Chapter 43

43

A s much as I adore driving my car, there's something to be said about being a passenger princess for a day. Dylan surprises me by stopping at the café to pick up coffee for the drive–his hot, mine iced. He knows me well. I sneak glances over at him as he pulls back onto the main road, my gaze drawn to how the sunlight gilds the golden hairs on his arms. The way his hand grips the top of the steering wheel, veins riding over the back and up his forearm. And especially the way his hand makes its way to my thigh every time there's a straightaway. I bask in the glow of his love, feeling myself shed layers of my prickly exterior and sinking into the softness of being a well-loved woman. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips as I trace his hand, unable to stand the thought of not touching him. The Isla from a couple of months ago wouldn't recognize this gentle, soft woman content to ride in the passenger seat.

"What are you smiling about?" Dylan asks, noticing the grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

"Myself," I admit, shaking my head. "I'm not sure I recognize who I'm becoming with the three of you."

"How so? "

"I'm losing my edge."

"And that's a bad thing?" he asks, glancing at me.

"I don't know," I tell him honestly.

"Would you like to know what I see?"

I nod. "I'd like that."

"When we met you, you were like a tightly furled rosebud. Ninety percent thorns. Focused on keeping the intimate parts of yourself hidden from the world. Now, you've blossomed into the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on."

I bring his hand up to my face, pressing my lips to his palm and turning my cheek to rest there for a second, basking in his warmth. God, I don't remember ever feeling like this before. It's thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

The first thing we do after parking the car is neck like a couple of teenagers. He hooks his fingers around the back of my neck, pulling me closer as he leans to meet me halfway, our lips crashing together like we're starved for each other's touch. His thumb caresses my cheek, and memories from last night come rushing back, blood roaring through my veins, heat pooling between my legs. I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, sucking on my lower lip, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

"Maybe this was a horrible idea," he says, pulling back and pressing his forehead to mine. "We should have stayed home. Made love until we fell asleep in a sweaty, sticky mess."

"We can still do that after the carnival," I remind him, chuckling. I unbuckle, and he springs into action, jumping from the car and racing around to open my door before I can do it myself. I take his hand, allowing him to help me out. He closes the door, and pushes me back against it, his body pressed to mine, his cock hard against my stomach.

"You're right," I pant, running my tongue along the seam of his lips. "We should've stayed home."

A car door slams, and we jerk apart like we've been caught .

"Come on, Freckles, let's go have some fun." His hand dwarfs mine as he pulls me away from the car and toward the entrance. The sounds and lights of the carnival remind me of when I was young and would come with Jack and his school friends. There's nostalgia in every scream of excitement, every whistle, every flashing light. The weight of the world slips off my shoulders as we step foot inside the gates, and I'm back to my younger self with no responsibilities and the rest of my life ahead of me.

"Did you go to carnivals when you were younger?" I ask Dylan as we make a beeline for the cotton candy stand.

"We went to the state fair every year. It was a lot like this. I made a lot of my favorite memories with my parents there."

We trade stories as he feeds me bites of cotton candy, reminiscing about our days of sticky fingers and childhood crushes. I used to think I would give almost anything to be able to go back in time to the days my family was whole, my parents alive. To the days I didn't know the heartache that never quite seems to go away. But as we walk hand in hand, I realize I've grown out of that way of thinking. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, the guys have given me a new appreciation for life. A new purpose.

"Pick out the stuffed animal you want," Dylan says, pulling me out of my thoughts. We're at the beginning of a long thoroughfare lined with booths, all of the workers shouting for people to come to play their games for a chance to win. The second I spot the giant shaggy highland cow, I know I have to have it.

"That one," I say, pointing to it, unable to keep the giant grin off my face.

"You got it." He squeezes my hand before letting go to approach the counter. That's when I realize which booth we're at. It's one of those with the ladder strung up diagonally. To win, you only have to make it to the top. Except I've played this game every year of my childhood, positive I could make it. I never did.

"This is one of those trick ones," I whisper, tugging on Dylan's shirt to get his attention.

"I can do it," he assures me, pressing his lips to my temple .

"I've never seen anybody win, Dylan. It's a waste of money."

"Winning you that cow is not a waste of money." He winks at me before turning back to the attendant, handing him several bills. The attendant gives his spiel and then Dylan is toeing off his shoes and stuffing his socks inside them, approaching the ladder barefoot. He makes it three-quarters of the way up on his first try before falling to the mat, then scrambles back to the start, determined to win. I start chanting his name, and people gather around to watch, joining in. I practically radiate pride as we cheer for him, and just like that, he's at the top, pumping a fist in victory before dropping easily to the ground. When the attendant hands him the oversized stuffed animal, he raises it into the air in celebration, dropping to one knee to present it to me.

"Your cow, milady." His eyes are sparkling, freckles popping in the neon lights, and I'm hit with a blast of love so strong that I don't even take the cow from him before wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

"You made that look easy," I whisper against his lips. He smiles, his mouth curving against mine, but he doesn't release me until I break away to breathe, my cheeks flushed. We barely break eye contact as he pulls back on his socks and ties his shoes, the tension between us thick and heavy.

Dylan carries the cow under one arm, his other wrapped around my waist as we stroll down around the grounds, streaks of pink and orange decorating the sky above us. The Ferris wheel draws us like a magnet, promising relative privacy high above the world. With the cow safely nestled on one side of the car, Dylan and I sit on the other, our sides pressed together, his fingers massaging my thigh as we lift into the air. The moment we're above eye level, Dylan grabs the leg farthest from him and pulls it around his hips so I'm straddling his waist, his lips fitting to mine in a way that tells me that this is all he's been thinking about. He splays his hands over my ass, pulling me closer until the hardness of his cock is nestled in the warmth between my legs. Then he wraps his arms around me, deepening the kiss, groaning into my mouth as I rock my hips against him. We barely notice as the Ferris wheel starts and stops, the outside world disappearing as we hang fifty feet up in the air, lost in each other's arms.