Page 36 of Fairground

Consider me officially turned on by the color black.

I can’t help myself—I shoot her a wink, just to enjoy the way her cheeks flush pink when I’m being extra flirty with her. She may have bolted on me Monday night with nothing but a blur of curls after I offered to take her to dinner, but I saw the way she was watching me work at the distillery stirring and killing my back. She thought she was subtle, but I caught her eyes lingering on every muscle while I sweated through the job Colt assigned me.

And yeah, I’d planned that. Maybe not the specific job—I didn’t know I’d end up mixing grain with a gigantic oar and burning up that fast—but I knew I’d be doing some sort of hard work that’d get her attention. It'd been by design all along.

Frankly, I’m glad I’ve been putting in extra time at the gym Colt and I built at his new house down by the creek. Every edge, every ounce of definition matters when it comes to Rae. I’ll take any advantage I can get to wear her carefully constructed defenses down, even if I know I probably shouldn’t be trying.

There’s something about her that has me wanting to try. I want to watch her lose that carefully held control that she clings to. To hear her gasp my name when I make her feel things she’s neverfelt before. Because I’m confident I could do just that. She’s into me. At least, I think she is. She just hasn’t figured out how to admit that to herself.

She lets out a soft sigh as she steps closer. “Are you always this happy?”

I glance at my watch, smirking. “Considering I’ve been up since four this morning and it’s now four in the afternoon? Yeah, I’d say I’ve earned it.”

Her eyes practically bug out of her cute little head. Big, round and green. The kind some women pay for in colored contacts but hers are all natural I can tell. Like a soft, spring moss or the prettiest gem.

“Why on earth would you wake up at four in the morning?”

“My body’s used to it now. Chickens need me,” I say with a shrug.

“These chickens sound quite demanding,” she says, folding her arms over her chest.

“Not as demanding as a woman can be, but yeah. They've got me by the balls.”

Her brows lift, and she straightens, all mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I am not a demanding woman.”

I arch a brow and smirk. “Oh, really? What about that email you sent me at one in the morning?” I clear my throat and shift into a half-hearted impersonation of her—though my voice is nowhere near her sweet, raspy drawl.“‘Cash, I need you to look up this artist and listen to herentirecatalog so we can both agree she’s the perfect fit for entertainment. I’ve already reached out to her manager, and this truly feels like the best we can do, so I just need your sign-off.’”

I drop the act and raise a brow again, grinning. “Sound familiar?”

Her lips twist like she’s trying not to smile, but I see the faint curve there before she hides behind her coffee cup again.

“I was a little bit drunk, and I probably shouldn't have asked you to listen to herentirecatalog. That was a bit dramatic. One song would have been good enough to confirm what I already knew.”

I tilt my head. “Drunk? On a weekday?” Sure as shit hope it wasn’t on a date.

“Laken took me out,” she mutters like it’s no big deal.

“I see. To where?”

“Your bar,” she says, eyeing me cautiously over the rim of her cup.

“Well, now I’m offended that you didn’t invite me.”

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “What, so the whole town can fawn over their golden boy? My rival?”

“Now that,” I say, leaning in just a little closer to catch a whiff of her sweet, cherry scent, “sounds a hell of a lot like jealousy Ms. Black.”

She sets her coffee cup down on the edge of the table we’re supposed to be reviewing entertainment plans on and levels me with a stare cool enough to rival the late October breeze. It’s gotten colder today—enough that her tiny tank top and her clearly braless state have her nipples pressing hard against the thin fabric.

Jeez. Women who don’t wear bras might just be my kryptonite. I always thought the invention of thick, padded fabric that masks their natural nipple shape, color, and size was a damn crime andseeing Rae's uninhibited, presented in front of me like a gift, confirms it for me.

Someone call a retailer, they need to stop producing bras immediately.

“My eyes are up here, Cash,” she deadpans with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I can see your nipples,” I shoot back because what’s the point in pretending I’m not distracted by the shape of them. By the color of them. By the way I want to take one between my teeth and nip at it just enough to have her moaning.

Her jaw drops open. “What, are you sixteen? It’s a boob.”

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