Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
For tonight’s outing, I had no intention of going with Coen, but he texted me a few hours ago, wanting to know if he could come over tonight. I mean, it was a given I’d say yes, just like I have every other night. The man’s ability to make me commune with the heavens isn’t something I’m going to pass up, especially since we’re on borrowed time.
His text delivered delicious chills. I’ve been wondering how many times I can make you come in one night. Let’s find out. Be there at seven and I’ll bring a pizza?
I stared at it forever. I’ve never had a man talk like that to me, and it makes me sad that my sex life was so lacking.
I’ll absolutely miss him when this is over.
I texted back my regrets. Sorry. I’m going to the county fair tonight.
I left it at that. I didn’t want to invite him, because I didn’t want to get rejected. The times we’ve hung out together outside of the bedroom have been awesome. During the hours we spent setting up my mom’s sculptures, I mostly kept up running chatter about benign topics. Coen was engaging and at times funny. I didn’t see the asshole I know he can be.
It made me wonder if he could be more, but deep down, I’m afraid he can’t. I’ll never forget his decree that he’s not a nice man, and I’m always waiting for that guy to reappear.
I keep telling myself it’s absolutely best we keep this casual, fun, and low-key. I don’t need more.
Which made me a bit of a liar when my heart zinged with happiness when he replied with: Mind if I tag along? I’m a sucker for funnel cake, and I’ll buy you one, too.
A guy after my own heart.
Still, I played it cool. Of course I don’t mind. Want to meet there?
His reply made my pulse hum. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Not wanting to read anything into it, because I know my romantic heart will if I’m not careful, I set a boundary. Just honk when you pull up.
The message was clear. Don’t come to the door to get me. This isn’t a date. Just two people—friends—sharing a ride to the fair.
He responded with a thumbs-up, and now, here he is.
Slinging my cross-body bag on, I shove my phone and fifty dollars in cash inside. I grab my keys and hurry out, locking the door behind me.
The sun has already set, but it’s still light enough outside that I can see Coen through the truck windshield. He watches me as I make my way to the passenger side.
When I open the door to climb up, he says, “Nice dress.”
Smiling, I slide onto the seat. “Thanks. It has pockets.”
“And that’s important?”
Snickering, I explain the age-old joke that a dress is only perfect if it has pockets. That pockets are of the utmost importance.
Coen’s eyes shift to the skirt portion, and he nods. “You know that might blow up in the wind on some of the rides. Not sure I want you flashing your panties to everyone.”
I try not to be warmed by a statement that could be considered proprietary. Instead, I flip up the bottom of my dress to reveal the secret underneath. “In addition to pockets, this dress has built-in shorts. Cool, huh?”
His laughter comes out in a short bark as he reverses, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard true laughter from him. Up until now, it’s been more and more smiles, but this is heartfelt laughter. Totally spontaneous and unfiltered, and it lights up his face in a way that takes my breath away.
We lapse into easy conversation on the way to the fairgrounds. Coen tells me about his most recent endeavor learning how to fly-fish and a lesson he had this morning. I tell him about cleaning out my refrigerator.
Because it’s Saturday night, we actually have to stand in line for tickets. At the booth, I pull out my cash, but Coen pushes money at the attendant and buys not only our entry passes but a wad of ride tickets.
“Here,” I say, shoving a twenty-dollar bill at him.
“My treat,” he replies casually, and we walk through the double chain-link gated fence into the Potter County Fair.
The midway is my favorite spot—I love all the silly games and the carnival food. On the perimeter, the rickety rides are lined up like probable death traps, but you simply must do them.
We agree to do rides first and food later, followed by games.
Coen and I hit the Zipper, and I can’t help but scream as our cage flips end over end while the whole zipper rotates. I stagger slightly when we get off, both of us laughing. Coen steadies me with a hand to the elbow until we get a few paces away from the ride but then lets me go.