Page 78 of Iced Out

The way his eyebrows almost jump into his hairline would be laughable…if I wasn’t being dead serious.

“You’re afraid of heights,” he repeats, to which I nod.

“Deathly afraid might be an exaggeration, but it’s close enough.”

I expect him to say we can forget about it and do something else. Maybe go ice skating again, grab dinner, whatever. But instead, a devious, shit-eating grin crosses his face and he drags me straight to the ticket counter, the line empty because it’s the middle of winter. In the Windy City. On a giant pier. Sticking out into a large body of water.

Panic sets in, a thin coat of sweat already gathering on my forehead beneath my hat. “You heard the part where I said I’m afraid of heights, right?”

“Sure did,” he says, ordering us two tickets.

“Don’t worry, honey,” the middle-aged woman at the ticket counter says. “There’s those little puke bags in there if you start feeling woozy.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I mutter, which only makes her laugh.

“You two enjoy your evening.”

Quinn thanks her, pocketing his wallet and grabbing the tickets before taking my hand too.

“You’ll be fine, Oak,” he says, pulling me over to where the passengers get loaded. “I promise. And I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

“It’s really not as bad as you think. Nothing like those ones they have at the fair,” a little girl in front of us says, clearly having never heard of the wholestranger dangerconcept. Then again, I’m willing to bet the woman whose hand she’s holding is her mother, so how dangerous could it really be?

She’s right, though, it doesn’t look nearly as scary as those sketchy ones that travel around for fairs and carnivals and shit. But it’s also like eighty-five times the size.

“What she said,” Quinn says, motioning to the little girl and chaperone currently loading into their gondola.

“I don’t think that’s enough to stop me from having a panic attack while hundreds of feet in the air on a spinning wheel of death,” I say to Quinn, all the while keeping my eyes locked on the door sliding closed on the gondola.

Oh God.

My heart races, more sweat causing my hands to get all clammy as our own gondola circles around. It stops at the loading platform for us, and after the people inside it disembark—all in one piece, I note—Quinn hands over our tickets.

The attendant motions for us to board, and Quinn’s eyes lock with mine.

“Trust me,” he murmurs and holds out his hand.

I’m surprised to find…I do trust him. So I grab hold of his hand and let him drag me into the tiny box on the spinning wheel of death.

That’s when I’m also surprised to find how big it is. With little leather benches running down two sides and a capacity to fit at least half a dozen people. Not what I was expecting.

I take a seat beside him, still clenching his hand in mine.

“This…isn’t so bad.”

Except the thing chooses the same moment to move, starting the upward swing into the air, and I’m about to retract my previous statement.

Quinn eyes me, looking for any signs of discomfort in my face. I’m sure there’s plenty there, but he must not see enough to cause any real worry.

“Do you need me to kiss you at the top if you get too nervous?” he says, a lilt of teasing in his tone. “Like in those cheesy rom-com movies?”

“I don’t even think fucking you while this things spins us silly would make me less nervous.”

He leans over and his breath coasting over my neck causes me to shiver. “That could be arranged if you want.” His voice is a low, husky whisper. “We’d have to be quick, though. The ride’s less than fifteen minutes.”

I let out a bark of laughter, his ridiculous antics helping to put me more at ease. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

A knowing smirk rests on those sinful lips. “Maybe not full-blown anal. But I’d definitely suck your dick if you needed a way to relax and get your mind off it.”

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