But Bennett is staring at me with those big eyes, and I’m really trying to make this whole date thing work right now. So I think, and I think hard. And suddenly, the perfect name comes to me.
“Felix,” I say, and Bennett raises a brow.
“Okay, that’s cute. I don’t know a Felix.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Me either. I just felt right.”
Something about the name soothes an itch inside of me that I wasn’t aware was bothering me. Maybe I’ll name my future child Felix—if I ever have one.
Bennett wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes gently, once again overwhelming me with the scent of cinnamon as he says:
“That’s all that matters, then. Felix is it.”
We spend a good amount of time polishing off our funnel cake and playing various festival games, including watching Bennett annihilate the apple bobbing contest.
And just as the sun has begun to set and I feel as if I’ve actually made the right choice in showing up here, he takes me by the hand and drags me toward the back of the grounds where the rides have been constructed.
“Let’s ride this one,” Bennett says excitedly, pulling us into the short line for The Tower of Terror.
It’s one of those rides where they strap you in and raise you a few stories only to drop you straight back down.
My irrational fear of heights is kicking into overdrive at the sight, and I attempt to tug my hand from Bennett’s death grip.
“Uh, no. Absolutely not.” I can hear the fear in my voice, and I pray he can too.
Bennett just laughs. “Everyone says that at first! But after you ride it, you’ll totally want to go again. Trust me, I ride this every year. It’ll be super fun; I’ll even hold your hand.”
Up until now, the date had honestly been going decently well. Sure, every little thing seems to remind me of Rowan, and this guilt sits heavy in my chest, but other than that, I seem to be enjoying myself.
As if some integral part of myself has changed since moving here, and I now enjoy the intimacy of spending time with a person rather than just fucking them.
Butnow? I kind of want to bash Bennett upside the head. The Tower of Terror? Are you fucking kidding me? Terror is literally in the name.
And now we’re next in line, and it doesn’t matter how hard I tug, he is not letting me go.
“Bennett, I’m serious. I really don’t want to ride this,” I say sternly.
He pulls me to the line of seats and guides me to the chair at the end, pushing me into it.
“Don’t be a scaredy cat, Eli,” he jokes. “Here, see how secure this bar is?” Bennett pulls the lap bar over my waist and locks me in, and I can feel my own heavy pants scraping out of my throat and into the open fall air.
“I-I think I’m going to vomit,” I groan, gripping the bar.
Several other people are taking their seats, including Bennett, who sits himself next to me. He tries to pry my hand off the bar to hold it, but I’m not letting go.
No way am I sacrificing my hold on the only safety device I have just to holdhishand. At this moment, I hate him. I should have screamed and caused a scene—social image be damned.
“Mister!” I call to the ride attendee. “Let me off. I don’t want to ride.”
The man takes one step toward us but stops at the sound of Bennett’s laugh.
Then he says, “Henry, don’t worry about it. He’s just nervous. Eli will love it once we come down.”
Henry—who clearly should be fired—grins back at Bennett and steps toward the control podium.
“When we get off of this ride, I’m kicking your ass,” I say in threat, and Bennett seems to find this funny. As if I’m joking.
I think I’ve taken it too easy on him. I think he genuinely believes I’m far nicer than I am—and maybe that’s my fault. If I’d been more honest about my true personality, maybe he wouldn’t have dragged me on here against my will.
