Page 76 of Hot Knot Summer
“I don’t know...” I begin hesitantly. All I really want is to crawl back into my nest-bed and process everything, the interview, the growing suspicion that I might have caused the fire, and the increasingly urgent heat that’s been building in my core since I woke up this morning, slick with sweat and aching with need.
“Not optional,” River announces cheerfully, steering me toward Atlas’ truck parked at the curb. “Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re a paramedic, not a doctor,” Levi points out.
“Close enough,” River dismisses with a wave. “The prescription is funnel cake, carnival games, and at least one ride that makes you question your life choices.”
Despite my misgivings, I find myself laughing. “Fine. But if I throw up after whatever death trap you put me on, I’m aiming for your shoes.”
“Fair enough,” River agrees with a wink.
We pile into Atlas’ truck, with me sandwiched between Levi and River in the back seat because of the equipment River insisted on shoving in the front seat. The close quarters mean I’m pressed against both of them from shoulder to knee, their combined body heat making me feel almost feverish. I try to focus on the scenery outside the window, but I’m acutely aware ofevery shift, every breath from the Alphas surrounding me.
The drive to the festival grounds is mercifully short. As we pull into the designated parking area, I catch a full glimpse of the Summer Festival, and despite everything, a childlike excitement bubbles up inside me.
The main street of Whispering Grove has been transformed into an explosion of color and activity. Banners and fairy lights stretch between lampposts, booths line both sides of the street, and the air is filled with the mingled scents of fried foods, sugar, and people everywhere. In the distance, I spot carnival rides rising above the buildings, a Ferris wheel slowly turning against the backdrop of mountains and forest.
“Wow,” I breathe, genuinely impressed. “The town really goes all out.”
“Told you,” Atlas states. “This festival keeps half the businesses in town afloat. We don’t do anything halfway.”
As soon as we’re out of the truck, River grabs my hand, tugging me toward the main entrance. “Come on! If we time it right, we can hit all the best food stands before the lunch rush.”
I let myself be pulled along, laughing at his enthusiasm. Levi and Atlas follow behind us.
The next few hours pass in a colorful blur. River insists we start with food, leading us on a tour of his favorite stands. We share paper boats of crispy fries topped with melted cheese, corn dogs dipped in honeymustard, and slices of pizza loaded with toppings I can’t even identify.
“You have to try this,” Levi says, holding out a lopsided funnel cake drowning in powdered sugar and strawberry sauce.
I take an obedient bite and nearly moan as the sweet, fried dough melts on my tongue. “Oh my God,” I mumble around the mouthful. “That’s dangerous.”
“The best things usually are,” he says with a wink, using his thumb to wipe away a smudge of powdered sugar from the corner of my mouth. The casual touch sends a spark of electricity through me.
What’s going on with me? I’ve never been this sensitive, this reactive to simple touches.
After food, Atlas leads us to a row of carnival booths.
“Prepare to be amazed,” he tells me, rolling up his sleeves as he approaches the shooting gallery.
I try to focus on his words, but my brain short-circuits the second those sleeves go up. His forearms are all muscle and strength, the kind that makes you feel how capable he is. There’s just something about a man with rolled-up sleeves that is dangerous, casual, and cocky in all the right ways, and apparently, it’s my fatal weakness. I’m gawking. Unashamed. Because honestly? A man with his sleeves rolled is a billion times hotter than one without. Don’t ask me why. It’s primal. It’s powerful. And right now, it’s all I can do not to drool.
“Humble, isn’t he?” Levi murmurs close to my ear,his breath stirring the hair at my temple. I suppress a delicious shiver.
Atlas hands over some tickets and picks up the air rifle, his stance confident and damn, way too sexy. I don’t even try to hide it as my gaze drops to his ass, perfectly hugged by those tight blue jeans. I watch, oddly mesmerized, as he hits target after target, his focus incredible. There’s something undeniably attractive about his concentration.
When he finishes, earning a perfect score, the booth operator grudgingly gestures to a row of oversized stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling.
“Winner gets to pick a prize,” Atlas states, turning to me with a satisfied grin. “Your choice.”
I blink, surprised. “For me?”
“Who else?” he says, as if it’s obvious.
I scan the options, oddly touched by the gesture, and point to a plush wolf with impossibly soft-looking fur. “That one.”
The booth operator hands it down, and Atlas presents it to me with a flourish. “Your wolf, my lady.”
“Thank you,” I say, hugging the silly thing to my chest. It’s been years since anyone won me a carnival prize. The last time was probably with my grandmother when I was thirteen.
