Carnival

by K. B. Nelson

  “Got a map?”

  “Just a second.” He slides his finger against the screen of his phone. “Right here.” He pushes his phone over to me. There’s a world map on the screen. “Close your eyes and point to a random place.”

  I close my eyes as told. A light laugh escapes my throat because I know this whole thing’s kind of silly. My finger circles above the phone before pressing against the screen. I can hear his jeans brush against the bench seat as he stands up. He circles around to stand behind me and leers over my shoulder. My eyes open and he gets closer. His arm comes around me, brushing against my arm as he pinches and zooms in on the screen.

  “Las Vegas,” he says. “Never been there myself.”

  His breath smells like fair food, which is a mouth-watering scent, but it’s the last thing you want to smell coming from the mouth of a gorgeous man. However, the way his breath catches my neck ignites me. The heat so close to turning into passion, I want to reach around his neck and pull him close to me. Pull him in to kiss me. Now, I don’t tend to kiss strangers, but damn if I’m not about to make an exception.

  “That’s a long way from home,” I say, resisting the urge to pull him to my mouth.

  “Well, let’s go there. You and me.” His warm breath continues to taunt me. “Someday.”

  The way that word rolls off his tongue excites me. It almost sounds like a promise.

  “Let’s just go now,” I say, fully ready to run. You can’t live in the moment much more than that.

  “Right now?”

  “Right now. I’ve got a few bags packed for college, and I’m not in the mood to unpack. I can pick them up on the way out of town.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than to jump in a car with you, a perfect stranger, and follow the sun until it sets, but I can’t right now.” He stands back. “Sometime soon, though.”

  I swing my feet out from under the bench and stand up in front of him. “Feels like eternity.”

  We talk as if what we say is the truth, as if we’re not aware that we’ve got a few good hours together and that’s it. Still, playing make-believe isn’t the worst thing I could be doing on this miserable Saturday afternoon—I could be working in a fried veggies concession stand like that poor Romanian behind me.

  “Eternity’s not so bad. Some things are worth waiting for. I’ve found that time goes irrationally slow for those things until one day—bam—you find yourself on a cross-country road trip.”

  “You still haven’t told me what your job is. Are you a philosopher?”

  “Like a Plato?”

  “Something like that.”

  Blue looks down at his watch and lets out a frustrated sigh. Buzz kill.

  “Need to be somewhere?”

  “Unfortunately, work needs me for a few hours.”

  “You could blow them off.”

  He laughs and it’s contagious. “I would love to, but they’ll know I’m blowing them off to spend the evening with a beautiful girl.”

  “How would they know that? Do you work for the NSA?”

  “They’ve got eyes everywhere,” he says, nodding his head.

  “Are you a spy?”

  “Would I be able to tell you if I were?”

  “You were doing so well until you hit that cliché—” Then, like running into a brick wall, “You said I was beautiful.”

  “Huh?” he asks with a raised brow.

  “You called me beautiful.” My heel digs into the dirt.

  He shakes his head. “Don’t act like it’s uncommon.”

  I push my hair behind my ear. It’s a nervous thing. “I’ve been called beautiful my whole life—”

  “For a reason.”

  “But sometimes, it’s just unexpected. Like the rest of the world is just lying or something.”

  I’ve spent the entire afternoon staring at him like some kind of an obsessed creep, and it never really crossed my mind that he was thinking the same things about me.

  Blue reaches around me and grabs his phone off the table. “Here, give me your number, and we’ll hang later.”

  Maybe I’ll tease him. Now entering child mode…

  “Who says I want to do that?”

  “Playing hard to get?”

  “I’m certainly not easy.” That’s definitely not the way I intended that to roll off my tongue.

  “Good. I’m not a fan of easy.” He grins, nodding his head.

  “How do you like crazy?” I bite into my lip.

  “Oh.” He puts his hand to his chest. “I love crazy.”

  I reach for his phone, taking it out of his hands without express permission. I dial my number and put it into his contacts under the name Crazy. I hand the phone back to him. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Never.” There’s sincerity in his voice even as his eyes are glued to his watch. “I’m running late though, so…”

  “Goodbye, Blue.”

  His face lights up and he presses his lips against my cheek. Unlike his hands, they’re soft. “Not goodbye, Charlie,” he whispers in my ear, and then pulls back and turns around to walk away. He doesn’t need confirmation because he knows he’s got me exactly where he wants me. Wanting more.

  He walks away as the sun sets behind us. The light shines in between food trucks, casting shadows onto the midway. He has my number, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever see him again. The unknown can’t wipe this smile off my face, though. I’m not in love—that would be stupid—but I’ve got that feeling in my gut that you get when you meet someone and somehow know they’re going to change your life forever.

  Also, the way his ass moves in those jeans certainly doesn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It’s been a few hours since Blue went off to work. I’ve spent the previous hour strolling through the animal barns, petting horses, and plotting to steal a donkey. I wasn’t sure which animals were going to be slaughtered for food, and which were going to go on to live long, happy lives, so there was a brief moment spent pondering a life of veganism followed by a long, drawn-out affair with a cheeseburger.

  It’s a quarter till ten and my phone has yet to ring. I would settle for a text. A young carnie, maybe seventeen years old, hollers at me to come win a bear. In my experience, I would have better luck winning a marathon. And those odds aren’t great, either. He’s running that game where you have to throw the ball and knock over three canisters. I lie to him and tell him I’ll come back after I find my boyfriend. That’s a lie on two levels. I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m definitely not coming back. I’ll make it a point to avoid Game Street for the rest of the evening.

  The crowd grows thicker as the heat finally comes down to habitable levels. Most everyone has long forgotten the war from earlier when the sun was leading a full on assault. I haven’t forgotten. The damage has already been done to my hair and clammy skin.

  The screams of ride-goers and the sound of questionably assembled carnival rides boom through the fairgrounds. A big-footed clown walks past me with a fistful of balloons and a wide smile of sadism.

  A clown called IT.

  Another glance at my phone and my stomach sinks. Should have known better, I guess. I decide to return to my initial premise of being a solo riding bitch. The bumper cars are out of the question—I couldn’t steer one of those bastards if my life depended on it. And let’s be real, in that magnetic arena, it’s always life or death. The cages are also out of the question. They’re basically just an inferior version of the Zipper, built for those who feel the need to always be in control. The last time I rode one of those things, I felt the furthest thing from control as a bolt ricocheted off the metal cage with every flip.

  The Zipper is something special. It’s basically the closest you can get to the thrill of riding a roller coaster without setting foot in an amusement park, even if the only thing it and roller coasters have in common is the total forfeiture of control. In the cages, you have that bar that sometimes tells the damn thing to stop flipping
. No such thing exists when you’re in the trenches of the Zipper.

  So just when I’ve decided to make my way to the Zipper, it seems fate has other plans.

  “Charlie!” a familiar voice calls out.

  We all have those moments where our head is telling us Don’t turn around, but nobody ever listens because we always fucking turn around.

  “Hey, Dylan,” I say, feigning enthusiasm. It’s not like I’m on bad terms with my ex, but we’re definitely in the awkward post-breakup stage. He was going to stay here, and I was going to college. We decided it was best to end things because of the distance. Neither of us knew at the time that I wouldn’t actually be going anywhere. That was well before I became the parent in the household.

  Dylan stands about eight inches taller than me—seven if he ever took off those damn heeled boots. He’s a classic case of a small-town guy—the kind you could live next door to anywhere. Out there in the real world, in that mythical place called a big city, he would probably be a seven out of ten. Here in our own little world, he’s an eleven. Getting lost in those emerald-green eyes and unkempt hair has never been difficult. I loved him for many reasons, but I see no point in lying—I was pulled in for the shallowest of reasons.

  He’s standing in front of the Ferris wheel. His friends, Joey and Tyson, stand beside him drinking whiskey out of lemonade cups. They’re all practically wearing the same outfit, which is to say their wardrobes don’t extend beyond jeans, plaid shirts and plain tees. They’re all brown-haired, Midwest country boys. Dylan is the tallest of the bunch. Joey and Tyson stand a few inches shorter than him. Dylan wears a green plaid shirt, rolled up to the crook of his elbow. The other two boys have theirs thrown over their shoulders. Why they even brought them on an evening this hot is a question for which there are no logical answers.

  And then Dylan comes running up to me.

  “Hey,” he pants. “I haven’t seen you since Summer’s graduation party.”

  “I’ve been busy.” A total lie. Lucky for me he never caught on to that thing I do when I lie. Running my hand through my hair as we speak.

  “How’s your mom?” He’s always been sincere and polite, unless he’s drunk.

  “She’s better. I’m hoping she goes back to work soon.”

  “That’s good. She was always my favorite teacher.”

  I laugh, not because it’s funny, but because he’s also always been a suck up. Everybody in a twenty mile radius knows his actual favorite teacher was Mrs. Berry, who doesn’t teach anymore after being caught screwing the running back. She was young, beautiful, and stupid. But weren’t we all?

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “How are you doing?”

  “Baby, you know I’m always good.” The edges of his lips pinch. “Been working at Pete’s shop.”

  Dylan has always been good with cars, which from personal experience, was no surprise because he was always good with his hands.

  He stands on the tip of his boots and peers behind me, then to the side. “I see you’re here by yourself.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I punch him lightly above his pecs. They’re firmer than the last time I noticed them—which was in his parents’ barn right after we had broken up. “I see you’ve been working out.”

  He flexes his arms and a mountain of red plaid forms where his biceps should be. “I try.”

  “That’s good, but—”

  “Let’s ride the Ferris wheel.”

  I could slap the shit out of him. “Have you lost your damn mind?” I already know the answer. He obviously has.

  He grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the line. And I use the word line sparingly, since there are a whopping four people in it.

  “Absolutely not.” I stand firm on my decision.

  “Come on. For old times’ sake?”

  His grip loosens on my arm and I break free from him. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get on that God-forsaken thing.”

  * * *

  Don’t ask me to explain it, because I probably can’t, but I’ll try anyway. The Ferris wheel is the scariest fucking ride in the world. For one, you’re not strapped in. For two, God forbid you adjust any part of your body to get comfortable because you then face five-to-one odds of smashing your brains against the ground. Gruesome image? Consider it my obligatory public service announcement.

  But here I am, on top of this death trap for the first time in two years. Coincidentally, it’s only the second time in my life I’ve been up here. Both times sitting beside Dylan. I’m not sure if he wants to reminisce or revel in my agony. Both are torture. Even though I’m not going away to college as planned, there won’t be a reconnecting. Not right now at least. As much as I love him, I need to experience something new. Something dangerous.

  Something like Blue.

  I try not to look down, but it’s a natural reflex. My stomach instantly turns. Staring danger in the face isn’t something we ever intend to do. It just happens. The neon glow from the Zipper across the midway taunts me.

  Dylan looks at me with his amused face—a devious, judging smile telling me I should just man up. Unfortunately for him, that would involve growing balls. I bet that would knock that smile right off his smug face.

  “You’re an ass,” I scold him.

  He shrugs his shoulder. “You miss it, don’t ya?” He looks out into the distance.

  I see an opening, a fleeting chance for confirmation that we couldn’t get back together. I’m not leaving on schedule, but someday, I’ll get away from this place. “Would you ever leave this town, Dylan?”

  “Why would I ever wanna leave?” He shakes his head. “It’s got everything I’ll ever need in life. I’ve got friends, family, and enough booze to last a lifetime.”

  “Well, you know me. I couldn’t live in this town forever.”

  “Sure you could.”

  No, I really couldn’t.

  He scoots closer, wrapping his arm around my back. See? He’s smug, and I bet he thinks I wouldn’t notice. Never mind we spent four years together.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. My palm tightens around the safety bar as the seat rocks to his adjustment.

  He pulls me closer with his arm. “Getting comfortable.”

  “Well, don’t get too comfortable.”

  Then it begins. The wheel is fully loaded, like a twenty shot revolver, and we begin cycling around the circle of death. Each bullet is ready to fire, sending us all to our deaths. I grip the bar tighter. As our seat comes around to the bottom of the wheel, I catch Joey and Tyson drunkenly cheering us on.

  “Kiss her!” Joey screams out.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dylan give them a thumbs up. “Don’t even think about it,” I say, hopefully putting that situation to rest.

  Or so I thought.

  His palm massages my side. “Relax,” he says, followed by a sly grin.

  I look him dead in the eye. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Near certain death has a way of making me sweat.”

  “That’s probably the heat,” he points out, resting his hand on my leg. “I like it when you sweat.”

  “Shut up, Dylan.”

  He bites into his lip. Shit. That was always the last straw before I was lying on my back on his parents’ basement couch.

  “Wanna make me?”

  I don’t respond. Then, without warning, his lips are pressed to mine with the speed of Clark Kent. Yeah, it feels good but our seat begins rocking like a boat in Jaws. I push him off me, which doesn’t help our life-threatening situation.

  “What are you doing?”

  He shrugs his shoulders again. “Just saying goodbye.”

  “Most people say goodbye with their mouths.”

  His eyes roll toward the top of his head, then he lights up with that damn smile. “That’s what I was doing.”

  I throw my hands up. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He lowers his hand to his jeans and beg
ins to adjust himself.

  Oh, my God.

  We’re close to the bottom of the wheel again and from behind us, Tyson yells, “Rock that boat! Rock it!”

  I throw my middle finger up at him. It’s a sign of love. Dylan’s still adjusting himself, and at this point, I’m not sure if he’s doing it for pleasure or comfort.

  “Could you quit playing with yourself?”

  The ride comes to a halt. It’s time to get off this damn spinning wheel of hell. I crane my head and look behind us to see that they’re unloading backward. A mother and son hop out of their seats and exit. And we’re next.

  I look back to Dylan and mercilessly slap his dick.

  “Ow,” he yelps. “What the hell?”

  “Put that thing away before you end up in prison.”

  “I’m trying. Why don’t you try having a dick?”

  “Oh, I would love to have one.”

  If I did have a penis, I’m almost positive my list of sexual partners would be more than one.

  It’s our turn to exit the ride. I raise the bar and hop off onto the platform, leaving Dylan behind. I have no intention of going down with his sinking ship. But he’s the worst ship captain in the world because he jumps off and wraps his arm around me. His erection is pressed against my back. He’s a fugitive taking refuge behind me and using my body as a human shield.

  So romantic, just like the old times. Joey and Tyson look on in amusement, sipping away at their whiskey. They’re not bright enough to know what’s really going on and probably assume that Dylan and I have hitched our wagons back together.

  My ex-boyfriend and I push through the metal gate. Once we’re back on solid ground, I pull away from him, leaving the tent in his pants wide open. Joey throws his fist to his mouth and his face turns cherry red as he fights to hold back the laughter.

  “Dickzilla!” Tyson yells as he mimics the famed reptile. “Argh.”

  I turn around and step toward Dylan, getting close enough so the heat of my body teases him. I look into his eyes and go in for a kiss–on his right cheek.

  “You’re teasin’ me,” he says through gritted teeth.