends on my mood.”
“When you need it the most, what type do you listen to?”
“I’m embarrassed to say this...” I shield my eyes with my hand in mock shame “...Top 40, cheesy pop music in particular.”
“No!” he yells out in mock horror, laughing loudly. “Oh God, please don’t tell me you like boy bands,” he sneers sarcastically. When I just look at him with a smug smile, he starts laughing. “You and my sister will get along just fine. I had to listen to that crap for years growing up.”
He plans on me meeting his sister? I quickly wipe the shocked look off of my face and continue. “She must have great taste in music then!” I kid. “Hey, I live in a house full of teenagers, I hear all kinds of Top 40 music, all day long”
“Nice try, but nothing justifies liking boy bands, Rylee.”
“Spoken like a true guy!”
“Would you rather I be something else?” he asks, tapping a finger to the tip of my nose as I laugh, shaking my head no. He leans forward and looks around the ride to see when we’re going to start. “Here we go.”
It’s not lost on me that our conversation has been solely about me. I begin to think about this as the ride starts to twist and turn and spin violently in circles. I am thrown against the side of Colton’s body, and he clutches his arm around me, holding me tightly to him. He is laughing hysterically at the rush of the ride, and I tell him to close his eyes because it heightens the sensation. I swear I hear him say something about showing me more of that later, but I’m distracted from asking because as soon as it begins, the ride is over.
Colton and I proceed to ride the tea-cups, the swings, sneak a kiss in the Fun House’s lover’s lane, raise our hands high above our heads as we plummet downward on the roller coaster, and sling back and forth on the dragon ship. We step off of the freefall ride after having our stomachs jolted up into our mouths, and Colton declares his need for a drink.
We stroll over to a food vendor and he buys two drinks and a mammoth funnel of cotton candy. He looks over at me, dead serious. “No carnival is complete without making yourself sick on the pure goodness of spun sugar.” He looks at me with the grin of a mischievous little boy, and it melts my heart.
I laugh as we stroll over to a nearby bench. We are almost there when we hear a voice behind us. “Excuse me?”
We both turn to see a middle-aged woman standing behind us. “Yes?” I ask, but it’s obvious she couldn’t care less about me. Her eyes are completely fixated on Colton.
“Sorry to interrupt, but, my friends and I have a bet going … are you Colton Donavan?”
I can feel Colton’s hand tense in mine, but his face remains impassive. A slow smile spreads across his face as he glances over at me and then back to the woman in front of us. “That’s flattering of you to think, ma’am, but I’m sorry to disappoint you. I actually get that a lot.” The woman’s face falls in disappointment. “Thank you for the compliment, though. My name’s Ace Thomas,” Colton says as he holds out his hands to shake hers. The mixture of my nickname for him and my last name makes me smile softly at the idea that he is thinking of the two of us as being intertwined. Connected.
She shakes his hand reluctantly, muttering, “Nice to meet you,” embarrassed at her intrusion, before she turns quickly and walks back to her friends.
“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Colton calls after her, the rigidity in his shoulders easing as we turn our backs to her and continue to the bench. He lets out a soft sigh. “I hate doing that. Lying like that,” he says. “It’s just that once one person realizes, then it’s nonstop. Out come the camera phones and the Facebook posts and before you know it, we’re surrounded, the paparazzi show up, and I’ve spent the whole evening tending to strangers and ignoring you.”
His reasoning takes me by surprise, and I’m flattered that he’s put it in these terms. “This is my life,” he explains without apology, “for the most part. I grew up by default with a famous family, but I made the choice to be a public person. I accept the fact that I’m going to be followed and photographed and hounded for autographs. I get it,” he says, sitting down on the bench beside me, “and I don’t mind it, really. I mean I’m not complaining. I’m usually very accommodating, especially when i
t comes to kids. But sometimes, like tonight, I just …” He tugs his hat down further on his head. “I just don’t want to be bugged.” He leans forward, angling his head so the brim of his hat clears my forehead, and says, “I just want it to be you and me.” He leans in, brushing his lips against mine in a brief but tender kiss, emphasizing his last words.
I pull back and smile tentatively at him, raising my hand to toy lazily with the curls flipping over his cap at the back of his neck. We stare at each other for a moment, exchanging unspoken words: lust, desire, enjoyment, playfulness, and compatibility. My grin spreads wider. “Ace Thomas, huh?”
He grins back at me, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It was the first thing that came to mind.” He shrugs, raising his eyebrows. “If I’d have hesitated, she would’ve known I was lying.”
“True,” I concede, taking a pinch of the cotton candy that Colton offers me. “My God, this stuff is over-the-top sweet!”
“I know. Pure sugar.” Colton chuckles, widening his eyes at me. “That’s why it’s so damn good!” He looks out at the rides. “Man, when I was a kid, after—” He pauses quietly. “After I met my parents, they’d spoil me by taking me to baseball games. I’d get so sick eating this crap.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a ghost of a smile at the memory. And I can’t help but wonder what life was like for him before he met his parents.
We lapse into an easy silence, watching the rides and the people around us, taking small nibbles of cotton candy. I am really enjoying myself. He is attentive and engaging and seems as if he really is interested in me as a person. I guess I was expecting more of a surface get-to-know-you, so being proved wrong is nice.
Colton moves his hand over to squeeze my knee and points over to the only ride left. “You ready to take on the Zipper, Ryles?”
I blanch at the thought of the small enclosed cage tumbling endlessly through the air. Being jolted and shoved backwards and forwards while being confined. I swallow loudly. “Not really.” I shake my head.
“C’mon, be a sport,” he pressures jokingly.
I can feel the impending claustrophobia of the ride, and I move my shoulders back and forth to ward the phantom feeling away. “Sorry. I can’t,” I mutter, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush through my system. “I’m super claustrophobic,” I tell him, pushing my hair off my face.
“I’ve noticed,” he says wryly. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “Remember? Storage closet? Backstage?” he says with a suggestive smirk on his face.
“Oh. Yes.” I can feel my cheeks burn red, mortified at my, then, actions. “How could I forget?”
“Were you always that way or did your brother lock you in the closet and forget about you as a kid?” he chides, laughing with amusement at the thought.
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head and quickly shift my eyes away from his, hoping he misses the tears that fill them momentarily at the memory. Although it has been two years, it still hits me like yesterday when old demons resurface. I reach over to twist my ring around my finger and find the spot empty. I exhale shakily, closing my eyes momentarily to control my emotions. I’m angry with myself for reacting so strongly to the suggestion of a damn carnival ride.
His laugh stops immediately when he notices my agitation, and he places an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “Hey look. I’m sorry, Rylee. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay.” I say, leaning forward out of his grasp, escaping the heat of him and embarrassed at my reaction, “There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He nods his head in acceptance to me, his eyes imploring me to say more. “I—um, I was in a pretty bad car accident a couple of years back … I was trapped for a while.” I shake my head to clear the vivid memories pressing in on me. “Since then, I can’t stand being in small places. Feeling trapped.”
He places his hand on my back and reassuringly rubs up and down. “The scars?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” I answer, still trying to find my voice.
“But you’re all healed now?” The genuine concern that fills his voice makes me look back and smile at him.
“Physically, yes,” I tell him as I lean back into the comfort of him, resting my back partially on his torso. His arm instinctively goes around me. “Emotionally...” I sigh “...I have my days. I told you, Colton, excess baggage.”
He places a kiss to the side of my head, keeping his lips pressed there. I can feel the questions he wants to ask me in our silence. What happened and how bad was it? Why an accident has baggage that makes me run from him? I don’t want to mar the night with sadness so I pinch off a piece of cotton candy and turn my body so that I face him, my bent knee resting on his thigh. I wave the piece of cotton candy in front of his face.
“How sweet do you like it, Ace?” I flirt with him before I lick my bottom lip and then provocatively place the fluff of sugar between them.
He leans into me, need darkening his eyes, a salacious grin playing his lips. “Oh, sweetheart, you taste sweet enough already.” He bites at the cotton candy hanging between my lips, purposefully nipping my bottom lip, pulling on it. The quick bite of pain is replaced by a quick lick of his tongue. The low moan of pleasure that comes from the back of his throat turns me on. Makes me want to drink him in. Right here. Right now.
“I definitely like the taste of that,” he murmurs against my lips. “We just might have to wrap this up and take this with us for later.” He lazily brushes his lips against mine. “In case you need a little sweetener after I dirty you up.”
I can feel his mouth curve in a smile against my lips. His suggestive words send a tightening pulse deep down in my belly. The promise of more to come with him dampens my sex and turns my soft ache into a smoldering burn.
I sigh against his lips, completely bewitched and totally enchanted by him. I lean my forehead against his, taking the time to steady myself.
“So,” Colton says, pulling back and pressing a soft kiss on my forehead before continuing. “We have two things left that must be done before we leave here.”
He rises from the bench, tucking the wrapped bag of cotton candy under his arm, a smirk on his face, and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Oh, really? And what would those be?”
“We have to ride the Ferris wheel,” he says, tapping me on the butt playfully, “and I have to win you a stuffed animal.”
I laugh out loud as we head for the Ferris wheel. The line is short and we chat, surprised at how many things we have in common despite coming from such different backgrounds. How much our likes and dislikes are similar. How our taste in movies and television are alike.
We are ushered to the car and locked in place with the bar across our laps. We start to move slowly, Colton draping his arm around my shoulder. “So you never finished telling me about you.”
“What is this?” I laugh. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t been put on the spot yet.”
“I’m next,” he promises, kissing my temple as I snuggle into the warmth and security of his arms as we climb higher. He points at a vendor juggling balls on the ground below. “Tell me, Rylee. What’s your future look like? A nice husband, two point five kids, and a white picket fence?”
“Hmmm, maybe. Someday. But the husband has to be hot and nice,” I kid, laughing out loud. “No kids, though.”
I feel his body tense at my words, his silence deafening, before he responds. “That surprises me. You love kids. Work with them all day. You don’t want your own?” I can hear the confusion in his voice and can feel his jaw moving as it rests on the crown of my head.
“I’ll see what fate deals me,” I tell him, hoping he’s satisfied with my answer and that he won’t pry any further. “Look!” I point out to the skyline where the top part of the full moon is just rising over the hills, glad that I can change the topic. “It’s beautiful.”
“Hmm-hmmm,” he murmurs as we sit watching its ascent. “You know what the rule is when the Ferris
wheel reaches the top, right?”
“No, what?” I ask, pulling away from the warmth of his arms to face him.
“This,” he says before closing his mouth over mine and fisting a hand in my hair. The hunger in his kiss is so tangible that I lose myself in him and the moment. His tongue slips past my lips, licking seductively at mine. I feel the gentle whir of the ride; the heated warmth of his fingertips whispering over my cheek; the sweet taste of cotton candy on his tongue; the hush of my name on his lips. The feeling of our marked descent has us pulling back, stepping back from the depths of the fire raging between us.
“Sweet Jesus,” Colton mutters, amused, adjusting in the seat so he can shift the seam of denim pressing against his arousal. “I react like a damn teenager around you.” He shakes his head, his embarrassment clear.
“C’mon, Ace,” I say, my ego inflated, “you owe me a stuffed animal.”
Thirty minutes later and several games conquered, my sides hurt from laughing at Colton’s playful antics, but I’m the proud owner of an oversized and very lopsided-looking stuffed dog. I lean up against the corner of one of the permanent buildings at the fairgrounds, one leg bent at the knee with my foot flat against the building, and my new treasured prize resting on my hip. I watch Colton play one last game, take the small prize he’s won, and hand it off to the little boy standing next to him at the booth. He ruffles the little boy’s hair and smiles at his mom before sauntering back to me. Taut muscles bunch beneath his T-shirt as he moves, and his body screams that it was made for sin. It’s impossible for me to take my eyes off of him. I can see that I’m not the only one as I watch the mom’s eyes follow Colton’s back as he leaves, an appreciative look on her face.
“Are you having fun?” he asks, approaching me, tugging on the ear of the stuffed dog.
I grin stupidly at him. As if he even has to ask that question. I’m with him, aren’t I?
He reaches out and runs a fingertip down my cheek. “I love your smile, Rylee. The one you have right now.” He cups my neck, the pad of his thumb running over my lower lip. His translucent eyes look into mine and search inside of me. “You look so carefree and lighthearted. So beautiful.”
