“Of course.” I don’t give her any time to think about it. I pop over to the ride counter, buy our tickets, and then lead her toward the giant bucket of rust. The things I do for this girl.
“Know why I love the Ferris wheel?” she asks as she steps into the shaky metal basket and takes a seat.
“Because you have a death wish?” I climb in after her and wait for the safety bar to lower.
“Because you can see the whole world from the top.”
“You should try flying,” I suggest. “It’s a thousand times better—and safer—than this.”
The tin can starts to sway. A bead of sweat breaks across my forehead and my stomach turns over. I lean my head against the thin metal post and start counting backward from a thousand. Maybe this is a mistake. I should get off. I push at the bar, but it doesn’t move.
“You okay?” I hear Hartley say. Her hand touches the back of mine.
Okay. Mind changed. I can handle this. “Yup.”
“You’re sweating.”
“It’s hot out.”
“It’s sub sixty and you have a T-shirt on.”
“Anything above freezing is hot for me.”
“You have goose bumps.”
The basket sways and the creak of metal against metal makes my heart pound.
“Because I’m sitting next to you,” I push out through gritted teeth.
A soft body presses against mine. “I think I stepped in a pile of poop in the funhouse the last time we were here.”
“That place needs to be condemned. Val got someone’s chewing tobacco stuck on the bottom of her shoe.”
Ugh. And if they can’t maintain the funhouse, then what about this piece of terror? I start timing my breaths with my counting.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Hartley’s voice is gentle. So is her hand as she lightly strokes my knuckles. “I thought you loved flying.”
“I do love flying. I hate incompetence. In the air, I’m in control. I know who built the plane. I know the instruments. I control it. This thing could be held together with wire and gum.” The basket rocks again. “And that’s probably giving them too much credit.”
“Why’d you come on this thing with me, then?”
“Because you wanted to.”
She’s silent for what seems like an endless moment. I close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see anything, I’ll stop picturing this rickety car plummeting from the sky.
“Are we at the top yet?” I ask.
“Almost.”
“I’m not kissing you at the top,” I tell her. “Even though it’s probably expected, I’m not easy like that.”
She snickers. “I never thought you were easy.”
“That’s a lie. You think I’m a slut.”
Her body shakes as she laughs again. “I think the term is partner-inclusive.”
And that makes me laugh. “Okay. I take it back. I am kissing you at the top.”
“Uh-uh. Best friends don’t kiss.”
“Since when?” I counter. “You’re only supposed to kiss your best friends. It’s one of the best-friend privileges.”
“So you’ve kissed all your best friends?”
The car jerks to a stop. “No. I think you’re my only best friend.”
Maybe even the only real friend I’ve had outside my family. I don’t say that to her, though. I already feel way too pathetic.
There’s a featherlight touch against the side of my cheek. I hold my breath. The touch becomes firmer. It moves from the side of my cheek to my lips.
I turn to face her. Her eyes are open and she smiles. I can feel the curve of her lips against mine.
“Don’t worry. You’re not kissing me,” she whispers. “I’m kissing you.”
My mouth parts. Her tongue slips in. Up here, time stops. It’s a freeze frame. Me, her, the endless sky.
In the vast void, her kiss tells me I’m not alone. She touches her tongue to mine, and a groan slips out. I think it comes from me. I’m dizzy and breathless and full of strange emotions that I can’t make sense of and don’t want to. I know the gist. I’m happy. This is a high I’ve never been able to achieve through pills or booze or other people.
Hartley makes a soft, breathy noise that drives me crazy. My fingers curl around her hip, pulling her closer. Our tongues meet again and I swear my heart nearly explodes from my ribcage, it’s pounding so hard.
This kiss is goddamn amazing. I want to grab on to her, hold her close and keep this moment going endlessly.
But then the gears of the spinning wheel of death start again and the bucket begins its downward rotation.
Hartley releases me and slides away. Not far, but enough to let me know that the barrier she likes to place between us is back in place.
“Thanks for distracting me up there,” I blurt out before she can get out anything cutting.
“Of course,” she replies, but the sound is flat. Did I piss her off?
When the ride comes to a halt and the safety belt lifts, Hartley hops off. I take my time. Hell, I kind of want to buy the entire ride and take it home so I can have the car bronzed. It was that kind of moment. The kind you want to etch in permanent ink so you can relive it again and again.
I join her on the ground. “Hartley,” I start.
“Yes?”
A light breeze blows and ruffles her dark hair. I press it down, shaping her scalp against my hand. She reaches up and grabs my wrist right above the leather band, not to draw me away, though. To hold me in place. Or to pull me closer.
I swallow hard. “I want—”
“You two look so sweet together! Smile!”
Hartley and I both look up in surprise. A flash blinds me, and by the time the white dots in my vision clear up, the culprit is hurrying away. Two of them, actually. They’ve got blonde hair and high-pitched squeals and they’re not even trying to lower their voices as they dash off.
“Felicity is gonna freak when she sees this!”
“Post it on Instagram, and then do a Snap story!”
Shit.
I scowl at their retreating backs. Figures that the one time Hartley lowers her guard around me, a bunch of Astor Park gossips capture the moment.
“Should I be worried?” Her dry voice jerks me from my thoughts.
I glance over and manage a careless smile. “Nah. I doubt it.”
Her eyes tell me she isn’t convinced of that.
Neither am I.
Chapter 25
“Here are your notes,” Hartley says when I approach her desk the next afternoon. “I forgot I had them.”
“I didn’t need them back.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You probably have the textbook memorized. Your whole ‘I’m a bad boy who hates school’ act is easy to see through.” She swivels to face the front, but not before I see a hint of a blush on her cheeks.
Is she thinking about how she kissed me last night? I am. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I opened my eyes this morning. And all I thought about when I got home from the pier yesterday. It’s really hard to sleep with a hard-on that won’t go away, so once again I had a crappy night and once again I was a zombie at practice.
I tuck the pages away in my notebook. “It’s not an act. I don’t test well.”
“Or you have a hard time focusing,” she guesses.