Page 66 of Gym Bros
“Why?”
“Because I want to. Because it’s been awhile. Because it’s fun.”
I look at the rotating carousel—the fake horses moving up and down. The obnoxious music blaring from it and the kids’ screams. “Is it, though?”
“First time?” he asks.
“How’d you ever guess?” I say drily.
“Context clues.”
I snort.
“Let’s make a deal for today,” he says. “If you like something, you have to admit it.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“I’ll even accept— ‘I didn’t hate it.’”
“Oh, will you?”
“Yes. But only because I have a feeling you’re determined not to enjoy this.”
“Did you get that from context clues, too?”
“Wild guess,” he says.
I look up at him. “Is having fun the goal for the day?”
He nods but still looks super serious.
“Why?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Goat yoga was a good time. You were nice to me for a lot of hours in a row. I had fun. It put me in a good mood. Figured this might work, too.”
“Are you one of those people who likes everything?”
“No,” he says.
“What are some things you don’t like?” I ask.
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Spicy food, basketball, airports, people who don’t fight fair, science fiction movies, yarn?—”
I’m laughing. “Okay, okay. Yarn?”
“Hate it,” he says.
“I’ve got bad news for you about this sweater,” I say.
He cracks a grin. “I have ways of dealing with sweaters.”
Should that turn me on? Do I need to remind my dick that nothing about this man should appeal to me at all? It’s actually more my mouth that’s the problem. It keeps wanting to see if last night was a drunken fluke. Like he can’t possibly be the world’s best kisser, right?
I turn my face to the wind to get a cold blast in my face. That helps.
The line moves quickly as the carousel unloads and the next group is allowed on. Turns out, we’re in it because the damn thing is huge. I’m eyeing the benches toward the inside of the ride, but Samuel grabs me by the waist and turns me toward a purple horse. He climbs onto the black steed beside it, on the edge of the carousel, and I decide not to protest and go with it. Perched on the lavender pony, I turn to him. “How do I look?”
“Hot,” he says.
