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He tosses it onto the seat of the bike and pulls me into his arms. ‘Complain as much as you want, baby. You still have to wear it.”

“Bossy,” I accuse and he laughs.

“As long you’re safe, you can call me whatever the hell you want.”

I roll my eyes, leaning up and pressing my lips to his cheek. “Let’s get something to drink. I’m about to die from thirst.”

“Oh, we can’t fucking have that,” he growls, leaning down and hooking his arm around my thighs, lifting me over his shoulder. I gasp and my hands land with a thunk against his back.

“Put me down, you big brute.”

He laughs. “No.”

Pushing against his body, I prop myself up so I can look out behind us as he crosses the street to the fair. Several people are watching, smiling or laughing at me getting toted around like a toddler and I sigh. Once we make it across the street, he sets me back on my feet and turns me toward all the little tents lining the side street.

“What looks good?”

I scan all the tents and my gaze lands on a lemonade stand.

“Oh,” I say, pointing to it. “That one.”

He slips up next to me and laces his fingers through mine as we start moving towards the red and gold tent with the lemonade. They offer regular lemonade as well as strawberry, blueberry, cherry and prickly pear.

“I want the prickly pear,” I tell him and he nods as we reach the table, nodding to the man behind it.

“Two prickly pear lemonades.”

The man nods and begins making our drinks as I turn toward the stage with my hand still firmly in Dalton’s. They are playing a cover of The Only Exception by Paramore and I softly sing along with a smile teasing my lips. Dalton releases my hand and I look back as he grabs the lemonades and hands a twenty-dollar bill over to the vendor. Then, he turns to me and hands me my drink.

“The band’s not bad,” he says and I nod, turning back to them as I take a sip of my lemonade. It’s ridiculously sweet but the sourness of the lemonade balances it out nicely and I hum. Dalton steps up behind me and wraps one arm around my waist, his fingers tracing the skin of my belly where my tank top has ridden up as we listen to the band. We begin to sway and I close my eyes, feeling the words of the song with Dalton’s arm around me and his front to my back.

This feels so damn good.

The band switches to I Was Made for Loving You by KISS and I start dancing. Pulling away, I raise my free hand above my head and close my eyes, losing myself in the music again. I open my eyes and look up at Dalton. He’s watching me, heat in his blue eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. His gaze trails down to my chest and then my hips as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

I shake my head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, grinning.

“Look at me like that.” I point to his face. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, stepping closer and pulling me against his body as I continue dancing. I narrow my eyes.

“Yes, you do.”

Loud laughter pierces through the space and I look over his shoulder and let out a little squeal.

“Let’s go do that.”

He turns, looking over his shoulder and lets out a groan. “The tarot reader?”

“Yes,” I say, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers through his. “We’re going to go get a reading.”

“Baby,” he protests and I shake my head, pulling him along after me as I start making my way to the tent where the tarot reader is set up.

“It’ll be fun,” I say, turning towards him as I keep marching backwards.

He laughs. “It’s so dumb.”