Page 23 of Counterfeit Boyfriend
10Gwen
The lightsof the merry-go-round flickered in intervals, the electronic music sounding like it resented having to play the same notes over and over again. I glanced over at Evan, who sat atop a decked-out, inordinately pink horse. I’d chosen this ride first, just to show him I wasn’t kidding about my distrust of carnival contraptions. Only a yard or so off the ground, ninety percent of the other jockeys belonged in the ten and under age range. (The parents propping their kids on their ponies, bored expressions on their faces, didn’t count). Andeven then, I barely trusted it.
My stomach dipped and rose along with the horses’ movements, but then Evan reached over and grabbed my hand, and it went to somersaulting. The ride slowed after a ridiculously short time, and several parents picked their kids off their horses, while more stepped onto the ride to retrieve theirs.
Evan dismounted and walked up to my plastic steed. “I noticed you chose the unicorn.” He patted it on the head like he was commending it for being a good horsey during the ride.
“Well, I got sick of waiting for you to get me one on the black market.” I swung my leg over to climb off, and Evan placed his hands on my hips and helped me down, even though I was pretty sure both of us knew I didn’t need help.
As he slid his arms around my waist and pulled my back against his front, I was thinking maybe I should “need” help more often. His lips moved next to my ear, and my heartbeats scattered out of control. “Such little faith. I already have our sketchy back alley meet-up planned.” One hand slid around to my stomach, and his pinky dipped just inside the waistband of my shorts and brushed my skin. “You just need to be patient.”
“Suddenly I’m thinking waiting for things is overrated.”
The fingers still holding my hip gripped me tighter and my pulse rate skyrocketed. Evan’s voice dropped low and husky, and I felt the deep vibrations travel through me when he spoke. “I think we better sidebar this conversation until we get somewhere away from the merry-go-round and impressionable children.”
He didn’t give me a chance to answer, simply tucked me to his side and walked us off the ride. As soon as we were a reasonable distance away, he drew me to him and pressed his lips to mine. It started as a quick, closed-mouth kiss, but that taste wasn’t nearly enough. I went in again, and he didn’t waste any time reciprocating. Shared breaths, tangling tongues, so much heat I didn’t think I’d ever be cold again.
“How far away is this sketchy back alley?” I asked, slipping my hand in the pocket of his jeans and holding him against me, right where he should always be. “I feel like there are some other things I’d rather do in it right now.”
“Gwyneth!” Mock indignance filled his perfect, chiseled features. “You can’t just proposition me in the middle of our first date! At least not until you buy me some cotton candy!”
I laughed. “Fine, I’ll—wait. First date?”
“On our road trip, of course,” he said it lightly, but the playful gleam in his eyes faded, his smile along with it. Then he crossed his arms, basically cutting off my access to him. The mood shift baffled me. Obviously he was kidding about cotton candy, but I’d buy every damn bag at this carnival if I could get back the moment we’d somehow lost.
I wasn’t rambling. I didn’t tell an overly-long animal or work story…Usually I was the one to accidentally kill the mood, but as I replayed the last few minutes, I came up empty.
“My name’s not Gwyneth.” It’d taken me a minute to sort that out in the review.
A hint of fear flickered through his expression as he scrunched up his forehead, and I wanted that light to come on…
It remained disappointingly unlit.
“It’s Guinevere, remember? I told you how my mom was really into stories about the love triangle with Lancelot and King Arthur. Two guys, close as brothers, in love with the same woman. She found it all terribly romantic and saddled me with the name.”
“Ah…” I was sure he was about to make a joke, downplay his forgetting, or change the subject entirely. Not always listening led to those responses a lot, and it always left my feathers ruffled. But this was different. Because when I’d originally relayed the reason behind my moniker, I’d also confessed I was on the fence about my name, and he’d replied that he thought Guinevere was cool. Added something about how he’d be my knight, especially if it meant having a “kickass sword.” It was one of those things I held on to when I felt conflicted about our relationship.
It doesn’t matter. He’s really started listening over the past couple of days. I shouldn’t experience so much hurt over his forgetting something I told him a good month or so ago.Despite my best attempt to let it go, for the first time since we’d had coffee at Sacred Grounds, it made me worry once again that we were doomed to fail eventually.
“I should know that, and I’m sorry.” His blue eyes held so much sincerity, it thawed the ice that’d started to form over my heart.
“Well, I did tell you while you were playing videogames, and I should realize that conversations don’t sink in very well while you’re half in the virtual world.” I guess I should just be glad that he’d responded that he liked my name, even if he obviously hadn’t heard the first half of the story.
“No, that sucks.” Evan stepped closer, gripped my shoulders in his large hands, and looked me in the eye. “I promise you that during this trip, I’ll listen to every single word you say.”
I hooked my thumbs through my belt loops and rocked onto my heels. “I’ll be the first to admit that some of them are just filler, and that’s a lot of pressure. Can you maybe forget the ones I take back after I realize they’re lame?”
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Sorry, no can do. They’re all getting permanently etched in the memory.” He tapped his temple, then placed his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb against the pulse point that beat more and more rapidly by the second. “But I’llpretendto forget those ones.”
I threw a hand over my heart. “My hero. Even though I don’t know whether you’re the Hulk or Superman yet.”
I didn’t get as big of a smile as I hoped, but he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and began walking the path that wound around the carnival rides.
I vaguely noticed we’d joined the end of a line, but I was too busy worrying over Evan’s funereal mood to take it in. After a few seconds of silence, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I hope you’re not still beating yourself up about the name thing.”
“Names are… important,” he said, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.
“Okay, so we’ve reached the stating-the-obvious part of the evening? Water is wet. Humans survive on food.”
