Page 28 of Fairground

Man doing manual labor in a distillery with a giant wooden oar?

Did he bring me here to watch him do this? To show off? To distract me from the fact that we’re both vying for the same position. Because if so, damn does he know what he’s doing. I’m not thinking about politics, planning or presentations.

He looks up and catches my eye, most likely noticing me openly gaping at him. He grins and then wipes his forehead against his shoulder in that sexy way that only men know how to do.

“It’s going to be hot for a few minutes, are you comfortable?”

No, I’m fucking burning up and now I'm horny. Feels like I could rub my thighs together and orgasm I’m so flustered and sex deprived.

I shrug off his coat because at least that should help a little with the heat and constant smell of him that’s been surrounding me.

“Um… yeah, I’m fine.”

He nods. “Alright then let’s talk food vendors. You got the tablet? Because fuck, eating is the best part.”

I reach into my bag to pull out the tablet and almost drop it because I wonder if he really does like... eating.

Chapter 12: Rae

Once I’ve pulled myself together and grabbed my tablet, I tap the screen and pull up the email Leanne, one of the planning committee leads, sent over late last night. It’s a spreadsheet of last year’s food and beverage vendors—names, contact info, what they brought to the fair. Organized, thorough, exactly what I’d expect from her. Still, just looking at it makes my head spin a little.

“So,” I begin, scrolling through the document, “it looks like there were twenty food vendors last year. About half served classic carnival stuff—burgers, hot dogs, fries—that we can reuse for the Americana theme. The other half were more specialized and open to custom menus, which we could adapt for the Halloween, spooky side of things.”

Cash nods, his lips twitching into a small, approving smile. “That’s a good start. Have you already checked out reviews for the vendors, made sure they’re still open for business and interested in coming back this year?”

I falter, biting the inside of my cheek. “Uh… no. Not yet. I didn’t think to do that when I saw the email last night.”

His grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I wasn’t asking that to call you out. I haven’t done it either. I’m just trying to figure out how much work we’ve got ahead of us before Wednesday, darling.”

“Oh.” Because of course I immediately jumped to feeling like a failure or defensive. That’s my default most days.

“Forward that email to Darren.”

“Darren?” I raise an eyebrow, unsure who he’s talking about.

He pauses his stirring and leans the oar against the edge of the tank. Then, with a quick motion, he grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head, tossing it onto the floor like it’s no big deal.

But, holy hell, it isa big deal.

Tan skin stretches over a chest that looks carved out of granite, a dusting of dark hair leading down to abs—so many absand a very obvious and deeply carved V. He easily has an eight-pack. Or a ten-pack if that’s a thing.

And those pecs? Oh, those pecs are flexing like they know they have an audience.

“You checking me out, Myrtle?” he teases, flexing his chest like it’s a party trick. When my eyes snap up to his, he’s wearing a grin so playful it ought to be illegal.

“Myrtle?” I blink, dragging my gaze—reluctantly—back to his face.

Has it really been that long since I’ve seen a guy this good looking? Or any guy, shirtless? God, that’s bleak. And a little embarrassing.

“Moaning Myrtle. You know, from—”

I roll my eyes. “FromHarry Potter. Got it. And no, I didn’t moan.”

“Your lips parted, and you moaned. Heard it from all the way over here.”

“I did not moan, and my lips parted only because I had to take a breath. I have to breathe, don’t I? It’s hot in here and the air is thick."

"The air isn't thick. What I'm stirring is thick. And you could have breathed through your nose instead.”

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