Peering at him over my shoulder, I find the first trace of a smile. Something tells me it doesn’t come out often, as if the concept of being happy is foreign to him.
I decide then I’d like to see more of Warren’s smile, if only for the night.
The wind whipsthrough my hair, catching in my eyelashes and drowning out the chaos below. A beautiful tapestry sparkles overhead, mirroring the twinkling fairground lights. It’s oddly romantic.
Warren’s arm is slung over the metal seat behind me, and every so often, he toys with a strand of my hair, curling it around his finger. The gears of the Ferris wheel grind, ourgondola swaying gently on our ascent to the top as music thumps from the speakers. It’s hard to concentrate on the lyrics with him sitting this close, every ounce of his attention on me.
“What was the first song you wrote?” In between the easy silence, we’ve fired random questions at each other.
I swipe my tongue through the sticky pink mess melting over my fingers. He watches intently with the same glazed look he had when I ordered strawberry ice cream; not mint chocolate chip, which is an abomination to taste buds.
“The first song…” I drawl, searching my memories. “Oh god, it was definitely about a boy. Probably my sixth-grade crush, Booth Sadler.”
“Did you sing it to him?”
“Yeah.” I tongue my cheek. “He’s got an ego the size of Jupiter and ate up the attention. We traded virginities six years later, so it must’ve worked its magic We’re good friends now. His brother is married to my sister. Small town things.”
He huffs a laugh. “A real life siren. You’re dangerous.”
“Careful.” My face is serious. “Or I’ll sing the same song to you.”
The gondola rocks as he twists in his seat, facing me fully. “Ain’t no warning needed. I can’t wait to hear you sing. I bet it’s even prettier than your laugh.”
“Who said you’re going to hear me sing?”
I fail to contain the full body shiver when he dips his head, mouth brushing the shelf of my ear. “If things go according to plan, you’ll be singing for me by the end of the night.”
“You’re mighty sure of yourself.” God, even in the cool air, I’m overheating. These little sparks of confidence are exhilarating. You never know when the next one is going to hit.
His voice drops a few octaves. “You’re blushing again.”
I blink at him innocently. “I’m hot.”
I gasp when he snatches my wrist and raises the cone to my mouth. “Let’s cool you down then.”
His grip isn’t firm, and he gives me every opportunity to put a stop to this. What I really crave, though, is for him to take charge.
So, I let him lift the cold, melting mess to my mouth. Our gazes weld, breaths hitching in symphony when I run the tip of my tongue along the cone languidly. It could easily be the two of us up here, not another soul for miles with the way the air sparks and crackles.
I go to take another pass when we’re jolted forward. My ice cream splats on the floor, and the gondola rattles violently, the lights blinking out, leaving us suspended in the midnight sky. We grip the edge of the seat with panicked expressions.
“That’s not good,” I whisper.
A static voice sounds through the speakers. “Sorry, folks. We’re having a slight technical issue at the moment. Our engineer will be here shortly. For now, sit tight, and we’ll get you down as soon as possible.”
The announcement cuts off, and “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys floats from the ground below.
Heart thumping in my chest, I release a shaky laugh. “Please tell me you gave the attendant five bucks to stall the ride.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining, though.”
I snort in disbelief. “What? We’re stuck.”
“Yeah, but it gives me time to do this,” he replies gruffly.
There’s no time to ask whatthisis before Warren grips the back of my neck and fuses our mouths together. Desire quickly replaces the shock, and I go willingly, my tongue dancing with his, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt. The only sweet thing about the kiss is the trace of ice cream he licks from my lips.
I’m climbing into his lap without a second thought, no care if the neighboring gondola sees.
