“Knox!” Mi shouts. I crouch down and open my arms wide for the incoming four-year-old. He’s small, but he is growing fast, and the little dude can pack a punch when he wants to.
He laughs as I scoop him up. “Hey, little dude,” I smile, tickling his side with my free hand. His laughter continues, making the grin stretch across my face.
Milo’s tiny hands cling to my neck. I can feel the sticky residue of syrup or something equally questionable, but I don’t care. The second he head-butted me and laughed about it like a tiny psycho—I knew I’d move mountains for this kid.
Henry walks toward us carrying a steaming hot dish with two oven mitts. He smiles warmly at Milo before pressing akiss to the top of his head and turning to me. “This conversation isn’t over,” he says.
I groan and turn back to Milo. “Thanks for saving me, little dude. I think this calls for ice cream after dinner.”
Milo wiggles excitedly in my arms as we follow the delicious smell coming from Henry’s dish. My stomach churns at the thought of lying to my brother, but he’d understand. There was a time when he’d do anything to go after his dreams, and even if there were a few bumps along the way, it all worked out for him in the end.
Except he got the girl and I’m just pretending I did.
CHAPTER 8
EMERY
“If your hand slips any further, I’m going to scream,” I mumble quietly as Knox pulls me closer. The smell of fried sugar and hot grease wafts through the air, but nothing can overpower the intoxicating scent of the enemy I’m forced to inhale.
“Sorry, Bambi,” Knox says, choosing to ignore my polite request. “This is our debut as a couple. We need to make it look believable.”
When Knox suggested the county fair as our first official outing, I screamed into my pillow for a solid two minutes before answering. It’s not that I hated the fair—I loved funnel cake as much as the next guy. What I hated was people and these places were overcrowded with them.
But Knox was right. This is the perfect place to debut our love. I’ve already been stared down by a group of terrifying mini blonde teenagers who looked like they wanted to claw my eyes out.
I swallow all of my nervous energy and muster up a warning glance. “I think holding hands would be sufficient. You don’t have to caress the top of my ass.”
He shrugs. “Yes, I do. The people of Honey Grove knowI’m an ass man. If I don’t feel you up, they’ll automatically be suspicious.”
I roll my eyes, and he squeezes my hip. “Oh, and Bambi—you need to smile if we’re going to sell this thing. You look like you’re ready to shove a fork in the side of my neck.”
Now that image is something I can get behind. My typical dark frown lightens into the soft smile of monogamous bliss.
We continue to weave through the crowd with noisy laughter and distant screams from the rides swirling surrounding us. Bright streetlights flicker above, casting everything in a hazy golden light that almost distracts from the row of porta-potties, bringing the scene into a more realistic perspective.
We both stay quiet as we navigate the chaos of the Saturday night crowd. I can feel heavy stares on my back, but I keep my eyes pointed forward. If I’m being honest, it’s taking everything in me not to focus on the magnetic pull between Knox and me. I try to ignore the butterflies wreaking havoc inside my gut, but they have a mind of their own.
Knox steers us toward a cheerful, bright yellow lemonade stand and finally drops his hand from around my waist. I expect to feel relieved, but instead, the spot where his hand rested is cold and empty.
“Lemonade?” he asks, pulling this entire situation back into focus. I give him one nod before he pulls out his wallet and walks up to the booth.
I have to stop myself from scowling when the girl behind the counter goes from a disinterested fog to a pile of soft pink blushes when she looks at Knox. He still has this uncanny effect on women that makes me feel an odd combination of both pride and the bitter twinge of jealousy.
“You have that look on your face again,” Knox says, turning back to me with one large cup of lemonade. I reach out, expecting him to hand me the drink he had offered tobuy. Instead, the bastard pulls the straw between his lips and takes one excruciatingly long sip before handing it to me.
“I’m working on it,” I groan, staring at the cup in disgust. “I thought you got this for me.”
“It’s called sharing, Bambi,” he points out, crossing his arms. “Couples like to share things. I don’t remember you having an issue swapping spit with me before.”
I swallow hard, forcing my face into a neutral position. “Fine,” I mumble, begrudgingly agreeing with him. I take a sip of the sweet sugary liquid, trying not to think about our lips touching the same place. Sharing a straw felt too intimate, and yet here I was letting Knox test my boundaries like a feral game of pickleball.
When I look up, his eyes are trained on my bottom lip, sending a tingle down my lower back. And then I decide it’s my turn to test his boundaries.
I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, cleaning up any stray drops of liquid. His eyes follow the motion, causing his body to go from cool and collected to tense and on edge. A bright ball of delight shines inside me.
Mission accomplished.
“Knoxy,” a man yells, snapping Knox out of our tension-filled bubble. I let out a sigh of relief, not knowing how to break the moment. Maybe I should stay on defense for now.
