by Nikki Godwin
Noah laughs. “That explains why we’re here. We aren’t in our right minds,” he says. “You want to go in? See whose reflection pops up in a mirror?”
“Are you crazy?” I ask, taking a few steps back. “There’s no way on Saturn or Earth you’d get me in that place.”
Noah throws his head back laughing, almost manically like he’s possessed by a clown. I glance around for a weapon, just in case one does inhabit his body to communicate with our world. I don’t think the rotten ticket booth is really going to protect me, though.
“Okay – take your pick,” Noah says. “Pirate ship, sea creature carousel, Tilt-a-Whirl, or the teacups.”
I fold my arms and survey the rides. The pirate ship sits ahead of us in the distance with a gigantic dragon along the side. He’s the same turquoise color as the glittery ring I bought in Sunrise Valley. A faded pink angelfish stares at me from the carousel, and that’s enough to creep me out.
“Teacups,” I say, simply because Tilt-a-Whirls are so common and overdone.
We walk over to the old metal cups. Some are black and blue. Others are burgundy and gold. I choose a burgundy and gold cup. They look more royal. I step inside and Noah sits across from me.
“Let’s play a game,” he says. “I’ve spent basically every moment of this week with you so far, but I still feel like I know nothing about you. I mean, your mom’s a trophy wife, your dad works at a software company, you design clothes, and your best friend is a bitch.”
Well, that’s about as much as I know about him. He’s from Canada, super famous in a freaking boyband, has a queer-as-a-unicorn brother, and hates one of his band mates. We’re pretty even.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, stretching my legs out in the cup.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Um…celebrity crush? Favorite music genre? Favorite color?”
“Tom Hiddleston. Hip-hop. Pink and silver, as a combo,” I reply, matter-of-factly. “And what about you?”
“Heidi Klum, because she’s still hot as hell, and I’d totally walk that runway. Punk rock. Black and green, since we’re speaking in combos,” he answers. Then he gives me that classic Winters smirk. “Tom Hiddleston? Seriously? Over me?”
I jerk my legs down and lean forward. “Oh, come on. You said black and green. Could you be any more Loki about that? Jealous much?”
Noah dips his head down, shielding his face from me. “Okay, okay,” he says, a bit embarrassed. Then he looks up and past me, toward the carousel. “Favorite sea creature?”
Oh, what a way to change the subject. I decide to humor him, though, and answer the question.
“Starfish,” I say. “And no, it has nothing to do with Patrick Star, before you even go there.”
Noah is quiet for a moment. Then he slides around in the teacup to sit right next to me.
“Did you know that the French angelfish mates for life?” he asks. “You’ll never see one alone. Everything they do, they do in pairs. Hunting, traveling, the whole works.”
I cuddle up closer to him and settle my head into the hollow spot between his shoulder and neck.
“Let me guess. You’d be a black and green French angelfish,” I say, trying not to laugh. “And I’d be pink and silver. Then you’d spot me in the school of fish, because I’d be the one swimming with an ice bucket, and you’d need it to keep your strawberry milk cold.”
“That is exactly how it would happen,” he says, resting his head against mine.
So maybe I’m not meant to be a mermaid. Maybe I’m meant to be a French angelfish. It’s amazing what you learn about yourself when you’re sitting in a rusted teacup.
The ocean’s breeze sweeps over us, calming all of my reservations about being out here. The wooden sign creaks somewhere behind us, but being wrapped up under Noah’s arm, watching his chest rise and fall with his breathing, makes this place feel alive again.
“Did you hear that?” Noah asks, pulling away and sitting up properly. “Like a car door?”
I glance back across the carnival grounds. A mass of a shadow moves across the sand. I wanted this place to be alive, but I meant as in popcorn, funnel cakes, and unwinnable games that are rigged – not alive as in a monster shadow.
“Keep down,” Noah whispers.
I sink into myself, tucking my legs up to my chest. Noah puts a finger over his mouth and peeks above the rim of the cup again.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Someone’s here. They’re looking at the car. I’m going to go handle it. No matter what happens, stay in this cup.”
What happened to the French angelfish idea? Doing everything together – hunting, traveling…What about fighting battles together? Having each other’s backs? I feel like a cowardly little goldfish, just waiting to be flushed away into the disgusting land of septic tank hell. Can I have my pink and silver back now?
I carefully slip into the floor of the teacup, turn around, and perch back on the seat with my knees tucked under me. I grip the edge of the cup with my hands. Rusted metal digs into my skin. It’s not the ideal place to be, but I can watch over the rim of the cup this way. I just hope the carnival ghosts don’t see me in the moonlight.
As Noah approaches his car, one shadow lunges out from the mass, screaming about sacred ground and disrespect. The other figures move forward, closing in on the stray shadow, but they’re too late. Noah falls to the ground, like a fish on dry land, and I stumble out of the teacup faster than I thought I’d be able to.
My expensive sandals hit the sand, sending it spewing from the earth like a sandstorm while I run toward my French fish. I want to scream but no words come out, so I push forward until I can see the figures of three people behind the stray shadow.
“Whoa!” one of them shouts. “I know him!”
The shadow stands still while another approaches. I see dreadlocks.
“A.J., dude, he’s cool,” Miles says, pulling a tattooed Hispanic guy back.
I’ve seen this guy. I saw him with Miles on The Strip when I first stepped out there with Erin. He was bitching about some guy named Pittman.
Noah heaves out a breath before pushing himself up to his feet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s bleeding.
“I’m sorry,” Miles says. “If I’d known it was you, I would’ve stopped him from hitting you.” He steps forward to check on Noah.
Kale stands back with Topher, the guy from Drenaline Surf. They both stare at me with apologetic smiles, like it’s not a big deal that their friend A.J. just busted Noah’s mouth.
“You’re sorry?” I ask Miles. “You’re not the one who needs to be apologizing.”
A.J. lunges forward again, but Topher grabs his arm to keep him back. But that doesn’t stop him from speaking.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t just come out here,” A.J. says, motioning his arm toward the carnival. “If someone steps out here, it is my business. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if Miles vouches for you. I’ve got eyes on this place, and you’re leaving – now. Got it?”
For half a second, I want to lunge toward him myself and roar with all that confidence and spark that Noah gave me when we talked about Hilary. I want to pretend this A.J. guy isn’t some tatted up badass and imagine that he’s Hilary, standing there ripping my dreams away from me. And I want to hit him.
But that crazy look in his eyes – like someone poured pain, anger, and loyalty into a blender and poured it into his sockets – keeps me from going after him.
Topher steps forward. “Hey, look, we’re sorry on A.J.’s behalf, okay?” he offers. “It’s just, this place is really special to him, and people like to come out here and destroy things, so you know. It’s nothing personal.”
Miles nods quickly in agreement. “It’s like fucking in church,” he says.
Topher buries his face into his hands. “Dude, let me handle this,” he says. He waves Miles away with A.J. and Kale before turning back toward me and Noah with this incredibly i
nnocent boyish smile.
“Miles has a surf competition tomorrow,” he says. “You guys should come out there, hang out with us, get to know A.J. a little bit, and it’ll all be good. Theo and Jace will be there. And if Miles wins, there’ll be a huge party out in Horn Island. You can bring your friends.”
“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Noah says before I can decline the invitation.
He hands me the car keys and asks me to go ahead and crank up while he gets the details from Topher.
Thirty minutes later, I wait in room 413 while Noah steps down the hallway to talk to his brother. I lie back on Noah’s bed, preparing to get comfortable because I know Nat will probably have to hear every detail about Noah’s semi-swollen lip.
“We’re good,” Noah says, coming back through the door. He locks it behind him and pulls his shirt over his head. “You going to sleep?”
I shake my head. “I expected you to be gone for much longer than three minutes,” I say.
“Nah. I pawned Nat off on Benji for the night, but Benji said someone deserves some romance while we’re here,” he explains. “I’ll pay him back later. Hot tub?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He strips down to his boxers and motions me outside to the private balcony – hot tub included. He steps in and sinks down in the bubbling water.
“You look like a fish on dry land,” he says. He points into the tub. “Now, please.”
I reach for the knot tied behind my neck on this halter dress. My bikini is still in 322, but I figure a bra and panties will work just the same. I jerk the knot loose and let the dress fall to the floor of room 413. I slip my shoes off at the door, grab an extra towel, and accept Noah’s invitation into the hot tub.
I waste no time. I don’t bother to sit across from him or next to him. We’re not in the car or even in a teacup. This is a damn hot tub, and hot tubs aren’t made for sweet kisses. I immediately straddle his thighs, push his head back, and engulf his bottom lip with my own.
“Mmm,” Noah moans, running his hands along my back. My fingers rush into his hair, and my mouth explores his neck. I could seriously eat this boy alive right here and now.
“Maybe the hot tub was a bad idea,” Noah says.
I grab his shoulders and push myself back, absolutely floored at this statement.
But Noah smirks. “I think you had it right all along by crawling onto the bed. Want to move this inside?”
I don’t give myself time to think. I nod my head and push myself off of him. I wish I was tipsy, just a bit, because it’d make this easier to swallow in the morning. I don’t like one-night stands, and after the friends-with-benefits relationship I had with Adam, I’m not quite sure I want to go back there. Seeing him at the club that night would’ve ripped me apart had Noah not been with me. I don’t want to be someone’s spring break fling.
Then again, he isn’t just someone. He’s Noah Winters. Boyband or not, he’s an international celebrity, and he’s closing the patio door of his hotel room behind us right now.
“You sure about this?” he asks, pushing me back toward his bed.
I toss the towel away and fall into the sheets. This time, Noah straddles me and pulls me up toward him. He reaches under my back and swiftly unclasps my bra, just like a pro. I wonder how many fangirls have had their bras unhooked by him before in hotel rooms on tour. I sort of want to ask, but I don’t think I can handle the answer.
He stops before pulling my bra off of my body. “I don’t want you to regret anything,” he says, more hesitation in his voice than I expected.
I sit up and look him directly in those pretty green eyes. I slip my finger under the left strap of my bra and slide it down my arm. Then I mimic that action on the right arm and hug the cups to my boobs.
“French angelfish don’t regret,” I tell him. I throw my bra onto the floor with my dress.
Tonight, French angelfish even roar.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunlight pours through the glass door of the balcony. I pull the covers back and squint my eyes to look for a clock, but then realization jolts through me, buzzing throughout my entire body. My hotel room doesn’t have a balcony.
And that makes sense because I’m in room 413, not 322. Because I slept here last night. Because I had sex with a guy in a freaking boyband. Who am I again?
“Morning,” Noah says from the table across the room. He sips strawberry milk from a plastic hotel cup. His hair is wet and he’s in his boxers.
“What time is it?” I ask, burying my face. I don’t want him to see me with bed hair and makeup remnants. God, I hope I at least have remnants.
“Twelve-thirty,” he answers. “Not exactly morning but you know, close enough.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter. I don’t know what time I fell asleep or anything that was really said after I threw my bra on the floor. I hope I didn’t say anything stupid in the heat of the moment.
Noah stands, chugs the last bit of his milk, and then slams the cup down. “I’m going to see my brother,” he says. “He’s called me twice in the last hour. You can stay here, but I may have used most of the hot water. You’ve been warned.”
“Thanks,” I say, wrapping his top sheet around me. “I may go back to my room for a shower then.”
After he slips out, I gather my things from the floor, fish out my room key, and say a quick prayer that no one sees me in the hotel elevator wearing a bed sheet. I know – enter at my own risk – but hell, I’m not putting on last night’s fancy dress when I know I look like the morning after.
I stare at the floor so I won’t see my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall. I cringe when it dings and keep my head down as I pass a couple in the hallway. Hopefully they’re old people who just think I’m some drunken college kid who was out partying all night. I really don’t want anyone within a decade of my age seeing me like this.
I swipe the door key quickly and drop all of my belongings onto the floor of room 322. Then, still wrapped in the sheet from Noah’s bed, I fall back onto my own hotel bed and laugh. Hilary should’ve put “wear a bed sheet in public” on our list. I actually wish this could count as an item. However, I’m crossing number twelve off the list. Last night definitely counts as “disturbing the peace.”
Today, we’ll conquer number fifteen – watch a sporting event. If I know Hilary, she’s probably on the beach watching some hot guys play volleyball and considering that her sporting event. I doubt I rank any higher since I’ll be on the beach watching hot guys surf, but at least my event is a professional sporting event.
I quickly shower, dry my hair, and reattach a new face that isn’t just smeared mascara and foundation flakes. What do you even wear to a surf competition?
I dig through my wardrobe and settle on a strapless silky shirt in hues of pink, orange, and purple. It reminds me of a sunrise, before the blue clouds take claim to the sky. I grab a pair of short denim shorts and my white and pink wedge sandals. I may be overdressed, but it’s not like I spend much time watching surfers. I cram a few necessities into my beach bag, hoist it over my shoulder, and head back up to the fourth floor.
When I step off the elevator, I hear voices. Loud voices. I pause and listen, trying to figure out which room they’re coming from before going any further. Then Nat walks out of one of the rooms – not Noah’s – and catches me frozen in the corridor.
“Um, stupid question but did you forget Noah’s room number?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I just didn’t want to interrupt whatever is going on,” I say.
Nat shrugs. “Noah’s pissed,” he says. “Jules and Aralie are going to the competition with you guys today. And Big Tony insists on going, as if Jules wasn’t enough to make my brother mad. Have fun, though.”
He gives me a half-wave before walking down the hallway and going into someone else’s room. It’s amazing how he just helps himself to whatever he wants. I wonder if everyone in the SAS family is okay with how he just invites himself into rooms and
conversations.
I linger around a few seconds longer before I feel like a creepy stalker fangirl outside of Noah’s hotel room window. In an attempt not to be, I quickly knock on the door and step back, trying to play casual.
The door cracks open, but no one steps out, and I don’t dare invite myself in. I may have some impulsiveness, but I don’t have that Nat-like quality of just making myself at home. I wait a few seconds before Noah opens the door the rest of the way.
“Hey, you ready?” he asks, looking past me.
I just nod. I feel like I’ve walked in on an argument or like I’m invading someone’s already-bad day. Maybe I should excuse him from his bucket list duties today. He doesn’t seem thrilled to be going at all.
“Let’s go,” Noah says. He grabs my wrist and rushes toward the elevator.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he pushes the elevator button. “If you don’t want to go to this, you don’t have to. I can show up long enough to prove I was there and bail.”
The elevator dings, and the door slides open. “I want to go,” Noah says. “I just don’t want my babysitter to go.”
On the ride down to the beach, Noah tells me that Big Tony is waiting for us at the car. I don’t even ask where Aralie and Jules are. I do not want to be the one who adds fuel to this fire. When we reach the lobby, we hurry out to the car, where Big Tony is waiting behind the wheel. For some reason, I feel like Noah should have a separate driver. He probably does outside of vacation. At least it keeps Big Tony out of the backseat with us.
The ride to the beach lasts about two minutes. Cars line the street, and every parking lot for a mile is packed. A few vehicles are even down on the beach. Noah pops the door open, and Big Tony slams the brake.
“C’mon,” Noah says, stepping out onto the street. “Tony can park. We’re walking.”
I step out behind him, and he slams the door. His arm wraps around me and pulls me close to him. He doesn’t even look back at Big Tony as he drives away in an attempt to find the last empty parking place in Crescent Cove. We walk along a sidewalk that leads to the sand for a minute before Noah glances back.
