by Cari Quinn
Another place she wasn’t dwelling on tonight. Good things only, please. She was making it a requirement.
“Dancing’s like fucking with your clothes on, and I’m basically an expert at both.” He laughed and feinted backward as she pelted his chest with blows. “It was right there. You had to know I’d go for it.”
She slid her arm around his waist and kissed the side of his neck. “And I walked right into your trap.”
“You like my traps. They’re so dark and warm and moist,” he said, adding extra emphasis to the word he knew she hated.
She shook her head at him. “Funny guy.”
“I am. And you’re a beautiful girl.” He drew her outside to the darkened midway, now only lit by the rainbow of colored lights that decorated the booths and the sodium lights that stood high above the well-worn footpaths. The play of hues flickered over his face an instant before he pulled off his hat and kissed her again, quick and hot.
Just a taste. Not even close to enough.
“Cotton candy?” he asked while she was still catching her breath.
“Caramel apple,” she corrected. “With nuts.” He started to speak and she pointed. “If you make any sophomoric jokes about your nuts, you’ll be getting laid by your hand tonight.”
“So harsh.” He set his hat back on his head and diverted her to the candied apple booth a few stalls up the midway. “So you want extra nuts, right? Big, salty ones?”
She rolled her eyes at him. Such a boy. But he bought her an apple dripping with thick, gooey caramel and the perfect amount of nuts, so she’d tolerate him. Until he tried to get a bite of her apple, and then all bets were off.
When she growled as he leaned in to sample it, he grinned. “Greedy much?”
Her gaze drifted to a young woman with long blond hair and big eyes checking out Ry’s ass, and her growl deepened. And she lifted her apple to his mouth. “Take a big bite, baby,” she whispered in her dirtiest voice, making his eyes widen before he complied.
Her laughter nearly made her bobble the apple.
He bit in and drew back to chew, and somehow even the movement of his jaw was sexy. So not right. He immediately leaned in for a second bite, extending the moment with his eyes on hers.
Chewing an apple shouldn’t be foreplay, but with this guy, it was.
“Delicious,” he said once he’d swallowed, and she was fairly certain he wasn’t talking about only the fruit.
Cheeks heating, she quickly grabbed his hand and tugged him up the midway, his laughter ringing in her ears.
She’d never heard a better sound.
They stopped a few more times. There was a souvenir tent that had a crapton of team jerseys. He even found some Raiders gear buried under the local teams. Ry was so proud of himself he insisted on buying it for her. After she tossed out her decimated apple, he tugged it on over her tank, mumbling something about the wind. She would’ve sworn she was dressed up in a ball gown by the way his expression went heavy and dark.
Her nipples responded in kind, tightening under her tank. He noticed that too, so she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the pay stand. Otherwise they’d probably end up making out in a shadowy corner and miss the show altogether.
“No way,” he said, picking through a tray at the checkout. He pried out best friend keychains in the shape of—of all things—a pair of hummingbirds. The wings interlocked.
She shook her head. “Seriously?”
He wasn’t listening to her, because he’d already whipped out his credit card to pay. The instant the charge went through, he deposited hers in her palm and closed her fingers over it, sealing the gesture with a kiss that made the people in line behind them clear their throats.
“Can I get a best friend like yours?” the teenaged checkout boy asked, his cheeks red.
Ryan chuckled and wrapped his arm around Denver’s shoulders. “Not sharing her, sorry.”
Once they were outside again, the faint sounds of country music reached Denver’s ears. “Shit, that’s gotta be the opener.”
“Nah, it’s the opener’s opener. We got time, baby.” He swung their hands between them, pointing at a guy guessing ages and weights. “Wonder what he’d guess about us?”
“That you’re crazy and going to make us late for the concert?”
“Wise-ass. No, better yet, look at that.” He indicated the purple tent with a revolving crystal ball out front. “Tarot card reading. They have couples’ ones. Let’s go.”
“Dude, you can’t be for real. Tarot? No. That stuff is so fake.”
“So? If it’s fake, just listen and enjoy.”
“It’s a waste of money—”
But he was already pulling her along, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him no.
That was becoming a bad habit of hers.
In no time, she found herself seated beside him in front of a folding card table covered in flowing orange and purple fabric. The older woman smiled at their linked hands, because Ryan seemed to have an aversion toward letting her go. She couldn’t say she minded overmuch.
It was nice just holding hands and having fun with someone she cared about. Or it would be if she could chase away the prickle of anxiety that kept popping up every time she looked behind her. She just couldn’t settle tonight.
Probably because she was waiting for Ry to be discovered. That had to be it. Not that it would be a crisis, but screaming women and being swamped for autographs would kind of put a damper on their relaxed evening.
“Couples reading, is it?” The woman drew a pack of cards from a basket adorned with fake flowers and surrounded by hunks of crystal. “How long have you been together?”
“Not long enough.”
Denver shot Ryan a look under her lashes, but he was too busy smiling earnestly at the tarot card reader to notice.
“Your energy together, it’s very good. I sense a lot of mutual love and respect between you.”
“Yes, respect for sure,” Denver said swiftly, pretending not to notice how his grip slackened on her hand.
“Love is there too,” the older woman said. “No matter what you call it, the feeling is the same.”
She handed the cards to Denver. “Please shuffle them. Then when you are finished, allow your young man to do the same. This way, you are transferring both of your energies to the cards.”
After releasing Ryan’s hand, Denver accepted the deck and shuffled as requested. Her grip wasn’t steady, and her palms had grown slick. Silly. She didn’t believe in this mumbo jumbo. No reason to get freaked that the tarot would see something dire in her future.
Their future.
Ryan shuffled them next, and then they went through a routine of picking different cards that the older woman placed in strategic places on the table. She flipped them through one at a time, giving a short explanation and asking questions. The Sun card made the woman ask them their professions, and she seemed quite certain that Ryan was headed for greatness with “his band of compatriots.” He hadn’t specified he was in a band, just said he was in the music business, but it probably wasn’t a huge leap that he made music with others.
Still, Denver had to fight a shiver.
The tarot card reader flipped over another card. Death. She smiled slowly and stared right at Denver. “Death isn’t necessarily a negative card. Often it merely means a change. A rebirth of sorts. You’ve experienced one of those, haven’t you?”
Denver laced her fingers together in her lap and let out an uneasy laugh. “Sure. I switched from college to driving a bus. You can say that’s a change.”
“Not just a change of circumstances. You transformed. The woman before me right now isn’t the same—”
“I’d like to think so.” Denver knew her voice sounded stiff, but there was no helping it.
She’d known this was a mistake.
“Your scars run deep,” the woman said softly. “You fear the past is chasing you—”
Denver jerked to her feet. “Actually,
no, I’m most afraid of missing the concert we have tickets for.” She glanced at Ry, who was staring at her as if she were a stranger. “Can we go now?”
When he didn’t move, she skirted her chair and stumbled through the murky darkness until she reached the flap of the tent. She didn’t look back before ducking outside.
And she kept right on going.
Chapter Fifteen
All she cared about was escape. From all-too-knowing brown, lined eyes and spring-green ones full of questions.
Both expected far too much.
She jogged up the midway, passing a few games and food stands, coming to a stop as Ry called out her name behind her. She couldn’t run from him.
They lived in the same place, for God’s sake. For now.
To calm herself, she sucked in breath after breath of the scent of caramel corn and fried food and waited for her pulse to slow.
“Denver.” Ry’s hand came down on her shoulder and she stared straight ahead, unsure what to say. “You should’ve told me you weren’t into it.”
She gave a jerky shrug. “We’re just late.”
“And I know how much you hate that.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice sound hollow? Mistrustful?
She swallowed as he picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Let’s go find the others,” he said against her knuckles, and she nodded, beyond grateful.
She wished more than anything she could be the woman he deserved. One without secrets and a past and scars, just like that tarot card reader had figured out. Whether it was from her woo woo cards or just a glimpse at Denver’s face, it didn’t matter. She was hiding too much, and the cracks in her veneer were getting wider every day. Letting Ry deeper into her life had meant making more room for him—and letting other things go. But it wasn’t that easy. She’d carried those particular burdens for far too long.
“Come on.” He linked their fingers together and they made their way in the direction of the music, dodging fairgoers and kids clutching giant stuffed animals and huge spools of cotton candy.
Happiness surrounded her, and she couldn’t stop checking out the shadows for men in dark suits. Men who wore dark glasses even at night. Men with heavy gold at their wrists.
Marco and his men were everywhere. It didn’t matter if they only followed her in her imagination at this point. They might as well have dogged her every step. Instead of the feeling of being tracked growing fainter with the passing days, it was only becoming stronger.
Ryan veered to the side of the walkway and they stopped. He pulled out his phone and let go of her to text someone. “Opposite side of the grandstand,” he said after a moment. “They’ve got a spot way in back. Hope they have big screens.”
“They do.” Denver pointed out one of the ones that flanked the stage, and he nodded, briefly riveted by the violinist accompanying the singer onstage. She didn’t recognize either of them, but Ry was already tapping his foot.
“Chase and Carrideen,” he said before she could ask. “They’re a married duo who got famous on one of those reality shows. Really talented.”
“Let’s find our spot then, so we can listen.” She took off to search for their friends, trusting he would catch up.
Movement was what she needed. If she kept moving, she couldn’t think. Tracking down locations was her skill. That, and making sure she couldn’t be found herself.
It took a while to push their way through the already pumped crowd. Everyone seemed to be hoisting up bottles of beer and the occasional sign, and the mood was excited and wild. Even without the opener onstage drawing the numbers of Keith, the audience was ready to party.
And she was ready to dance.
They found the band on the general admission lawn way in back, as advertised. Though it was dark out now, the grandstand area was ringed with lights, and the band’s area was fairly bright except at the extreme edges of the grass. They were off to one side of the main seating area, far enough away from the action that Denver glimpsed the helicopters lifting off for fairgoer rides in the distance. Their tiny lights winked against the night sky and she watched, riveted, as one disappeared into the clouds.
It was a chilly night for late July, but the mood around them was spirited and free. That was the joy of being at a concert with some friends in the summer.
No worries. No stress. Nothing but her guy walking by her side and giving her that smile that made her belly tighten in anticipation.
“Took you long enough,” West said as they approached, passing a beer to Ry without even asking if he wanted one. They’d known each other for so many years that they had a rhythm that didn’t need words.
Ry took a couple gulps and passed Denver the bottle, which she took gratefully.
They had their own rhythm too, one that was growing and changing every day.
“We had stuff,” he said, leaning forward to bump knuckles with Michael.
“Stuff like making out behind a bale of hay?” Jules asked, ducking behind Randy when Denver whipped her head in her direction.
Ryan glared at West. “Seriously?”
He threw his hands up. “Not it.”
“What are you clowns talking about?” Denver asked.
She expected more deflections but West sidestepped over to her and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Ry’s totally borked over you.”
She grinned and held a hand out to keep Ryan at arm’s length. “Borked? That’s a new one.”
“It’s accurate though.” West patted Ry on the head and jogged back to Lo, who was on a blanket at the far edge of the grass. She was drinking something out of a big blue bottle, and Denver could bet it wasn’t spring water.
“What did he say?” Ryan drew her close and streaked a hand down her ponytail, evidently forgetting that they were trying to be circumspect.
From Jules’s comment, that was probably a case of too little, too late.
“He said he’s borked over tonight’s show.” She batted her lashes. “Run to get us some beer, honey?”
“Lo has a cooler.”
“Yeah, but there’s probably not hot dogs in there. I’m hungry.”
“Hmm.”
“Please?”
He tipped back his head and a curl sprang free into his eyes. “Fine. I know when I’m being herded off, by the way. But I’ll get your damn hot dog and beer. And possibly one of those beer hats, just to torture you.” He grinned and pinched her ass before he jogged off.
She was still grinning when she turned to face the group, who were all watching them with unabashed curiosity. All of them except Mal, who’d stretched out on Lo’s blanket and pulled his hat over his eyes.
“Whatever you think you know, you don’t,” she said, loudly enough to hopefully reach most of them. The crowd was getting rowdier by the moment, and soon conversation would be impossible, even this far back.
Jules nodded. “Kissing best friends is a thing, like kissing cousins. Got it.”
Michael elbowed Elle, who tried to hide her laugh in a discreet little cough. Randy looked anywhere but at Denver, and Lo was still sipping on her bottle of heaven.
“Free love!” she shouted, and West did a fist pump.
Mal held up two fingers in a peace sign without pushing back his hat. His version of “who cares.”
Molly moved over closer to Lo’s blanket and started to dance, arms above her head. Apparently, the song choice didn’t matter much to her, because the violin duo had left the stage and now they were playing some random canned Reba from the speakers. But Molly was doing her thang.
Sounded like a good idea to Denver.
She walked behind the bunch of them, smacking West in the back of the head just for the hell of it—because he was the ringleader, she was sure—and snagged Elle’s hand. Together, they shimmy-stepped their way over to Molly, who’d found the closest thing to a clear spot for dancing. Elle spun out in a circle, releasing a laugh. Denver had to smile as she reached up to fix her loosened ponytai
l.
She was glad Elle seemed to be on the mend. They all seriously needed to have some fun tonight.
“Ooh, dancing. I can dance.” Lo popped to her feet, swayed, and giggled as she clutched her bottle. “Whoa, Earth is spinning.”
“Enough of that stuff, baby.” West plucked the bottle from her hand and took a swig himself, wiping his mouth. “Pure Kentucky moonshine, my friends. Sent from my uncle Levi. Uh-uh-uh, no touchy,” he said when Denver leaned back to grab the bottle. “You manhandled my person.”
“I could’ve done a lot worse.” She pried the bottle from him and tipped it back. Holy Christ. Her eyes bugged out as she returned the bottle. “What the hell is that?”
“Told ya, moonshine. Like mother’s milk.” He took another drink and let out a contented sigh. He spotted someone over Denver’s shoulder and raised the bottle. “Haywood, man, took you long enough. You get lost or what?”
Denver turned as Professor Haywood strolled over to them, making his way through the dense throng of concertgoers as if they simply didn’t exist. He wore a long coat and shiny shoes and didn’t look the least bit like he’d dressed to attend a country concert. “Or what. Traffic was a bitch.” He fist-bumped West, and Denver had to raise her eyebrows. Hadn’t been all that long ago they’d nearly come to blows over Lauren, but that was men for you. “Lots of people headed in for the show.”
“You’re here. Finally!” Lauren charged toward Ethan, nearly bowling him over. “Where’s your cowboy hat? And boots?” She pointed at her own hot-pink boots, paired with her cutoff jean shorts. She’d left the bus in sneakers, so the boots must be a new acquisition. “I told you that you had to be concert appropriate.”
“Boots make you concert appropriate? Then I’ll just turn right around and go find—” He broke off, his grin fading as his attention strayed past Lauren.
From her vantage, Denver couldn’t be sure, but she would wager his gaze had landed on one Molly McIntire, currently dancing with her hands cupping her shoulders and her eyes closed. She was still swaying on her own off to the side, lost in the rhythm of the canned Faith Hill filling the grandstand as they waited for Flynn Shepard’s set. He was notoriously late.
