Page 13 of Hooking Her Up

I crack up. “I guess that means you don’t want to ride it?”

With another hard frown toward her office, she turns to me with a defiant look. “I absolutely want to ride it.”

Hand in hand, we hurry around the trail toward the merry-go-round, which is flanked by stands selling tourist trinkets and tickets to the historical museum next door. The teenager operating the ride looks at us warily, telling us it’s only supposed to be for kids.

“If I break it, I’ll buy it,” I say, making both of them smirk.

Kayla playfully whacks me on the arm. “Don’t joke about that. What if this is the summer it goes up in smoke because we’re too big?”

“Eh, you’re not too big,” the kid says. “It’s a dumb rule and parents are always ignoring it anyway.”

He lets us on and even keeps it going longer than I suspect is usual. Maybe I’ll give him a tip on the way out. We start out on horses next to each other, one going up while the other goes down. I try to kiss her as we pass and her laughter rings out over the tinny music as I miss.

Scrambling down, she heads for one of the ornate benches and plops onto it. The kid half-heartedly tells us not to move while the ride is going, but only shrugs when I head to sit beside Kayla. Swinging my arm around the back of the bench, I slide close to her. My old, battered jeans are a stark contrast to her crisp black skirt.

Her slender knees are pressed together, her pale skin below the hem needing to be sun kissed. Or kissed by me. With a smile, she turns to me, forcing my gaze up her body to her face, even prettier now that there’s a spark in her eyes.

“I’m not going back,” she says. “If I’m getting in trouble, it’s going to be worth it.” There’s a question in her baby blues and I nod as I lean closer.

“It’ll be worth it,” I promise.

Our lips touch and the ride grinds to a stop, the music ending with a squeak just as her mouth opens to my tongue. So much for the kid’s tip. Kayla laughs and jumps up, dragging me toward the museum. We went there dozens of times on school trips, but we see it with fresh eyes, pointing out our favorite exhibits and reminiscing about the things we used to get up to.

On the way out, we take pictures in the photo booth and while we make faces for the camera, I can’t take my eyes off of her. Her joy lights up my world. Knowing I’m the cause takes my breath away.

After the museum, we window shop, finally finding ourselves close to Ronny’s Pizzeria, a block from my place. She claps her hand over her stomach and says she’s starving, giving me a hopeful look.

We order and check the pinball machine, high fiving when our initials are still the top spot. Her hand curls around mine and the feel of our palms pressed together is enough to make heat course through my veins.

This isn’t like anything I’ve felt before. It isn’t just a stolen summer thing. She’s going to be mine for much longer than that. Forever.

It was our plan to eat there, but a rowdy softball team crowds in, taking up most of the tables. “These guys are already halfway to sloshed,” I say. “Want to eat at my house?”

She tucks her arm through mine. “I can’t stand being around drunk people, either,” she says, pulling me out the door.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

“For what?”

“For getting me,” I say.

“Well, thanks right back at you, then.” At that moment, a sleek silver car rounds the corner and she gasps, yanking me into the alley and pressing herself against the wall. “That’s my dad’s car,” she hisses, looking furious, embarrassed, and on the verge of tears.

The car passes slowly, as if he’s really out searching for his adult daughter who might be getting a bit too close to the wrong type of guy.

“I’m really sorry,” she says. “This isn’t because of you.”

“So you’d be hiding next to a dumpster if we weren’t together?” My anger fades when she grips my t-shirt, looking up at me with anguish. I hate this, but I’d do anything for Kayla. “It’s fine,” I tell her, meaning it. “I get it. Now come on, let’s get back to my place before he circles.”

Her grateful smile erases any last shred of anger. Her father doesn’t matter, only Kayla does.

At my door, she holds the pizza box while I open it for her. Ducking under my arm, she stops and tips her chin up. I’ve been craving her mouth ever since the merry-go-round and can’t resist dipping to brush my lips against hers. Her free hand circles my waist and she presses close to me, sighing as she opens to me.

I lead her inside without breaking our kiss and as soon as the door is closed and we’re in the darkened living room, she drops the pizza box on the couch and wraps her arms around my neck.

I had a plan, thoughts about how this would go, but her eager grasp almost makes me forget them.

“Wait a sec,” I say, pulling back. I shake my head at her disappointed look. “Aren’t you hungry?”

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