“All day?” she asks.
“Yeah, you can’t ride just once, and standing in line each time for a ticket just wastes time.”
“What if we only ride twice?”
I give her the “you know better than that” look.
She grins.
“Now, which ones do you want to ride first?”
“The fastest.”
Her answer surprises me. “Really?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m about to kick your ass, Hampton.”
This girl.
“You think so?” I try to hide my grin, I really do, but it’s impossible when I see hers shining back at me.
“Oh, yeah, I got this.” She hip-checks me and takes off toward the line.
I stand frozen for a few minutes, just watching her. I can’t ever remember having a better time with a woman. I would rather have lunch with her and that smile than sex with a random any day.
WHOA! What the fuck am I thinking? I shake off the thought and search for her in the crowd. I spot her standing at the gate, underneath a sign claiming that particular track is the fastest in the complex. Her hands are on her hips and she’s tapping her foot, watching me.
Waiting for me.
There is something, a feeling deep in the pit of my gut that I’ve never felt before. My feet move toward her; suddenly, nothing matters but being next to her. When I reach her, I snake an arm around her waist and pull her in to my chest, kissing the top of her head. She hesitates for a few seconds before sliding her arms around my waist.
She let’s me hold her.
Something I’ve never wanted to do.
Unexpectedly, it’s all I want to do.
With her.
Only her.
She pulls away and I fight the urge to groan in protest. Looking up at me with those big green eyes, I don’t know if she’s about to ask questions, or if she’s just trying to figure out what the hell is happening, but I don’t give her time to do either. Instead, I lean down and place a soft, tender kiss on her lips.
That’s another first for me. There was never a reason to show tenderness or emotion. Hell, with half the women I’ve been with, my lips didn’t get close to them.
I slide my fingers between hers and lead us to the line. Taking our places, I lean against the fence and pull her back into my arms. This time, it has nothing to do with convincing her to spend the night in my bed and everything to do with her.
Just her.
Another shift. Not sure what it is, but everything is once again . . . different. He’s holding me in his arms like I’m his. I know I should protest, pull away, but the feeling is like none other, so I’m going to roll with it. Give myself today to bask in the illusion that this is real. That he doesn’t want anyone but me.
It’s wrong on so many levels. I’ve never been one who can detach my feelings, but I will deal with the consequences. In this moment, I feel . . . cherished.
As we move up in the line, his hands never leave me. He’s either holding my hand, my hips, or his arm is slung over my shoulder.
And the kisses . . . he’s taking sweet Cole to a whole new level with the attention he’s raining down on me today.
A girl could get used to this.
“You ready, sweets?” he asks, lips next to my ear.
Peering up at him, he’s wearing a smile that seems to light up his face more often than not these past few weeks. “The question is, are you ready to get beat by a girl?” I fire back.
He throws his head back and laughs before releasing his hold on me to pull a hair tie from his wrist. I watch as he gathers his long locks and wraps it all up in a messy bun. Let me be clear, Cole Hampton can rock a man-bun. It’s not really been my thing up to this point. I’ve seen pictures all over my social media, and there are very few who capture my attention. Cole, though, he’s got it. He rocks it, and I can guarantee there are panties dropping everywhere when he does.
Hair contained, his hands rest on my hips as he pulls me in to him. Leaning down, he replies, “Bring it, baby.” His brown eyes are sparkling.
Lethal.
He turns me in his arms so I’m facing the track, and I see that it’s finally our turn to race. I sprint toward the front cart, knowing I’ll need every advantage I can get. It’s been years since I’ve been on one of these things. I don’t know where Cole is; I’m too focused on strapping myself in and getting comfortable in my seat. After the attendant checks my seat belt, I place my hands on the steering wheel, excitement coursing through me. I feel like a kid again.
Wheel gripped tight, my eyes stay glued to the light, one foot on the brake, the other poised over the throttle. I’m a woman on a mission.