“Then what do you call it? I could hear you over the little girls behind me.”
“I was whistling,” Scar growled. “Now shut up.”
“You were whistling, ‘Stop! I wanna get off! I wanna get off!’”
Scar bit him on his cheek, before he smiled against his throat.
They walked like a couple, hands linked, Scar navigating them through the dense parts of the crowd without making it feel like guiding.
He passed a vendor booth that smelled like hot caramel, sticky sweet and mouthwatering.
“Are those candy apples over there?” he asked.
Scar stopped. “Yep.”
“I want one.”
“You’re gorging. All this sugar’s gonna’ make you sick.”
“So what?” He pressed into Scar’s chest, hovering his mouth against his. “You denying me?”
Scar slid his arms around his back and pulled him closer. “You trying to wrap me around your little finger?”
Gage smiled and nodded. “Is it working?”
Scar kissed him and murmured a single word, “Yes.”
They walked until he was almost finished with his apple when he heard balloons popping.
He slowed. “I used to love that game.”
“The balloon darts?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna play?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “What are the prizes?”
Scar sucked his teeth. “Stupid shit. Lots of little stuffed animals, and on the top tier is a giant neon tiger, a purple dinosaur with glitter eyes, and a four-foot shark.”
He turned toward Scar, hoping his face showed a decent enough pout.
“Don’t do that. You’re an assassin for fuck’s sake.”
Gage held the expression.
Scar rumbled before he led him toward the booth.
The carnie greeted them obnoxiously. “Step right up and test your aim! Pop ’em all, win big! Win huge!”
The darts were placed into Scar’s hand.
“I’m not playing…he is.”
Scar put all six into his palm.
The booth went quiet in a way Gage could feel. Then the whispers started.
