Page 222 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Remember that fucking feather Bronx had?”
“The feather tickler?” Did I squeal a little bit?
“Alright. Settle down. It ain’t great.”
“I don’t think you were using it right.”
His eyebrows arch. “I wasn’t fucking using it at all.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. The horror on his face is priceless.
“I’ve been ball beaten, covered in gravy, tied to more bed posts than I ever want to think about.”
All the rumors I made about him, I’d wanted to experiment myself, but I never felt comfortable enough to talk about them to another person, let alone engage in them. Not the way I did with him.
“Are you grateful?” I tilt my head. “I can’t tell. Secretly grateful? Should I say you’re welcome?”
“No, because they weren’t with you.”
My breath swooshes out of my chest.
His hand reaches up and touches the side of my face. Ever so lightly.
“I only ever wantedyouto tie me to a bedpost.”
I don’t even know what to say.
“But I guess we should start with baby steps. I’m thinking ring toss. Then the funhouse.”
“I like the funhouse.”
“Good.” His thumb drags over my lower lip. “Now turn the fuck around. You’re making me nervous as hell.”
I don’t know how we spend the entire day at the fair, but we do. We play each game twice and ride all the rides that aren’t high. It’s limiting, and this big, bulky cowboy on small rides is quite a sight, but I’m okay with it.
We eat food and dessert, then more dessert.
When the sky shifts from orange to a deep bluish gray, the lights begin to flicker on. One by one, neon signs buzz to life and the glow pulses, alive with lights, music, and magic.
Long after the Ferris wheel, I forget all the extras on our bucket list. We didn’t heavily pet each other on the Ferris wheel or touch each other while watching in the distorted funhouse mirrors. The losers of the games didn’t remove articles of clothing. I didn’t sit on his lap and ride his erection on a concealed ride. And we didn’t hide in the haystacks and make out with the fair around us.
Am I disappointed? A little.
Would I have made out with him in a haystack? To be decided.
Did I lose all inhibition with him backstage at the male dancer show? Certainly.
Does he bring out an exhibitionist streak in me? Most decidedly.
Am I excited about that knowledge about myself? Whole-heartedly.
I giggle silently and grin.
I wonder if that’s enough to cross it off the list?
“I had fun today.” Hart twirls a piece of cotton candy between his fingers before letting it melt on his tongue.
He moans as the taste rides through him, making me regret not getting a bag.
