I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just go.”
We rode a roller coaster first, one Phoebe promised didn’t have a loop but did. Then we rode something called the Coney Clipper that was sort of fun, if you’re into swinging back and forth with your stomach in your throat. Dex made up excuses to pass on the first two and ordered a milkshake while we were gone to secure his inability to ride anything else. I would’ve been annoyed if I wasn’t jealous he thought of it first.
The world was still spinning from the last ride as we approached a giant metal contraption sending its riders somersaulting overhead, the screams louder than anything we’d encountered. My throat tightened, hands went clammy; as Phoebe darted for the end of the line, I had to pause to keep from toppling sideways.
“You look pale,” Dex said. “This is your limit?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “My limit for what, exactly?”
“Your desperate attempts to please her.”
“That’s not—What are you even—That is so—” The little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips pulled me up short, brain turning to static.Danger. I couldn’t read this as flirty teasing just because the guy had a face Old Hollywood would fawn over; Dex was cold and abrasive and, most important, spoken for. Any attraction could easily be ignored, so long as he kept up the asshole thing.
Smirking wasn’t allowed. Period.
“Shut up,” I said. The smirk twitched, as if an actual smile might be possible. I blinked away, overheating under the blazing sun, and continued over to Phoebe. “You want to ride this?”
“Yep,” she said, scraping her pink hair into a nubby ponytail. “Dying to.”
“Don’t say that out loud. The universe might take it seriously.”
“The universe owes me and it knows it. Come on.”
Anxiety roared in my chest. “You want to ride it right now?”
“Obviously.”
“No, yeah. But, you know, we could ride it later. Grand-finale-type deal.”
“You’re such a baby.” She turned to Dex. “You wanna ride it with me?”
The smirk officially left the building. “What? Why me?”
“Violet’s too chicken,” she said. Dex glanced at the ride, face ashen. “And you haven’t ridden anything yet.”
“I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “What’s this called?”
“Zenobia.”
“What does that mean?”
“Who cares?”
“I liked what Violet said about the grand finale. I think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh my god.” Phoebe removed the camera from around her neck, handing it off to me. “I can ride it alone. Didn’t realize I was road-tripping with a bunch of babies.”
“That thing is insane, Phoebe,” I said defensively. “Who’s to say it’s even safe?”
“Coney Island,” she replied. I faltered. “Dude, it’s fine. I don’t care. Plus, you can get a picture of me riding it.”
Relief swept through me. “Yes. I can do that.”
Dex and I veered off, taking a seat on a conveniently placed bench beside an even more conveniently placed trash can: perfect for anyone exiting Zenobia who needed to empty the contents of their stomachs.
“It’s safe, right?” I said, watching Phoebe inch closer to the head of the line. “Like, I know this place has been around forever and the ride wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t safe, but still. Phoebe’s small. What if the straps are loose and she slips through?”
“She won’t.” Dex rested his elbow on the back of the bench, glancing toward the game booths. Sweat glistened along the tendons of his neck, shoulders pulling taut against the fabric of his white button-up. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows, showcasing a gorgeous tattoo of winding piano keys down the base of his forearm, dangling his arms and hands in front of me like a desert mirage. I dropped my gaze to my lap to shut down the inappropriate thoughts stampeding their way into my head. “There hasn’t been an incident here since the seventies. She’ll be fine.”
