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Every Little Dream(23)

By:Kate Ashton


I smirk. “Want some fried dough?”

In a calm, cool way, she says, “I don’t think you want to go there because I still need my revenge.” She flashes me a wicked grin.

“Well, just saying, powdered sugar is the next fashion trend.” I scoot out of the way before she can slug me one.

Katie slips her hand in mine. Her skin against mine feels like it belongs there. I try not to imagine the skin under her pink T-shirt. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and all I want to do is pull it out and run my fingers through it. I want to do more than that, but I’ve been able to show an incredible amount of restraint with her. I refuse to corrupt her even though she’s looking for the kind of excitement that comes with someone like me.

“Ready for some danger?” I ask.

Riding the Zipper is exciting and dangerous, and that’s what she wants. She thinks because I have tattoos and a leather jacket that I’m the excitement. I’m hoping she’ll realize I’m boring too and eventually break off whatever it is we have. After knowing that Kingston, the guy I’m watching, is the same one who gave Katie a hard time, I can’t let her get sucked into my life. But she persists. And I admit. She’s my weakness. The one bright spot in my day. With her I’m flying. I feel alive. I feel excited.

“You know. I grew up out west. Carnivals are pretty common.” She smiles but is questioning my choice.

“Yes, but you’ve never experienced it with me. That raises the excitement bar by at least ten points.”

“We’ll see.” She takes in the thickening crowds, the blinking, twirling lights and the whirring and hissing of the rides. “Do you like carnivals?”

I shrug. “They’re okay.”

“So you brought me here thinking I’d find this exciting?”

“Pretty much. Is that wrong?”

She pulls me over to a bench near the Tilt-a-Whirl, and we sit. She doesn’t say anything for a while and my thoughts drift to earlier and my first intentional criminal act. It wasn’t a thrill. It wasn’t exciting. I remember the sound of Kingston’s voice and his perfect room, which is just an image. Below the image is some serious shit going on that I’m supposed to figure out.

“Chad, what’s wrong?” Her voice is light and gentle, like a breeze washing off the remaining fear from the day.

I force a smile. “What do you mean?”

“Just now, you were somewhere else. Your eyes lost their shine for a second.” She touches my forehead. “And you get one little line, right here, when you’re worried.”

Damn. How’d she get to know me so well? “Do you ever feel trapped in your own life?”

She tilts her head, her eyes piercing mine. Her face softens. She whispers, “All the time.”

The laughter, the sights and sounds of the carnival fade away. It’s me and her. I can’t tear my eyes away from hers. I get lost in the caring in her eyes, the honesty written on her face, in every look, expression and smile.

“I had dreams once upon a time.”

She touches my cheek. “I’m guessing your dad squashed those plans.”

“How’d you know?” I say, not trying to hide the sarcasm.

She snuggles into me. “Good thing I found you.”

I soak in her words and relish them. I can’t remember the last time a girl told me that. Or anyone for that matter. “Alright. Enough procrastination. Ready for the thrill of your life?”

She perks up and sits straight in her seat. Her voice lowers and she can’t hide the note of fear. “The Zipper?”

I nod. “That’s right.”

She scans the rides around us. “What about the Caterpillar? Or the antique cars?”

“What?” I burst out laughing. “The cars? Are you trying to get out of the ride of your life?”

“Not at all. But bumper cars are rather thrilling.”

I grab her hand and pull her into a hug. I press my lips to her ear. “No getting out of it. You asked for excitement. I’ll give you some.” I bend down and throw her over my shoulder again just to hear her squeal. “Let’s go.”

She beats against my back, screeching. After a few steps, I put her down. “No backing out?”

She crosses her heart and bats her eyes. “Promise.”

“Hmm. Somehow I don’t quite believe you.”

“Fine.” She grabs my hands and leads me through the families, kids, and teenagers. I stumble along, still hiding my injured ankle.

“Okay, slow down a little.”

She glances back and, of course, notices the pain I try to my best to hide.

Her eyes travel down my body until they lock in on my foot. “What happened?” She points to my ankle. “You’re favoring your right foot.”