Page 10 of Muddy Messy Love

Wincing, I avert my gaze, allowing them their moment while I wrestle with the vintage seatbelt and tell my needy heart to shut the fuck up. I secure the belt on my third attempt with a frustrated shove, then look up to meet Liam’s goofy grin.

“You ready for Shooters? It’s tie-breaker time.” He adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose in that adorable nerdy way. They’re red tonight—green yesterday. Maybe he picks a colour for every mood.

I wink. “You should be scared. Quaking in your boots.”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance, little lady. I’m not even wearing boots.” Facing the front, he hits the blinker, then leaves the kerb. “I’m a loyal Vans man.”

Jen’s gaze remains on me, narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” Her scarlet hair flows in vintage waves, a relaxed version of her usual ringlets, while red lips and winged eyeliner pop against her pale skin. She’s Jessica Rabbit, grunge edition. Bold and equally beautiful.

“I’m okay.”

She looks at me knowingly. “We’ll have fun, I promise.”

My shoulders loosen. She’s right, we will. We always do. When cops aren’t involved, that is. I nudge my chin towards her with a half smile. “You look hot as hell.”

She grins, fluffing her hair. “I know, right?” She blows me a kiss, then turns to face the front, nestling into her seat. Liam rests a hand on her denim-clad thigh, and she squeezes it. His thumb strokes her pinkie, and I drop my gaze to fiddle with the rip in my jeans. I wish Slade were here too. Only, even if he could be, he never would. Comet Park is a public place, and I’m a dirty secret. A side piece waiting to claim first place. I squeeze my eyes shut.

What the hell am I doing?

Across the road from where we park, rusty marquee letters rise from the earth, spelling “Comet Park,” and carnival rides peak over the perimeter walls, ripping screams from the brave. The scent of hot cinnamon doughnuts rides the sea breeze, and my reluctance to be here fades.

As I stand huddled with Jen, we watch Liam clamp a red lock over his steering wheel, then circle his car thrice. I lean in. “Is he serious right now?”

Jen smirks. “He checks once for common sense, twice to double check, and three times to hex away thieves.”

I bite back a laugh, and Liam snaps his head towards us. “What?”

We feign innocence. “Nothing,” Jen says.

“I told you, babe. She’s a classic—a collector’s item. Dudes cream their dacks over Betsy.” Liam shakes his head, then stalks towards the entry, mumbling profanities.

Jen and I frown at the rusty blue sedan. Duct tape bandages the side mirror, and the makeshift aerial resembles a wonky star. It’s amazing thisclassicwasn’t defected the night we were stopped, or yesterday for that matter. “It can tow a trailer.” I shrug.

Our eyes meet, glinting with mirth, and we erupt in a fit of giggles. As we follow Liam’s steps, mine lighten, and I plant a kiss on Jen’s cheek. “Thanks for dragging me here.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a smile.

We conquer ride after terrifying ride, the dodgem cars, and fried food served on sticks. Lights dazzle against the black sky amongst a vibrant ensemble of laughter, music, and the whirr of thrill-purposed machinery.

Jen snuggles into Liam’s shoulder as we stroll past the carousel. He drapes his arm around her, kissing the top of her head, and she peers up at him with a secret smile. They converse with sparkly eyes in a silent world of their own, and I battle the dark feelings a best friend should never have, regardless of where her boyfriend is. Still, if I could experience their kind of love, my world would be magic, and I would be whole.

When we get to Shooters, I discover there’s nothing like shooting the crap out of tin-plate silhouettes to release heartache. It must improve my accuracy too, because with laser focus and the skill of a professional marksman, I desecrate Liam’s hopes and dreams of reigning trifecta champion.

I drop my rifle to the bench, cackle an evil laugh, then shake my butt in a dorky dance. “Victory is mine.”

Jen laughs, but Liam hangs his head in melodramatic disgrace. I hip-check him. “Aw, c’mon, Liam. No space for sore losers here.”

He arches a scruffy brow. “That’s because your big-arse head takes up all the room.”

I poke out my tongue, and he flips me the bird.

Jen’s mouth falls open. “Liam James Harrington, don’t flip off Avery. Apologise immediately.”

Liam’s face falls solemn. “Sorry,” he grumbles.

I poke out my tongue again, and Jen rolls her eyes. “Children. That’s what you are. Bratty children.”

Liam and I laugh, and the attendant holds up two prizes—a plastic whistle and a hot-pink lollipop ring. I choose the latter and hand it to Liam with a wink. “Here, a sucker for a loser.”

---