Page 42 of Fairground

I shake my head, refusing to let him see the burn that's now behind my eyes because I'm not weak, and I've worked so hard not to allow her words to impact me anymore. Not to let them come up unwelcomed.

I blink hard, forcing myself to focus as I push my fork into the next pie—a bright, sticky cherry one. Gross. Or maybe it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted and I’m just lying to myself now.

I shove a bite into my mouth, the tartness biting at my tongue and providing just enough distraction to keep the burn in my throat from becoming tears. Except the problem is that the cherry’s delicious too. I want to stop eating it, know I should stop, but I can’t, because now it’s a distraction from the way that Cash is looking at me and the way he's trying to figure me out.

We’re sort of friends. He’s teasing. He didn’t mean anything by his comments. He isn’t looking at the way that your clothing fitstoo tight around the waist or the extra weight you carry in your ass.

I chant these truths to myself like a mantra, but it doesn’t stop the echo of my mother’s voice, or the shame that settles heavy in my chest.

“Hey. Look at me, Rae,” his voice is softer and commanding but I refuse to make eye contact with him. “Rae. Did I say something wrong?”

He reaches over and places a hand on my knee, squeezing gently, his touch warm and grounding, as if he’s trying to pull me back into the moment. I blink two more times at my lap then plaster the brightest smile I can muster across my face and shake my head quickly when I meet his gaze.

“Of course. Just... not a fan of cherry pie.”

His eyes narrow, studying me as though he can see right through my deflection as my mouth and throat work to chew up the delicious bite I just consumed. And knowing Cash, he’s probably reading me like a book. But instead of pressing on a spot that feels sore, he dips his fork into the cherry pie in front of me, scoops up a bite with that maddening ease of his, then drags it slowly along his tongue in a way that feels deliberately... seductive. All while never breaking eye contact with me.

“Cherry’s actually my favorite,” he says, voice low and smooth.

Of course, he finds the only whole cherry in a pie full of minced ones. He plucks it from the gooey filling and holds it out toward me, his dark eyes gleaming with challenge.

“Suck,” he says.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

His brow lifts. “You heard me.”

I shake my head, my lips pressing together in a stubborn line. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

His lips twitch, amusement playing at the corners. “Hmm.” He hums softly, then brings the cherry to his own lips. His tongue darts out, swirling around the small fruit in a way that can only be described as sinful and completely inappropriate before it spikes around the edges, licking off the goo that’s lingering there with a few sharp flicks.

I draw in a breath as his jaw tightens and his throat works to swallow, the motion so fluid it feels obscene. The way his whole body seems to move with the bite—slow, deliberate, sinful—makes it impossible to pretend this isn’t intentional. Like he’s showing me exactly what that mouth can do.

And hell... I think I’d really, really like it.

“Is it the flavor you don’t like,” he asks, leaning closer, “or something else?”

“Something else,” I whisper.

His brow arches. “Care to share what that something else is?”

I wet my lips, unable to stop myself from staring at him as he takes another bite of the pie, and shake my head. “No.”

His hand moves from my knee, his fingers trailing lightly along the soft, cotton fabric of my pants. It’s such a simple touch, but it ignites something inside me.

I’m already horny, can literally feel my clit throbbing in my underwear, desperate for some friction beyond my underwear as the tension coils tighter between us. I need him to flip forwardhis baseball hat. Turn down the sexiness that he’s oozing right now because clearly, I’m not thinking straight.

“What are you doing, Cash?” I ask.

He shrugs, entirely too nonchalant as he continues to make soft circles with his fingers on my knees. “We’re just talking and eating pie.”

How does he say that so casually? Like it’s something he does to everyone. “I see that,” I say, my voice unsteady. "But why is your voice all... gravely?"

He chuckles. “That’s just my voice. I can't change that."

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