Author: Christine Bell

With a long-suffering sigh, she pulled on her favorite capri-length skinny jeans, a kitschy off-the-shoulder shirt with a graphic of Marilyn Monroe on it, and a pair of strappy sandals that weren’t as high as she liked, but were plenty high enough for walking around the carnival grounds all night. Staring at herself in the mirror, she fluffed out her hair. It didn’t look too “try hard,” but she didn’t look like something the cat dragged in either. Not bad.

Before she had time to rethink her outfit yet again, she snatched her phone and bag and dashed out the door, refusing to give the mirror one more glance as she passed it. She climbed into her car and sped down the road, repeating over and over to herself what a good idea it would be to get out of the house. And to see her friends.

One of whom is Rafe.

Which reminded her, Lacey had called yesterday the second she’d gotten in from the airport. She’d wanted to tell Courtney in person, but couldn’t wait. She and Galen were adopting a baby girl. They’d gotten word while they were away, and Lacey was ecstatic. She’d known for over a year now that conception would be near impossible, and after some rough patches, things had finally fallen into place.

Because she and Galen were busy painting the nursery and baby-proofing the house, they weren’t going to make it tonight. It was a bummer, but at least Cat and Shane would be there. Not only did she want to see them both, she also needed a buffer from the Costco-sized vat of awkwardness that was sure to accompany her and Rafe’s first post-sex encounter.

No big deal, she reminded herself. Mostly.

She parked in the grassy field outside the fairgrounds and walked toward the entry gate where Cat and Shane had told her to meet them. She searched high and low for her friend’s trademark fiery red hair, but there was no sign of her.

What she did recognize was the towering wall of muscle topped off with a beautiful face, featuring dark eyes that seemed to look right through her.

Rafe.

She plucked at her shirt and took a deep breath. If she kept touching her clothes, maybe it would help her remember that even though he was looking at her like she was naked, she wasn’t actually nude.

Maybe.

It’d be fine. The others would be here in five minutes tops and then it would all go back to normal.

“Hey, Courtney.”

Why did he insist on saying her name like that? Like he was even giving the syllables oral or something.

“Nice shirt,” he said, his gaze skimming over her figure and leaving a trail of fire in its path.

“Hey. Where is everybody?” She ignored his last comment and focused instead on hitching her purse up on her shoulder. With a deep breath, she willed herself to meet his stare. Mistake. If she didn’t feel naked before, she sure as hell did now. The worst part of it all was that she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cross her arms over her chest or stretch them above her head so he could get the full view.

“Cat just texted me. Didn’t she tell you? They’re not coming. Some kind of work thing came up.”

Nerves made her throat go instantly dry, and she swallowed hard. Some kind of work thing, huh? Sounded really important. She made an internal note to murder Cat.

“Interesting. Galen and Lacey can’t make it either.”

They stared at each other in silence. What now? Surely this broke all the rules they’d set from the start. Her stomach twisted as she thought over her options. She could go in with him and eat enough funnel cake to get herself seriously ill so she could leave. Or, she could create a superhero alter ego and say that she was needed back at the lair ASAP to meet up with her sidekick, or the city was doomed.

“Are you coming or what?” He was a yard away from her, his body twisted in a way that highlighted his incredible jawline and the way his jeans clung to his powerful thighs. God help her. Even in the horrendous carnival lighting, he looked like something out of a fitness magazine.

Decisions, decisions. “I, uh—”

He crossed the space between them in an instant, grasping her wrist before she had time to acknowledge the contact. “Look, it’s not like either of us planned this. What would we have done a month ago in this situation?”

“Nothing, I guess. Hung out at the carnival, maybe.”

He raised his dark brows and eyed her, and she pulled at her T-shirt with her free hand. The sheer electricity of his presence had her heart thumping in overtime. How was she supposed to handle an entire evening like this? Four scenes was one thing. Pure fantasy, never to cross over into reality. A date, intentional or not, was something else entirely.

“Look, we had a deal. I don’t want to mess it up. Or something.” She mentally gave herself a high five for eloquence. She was nothing if not articulate.

His lips quirked in a crooked smile, and he led her toward the entrance. “Let’s not put more on this than there has to be. It’s a night at the carnival between friends, not a proposal, okay?”

Maybe it was his freakish height. Or the mind-melding power of his gaze. She couldn’t pinpoint why. All she knew was that she nodded her agreement before the rest of her body had time to weigh in on a decision. Within minutes, they were strolling through the grounds, marveling over the assortment of weird food carts.

“Tempura-fried Twix bars with bacon bits?” He pointed to a stand where a small rotund man was passing out carton after carton of greasy goodness or grossness, depending upon a person’s preference. “We have to try that.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.” She scrunched up her nose and he laughed, flashing his brilliantly white smile. God, there had to be one thing about him for her to focus on to get through the rest of the night. Couldn’t his nose have been crooked at least, or his shoulders not broad enough? Something, anything, to distract her from the fact that he looked like he’d fallen out of the sky in search of his hammer.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and walked ahead, the back side of him reminding her that yes, he was perfect from that angle as well. Frustrating.

She had to find something to distract herself. Something for them to do. Something for her to think about besides how warm his hand had felt around her wrist.

“Hey, you wanna play a game?” She stopped short, looking around to take stock of where she was. There were rows of carnival games on either side of them—balloon darts, water guns, goldfish—all the classics. One of the attractions was sure to grab his attention.

“Which prize do you want?” he asked, one of his signature cocky smiles already splitting his face.

“What makes you so sure you can win?” She grinned in spite of herself. And why not? They were friends. Sort of. People had fun with their friends.

The grin threatened to morph into semi-hysterical laughter for a second before she got hold of herself again.

“I’m an expert at carnival games.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the goldfish. “I think I can win a fish by myself.”

“And if you can’t? What do I get?”

A familiar sense of terror and excitement spread through her, and she found herself backing away, her hands held up in surrender. “Oh no, I’ve already been to this rodeo. I’m not going there.”

“Come on, what are you, chicken?” He was baiting her, and she’d be stupid to fall for it. And yet, his words dug at her. She lowered her hands and planted them on her hips, eyeing him.

“I’m not chicken. I just have a code that precludes me from taking on two dares at once,” she lied.

“We’ll make it super low stakes, then. How about if you don’t win a fish for yourself and I win one for you, then you have to ride the Ferris wheel with me.”

Her fear of heights was legendary. She got scared when she jumped a little too high. And still…she’d promised herself that her time with Rafe would be pure fantasy. A break from reality. A way to stretch her wings, face her fears, and gain back some of the confidence she’d lost. No reason for her not to stick to that part of the plan, even if tonight hadn’t exactly been part of their arrangement.

“You’ve got a deal.”

She sidled up to the little red booth and dug her feet in like a pitcher on the mound. This was for more than a pet with a four-day life span. This was for honor. For glory. For women who were afraid of heights everywhere.

She slapped her money on the counter and had half a mind to spit on the ground like a baseball pro. Instead, she tossed Rafe what she hoped was a saucy smirk and he had the courtesy to look entirely unimpressed. Whatever. The proof would be in the pudding.

The carnie sat three ping-pong balls in front of her and she nodded to him in thanks.

“Are you ready to see how a pro does it?” she asked.

“Is someone going before you?” He laughed at his own joke and she wound up, pitching the ball clean over all of the goldfish bowls until it landed on the other side of the booth, on the grass, with a little plop. A kid around the age of five picked it up and tossed it back into the game, landing the ball directly in one of the bowls.

“Mommy, look,” he said, “I did it.”

His mother pulled him along, her lids already half-closed in exhaustion.

“That counts,” Courtney said earnestly.

“Like. Hell.”

She abandoned her attempt at swaying Rafe and leveled a wide-eyed pout at the carnie in a bid for sympathy, but he only laughed and shook his head. Men. They always stuck together.

“It’s fine. I was just warming up. Sometimes I’m too powerful for my own good.”

She licked her forefinger to test the wind and then tossed the second ball. It landed squarely in the middle of the group of fish bowls, but it landed in none of them.

“Do you want me to blow really hard and see if it moves?” he goaded.

“Nope.” Now she was bound and determined. She ground her feet into the grass, practicing the arc of her throw a few times, mentally cuing up the theme from Rocky for inspiration. “It’s all in the follow-through.”

“I’ve heard that,” Rafe said on a probably fake yawn.

“You’ll see.” She narrowed her eyes at him and flicked her wrist.

In fact, she flicked her wrist so hard that the ball landed directly behind her in the grass.

“Wow, you got me there. I did not see that one coming.”

She scrambled for the ball, but he snatched it from her before her fingers made contact.

“Let me show you how a real pro does it.”

He assumed the position, and just as he was about to make his move, she shouted, “Wait! Behind the back. Double or nothing.”

Ha. Let him try that. There was no way he’d—

Plunk.

She wasn’t sure whether the sound was from the ball connecting with the water in the fishbowl or if it was simply the sound of her heart dropping into her stomach. Without pausing to even eyeball the distance, he’d turned and sunk the ball in the nearest bowl, no questions asked. A perfect shot.

“I thought I’d save you the humiliation of continuing.” He winked at her and took the goldfish from the carnie. “Now you just have to decide what to name him. Personally, I like Gil. Seems a good name for a fish.”

“Were you always like this and I just never noticed?” she asked, sprinting to meet up with him in the line for tickets.

“Charming? Witty?”

Exactly. She’d seen him interact with the others in the group that way, with jokes and lighthearted banter, but between them, things always felt heavy and tense. This was the first time she’d been on the receiving end of this side of Rafe, and she was liking it far more than she should have. Not that she was about to tell him that.

“Irritating.”

“Yes.” He exchanged his money with the teller at the window and sauntered away, already making a beeline for the Ferris wheel. “But your insults won’t distract me. Come on, chicken.”