Page 66 of Quake

I follow after her, and once we’re in my SUV with Tiny in Pickles’s usual spot, Lark sets up the GPS, refusing to tell me where we’re going.

Thankfully, whatever it is, it’s only ten minutes away.

I back out of the parking space and onto the main road, following the directions all the way to my worst fucking nightmare.

“Lark.” I look over to her, frantic. “What is this?”

She rolls her eyes, placing a calming hand on my thigh. “It’s acarnival, you goober.”

My heart rate picks up as I follow the line of cars into the dirt parking area. “I can see that,” I tell her, my voice strained.I hate crowds.

“Gi,” she tells me softly once we’ve parked. “I know you don’t like crowded places, so I figured we could take it kind of slow, okay?It’s Thursday, and kids are in school, so there shouldn’t be nearly as many people as there are on the weekends. And if you’re overwhelmed, we can leave at any time, okay?”

It’s not like I have some sort of PTSD from crowds or anything. Hell, I play for stadiums filled with thousands of fans several times a week. It’s just that places like this are loud and uncomfortable for me. I just feel entirely too overstimulated, so even as a kid, I never really enjoyed them.

But I’ll give it a shotfor her.

“Okay.” I nod. “We’ll try it out.” I finally turn to look at her, and those silky auburn waves are just begging for me to run my hands through them. I rake my fingers through her hair, tugging at her roots and dragging her lips into mine for a chaste kiss. When I release her, she slumps back into her seat, her soft lips gently parted and her eyes hooded.

“That good, huh?” I joke, feeling better already.

She bounces back quickly, a sly grin across her face. “If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll give you a taste of some other things on the Ferris wheel.” She wiggles her eyebrows before hopping out of the car to grab Tiny from the trunk.

God, my dick is already getting hard.

We make our way through the lines, and once inside, I realize this might not be that bad. There aren’t huge crowds of people at every corner, and with the sun still up, the lights from the rides aren’t so aggressive.

Lark grabs my hand, rushing us in the direction of a cotton candy stand. “Pink or blue?” she asks me.

“Blue, but…” I hesitate.

“What is it?” she asks, worry lacing herwords.

“Is it safe for you to eat that much sugar?” I ask, hating that I sound so worried. I just want to make sure she’s safe, but I also trust that she knows her body and condition far better than I do.

“I’ve got my CGM on, my notifications set to high, and my fanny pack has everything I need in case I eat too much.” She stands on her toes, pressing a kiss to my cheek that warms the deepest parts of me. “But it’s cute that you worry about me,” she says.

A blush creeps across my face, and I have to look away.How is she so fucking adorable all the time?

The guy making the cotton candy gives her one twice the size of her head. She takes it from him and leads us over to a picnic table where a live band is playing.1

“Ilovecotton candy,” she says, taking a bite. I pull off a piece, stuffing it in my mouth and nearly moaning at the sugary taste melting on my tongue. Lark watches intently as I swallow, leaning into me to bring her lips to mine. She dips her tongue inside my mouth, and mine tangles with hers. The taste of her is so much sweeter than this sticky candy.

Tiny whines from beside us, drawing our attention back to the here and now.

She scratches behind his ears and lets him lick her sugar-tipped fingers before standing. “Alright, now it’s time for you to win me a stuffed animal,” she tells me.

I toss the cone of the cotton candy in the nearest trash bin and find a food truck with a giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer. I dispense way too much into my hands on purpose and headover to her. “Hands, little lady,” I say, and she extends them in front of her. I douse them in the alcohol, rubbing our hands together to distribute it evenly.

I follow after her, and for a few minutes, she takes in each game, shaking her head after every one until she gets to one called “The Strong Man.” As the name implies, it’s one of those games where you hit the metal plate as hard as you can, and if the bell rings, you win a prize.

“What am I winning you from over here?” I ask, and immediately, she points to a massive green-and-purple stuffed dinosaur. “Well, okay then.”

I hand over my tickets and pick up the oversized mallet, judging the distance before swinging it over my head. The bell rings loudly, and the teen working behind the counter rolls her eyes. “Which one?” she asks.

Lark tells her which one she wants, and a bright smile beams across her face as she carries it over to me, with Tiny trotting beside her, leashed to her waistband. “Thanks,” she tells me, cuffing her arm through mine.

We’re about to turn away, but I see a little boy take a swing, to no avail.These games are rigged.

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