“Congrats,” I offer, the word clipped but carrying a hint of humor. It’s all I can muster after the whirlwind of emotions he’s stirred tonight.
He doesn’t respond immediately when he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table, and his dark eyes find mine. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze. Mischief, curiosity, maybe both. His attention drops briefly to my lips, lingering just long enough to send a spark through me.
“Is that all I get?”
His voice is low and teasing, and his face is close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. My breath catches, the proximity doing things to my resolve that I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Don’t push your luck,” I murmur, but my tone lacks the bite it should.
His grin deepens. For a moment, I think he might close the distance. But he moves away, unloading the tray’s contents before setting it aside. Without hesitation, he adds ketchup, mustard, and relish from the packets nestled snuggly beside the buns.
“Admit it, you had fun.”
He takes a massive bite of his dog while I’m still setting up the ketchup to dip my fries into. He watches with interest as I tear off a section of the basket paper to squirt the ketchup onto, unwilling for it to touch my dog or fries directly, as dipping allows me to control the volume on each food item.
“Nothing like racing trains and strangers in the night.”
“Hell of a lot safer, though.”
I finally take a bite of my hot dog, chewing slowly as I study him. There’s a shift in him tonight, a contentment that seems to hum under the surface. A fierce competitor with a soft spot for good sportsmanship and no gloating.
“I did have fun. But don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. Both my heads are huge.”
I laugh, the lightness feeling good for once, and he stares.
“What? Do I have ketchup on my face?”
I grab napkins from the dispenser, wiping both sides of my cheeks and face, looking for it. He stills my hand with his, his dark eyes glittering in the track light.
“No, you laughed, and it was . . . beautiful.”
I freeze.
It’s the most honest thing he’s said.
Yet, it makes me more uncomfortable than his overt flirting.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a laugh,” I downplay his compliment, feeling a slight nervousness when this real emotion emerges from him.
It’s already odd that I’m here, laughing over hot dogs and fries like it’s the most natural thing in the world when he’s been the object of my frustration.
“It’s not just anything.” His hands return to the table, but his attention doesn’t return to his meal deal. “It’s a bigger win than the go-karts.”
I reach for my drink, taking a long sip to buy myself a moment.
“Isabella, I’m sorry about Wednesday. I’m not sure exactly what I did or said. I?—”
“You said you could fuck anyone you wanted. Made me sound like a pity fuck or something.”
His hand smacks his forehead, a more violent reaction than I expected, having just blurted out the words.
“Kokami!”
“What?”
He shakes his head, inching closer to me. I set down my drink, diving into my hot dog to avoid this conversation. I’ve replayed it countless times and couldn’t come up with anything other than disgust. The same feeling fills my stomach now.
