Page 11 of Fairground

“No,” I admit grudgingly.

His smile widens, smug and infuriating. For a fleeting second, I wonder if punching that look off his face would break my hand—or if it would even put a dent in his attractiveness. Honestly, a scar across his cheek would probably just make him hotter.

Damn, it’s going to be alongnine months if this is the only bar in this tiny town where I can get a good drink at.

“What’s with all the winks Mr. Smooth guy?” I ask.

He laughs. “Can’t a guy wink?”

“Are you… hitting on me?”

“I don’t think you’d realize if someone was hitting on you if they came up and smacked you on the ass with a compliment.”

“That’s a... weird analogy.”

He shrugs. “If it works, it works.”

“I’m going to go ahead and say that it most definitely didn’t work because I don’t get it.”

He grins, his bright white teeth practically glowing under the warm bar lights. His hazel eyes radiate nothing but easy charm, completely unaffected by my piss-poor mood and our ridiculous banter.

“What’s your name?” he finally asks after a few seconds too long of smiling at me.

“Rae.”

“Rae short for something?”

“Raken.”

His brows shoot up. “Your parents named you and your sisterLakenandRaken?”

I snort. “It was a joke.”

He wrinkles his nose, like I’ve just delivered bad news. “You know, jokes are supposed to be funny. You’re not going to win people over if yours leave them confused instead of laughing. And I can’t keep trailing behind you, introducing you to everyone, vouching for you, trying to help you make friends—if you’re just going to keep being weird.”

That earns him a real laugh from me—short but genuine because the image of Cash following me around this town, trying to tell people I’m notthat badis hilarious.

His brows lift in surprise, his grin stretching wider. “Who knewElvirahad such a nice laugh?” He clears my empty glass and straightens to his full height, which is impressive, his smile somehow even more devastating under the low lights. “Tonight’s drinks are on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that just because I made a snarky comment earlier about how you're blowing the business' money.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I’m sure Lydia already told you I own the place, so I get to make the rules. And tonight, I’m saying it’s on the house.”

“Because you’re hitting on me?” I ask, feeling a rush of boldness and liquid courage pulse through my veins.

Leaning in, his face gets dangerously close—close enough that I catch the faint scent of mint on his breath. His lips hover near mine, separated only by a few inches of the solid oak bar, and my pulse skips in response. I shift in my seat, trying—and failing—to maintain the permanent scowl I’ve been wearing since I rolled into this shithole of a town.

“Yeah, because I’m hitting on you, Rae,” he murmurs soft enough for only me to hear.

“Fine. I’ll allow it.” I slide off the barstool, landing on my feet with a surprising lightness in my step and trying not to overthink what he just said. Ready to head home, I realize the night hasn’t been half bad. I’ve made a new friend, Lydia, and maybe even Cash counts as... well, not quite a friend, but a potential acquaintance in a weird, infuriating way that I can’t wrap my mind around.

As I turn to leave, he throws his head back with a deep, infectious laugh. “Have a good night,Sally.”

I pause mid-step, raising an eyebrow. “Sally?”

“FromThe Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“You really think you’re hilarious with all these nicknames, don’t you?”

---