What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7)

by Lexi Buchanan

  Today, Dee is a best-selling, award-winning author of over thirty novels and novellas, including those penned by her alter ego, Morgan Sierra.

  Visit Dee on the web at www.deecarney.com or email dee@deecarney.com. Subscribe to her new release list for announcements of when her next book is available.

  Carnival

  K.B. Nelson

  CARNIVAL

  Copyright © 2014 K.B. Nelson

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover designer: Clarissa Yeo, Yocla Designs, http://yocladesigns.com/

  Editors: Rogena Mitchell-Jones and Carol Davis

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my family and friends, thank you all for your patience and support. You’re all extremely crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. To my editors Rogena and Carol, you are both rockstars and this book wouldn’t have been possible without either of you. To my cover designer, Clarissa Yeo, who is an amazing and patient talent. A huge shoutout to my partner in crime, Sera Bright. You were my biggest support, and at times, my only motivation to press on. You kept me sane on this arduous journey and I’ll be forever thankful.

  “You never know when something is going to happen to change your life. You would expect it to arrive with fanfare, like a wedding or a birth, but instead it comes in the most ordinary of circumstances.”

  —Carole Radziwell, What Remains

  Chapter One

  I’ve got half a mind to set fire to the local news station. Why might I risk spending the rest of my life in prison for arson, you might ask? Because Jimmy Clay is a fucking liar.

  I had stayed inside the past few days and needed to get out of the house. My mother was still reeling from her recent divorce from my father, so I’ve spent the entire summer after graduation by her side, helping her cope. At first, we just stayed at home and drank a lot, which wasn’t too bad, until that one night when I awoke on the couch to her sobbing her eyes out, wondering why all men couldn’t be like Ryan Gosling. I set fire to The Notebook the following night.

  Ohio State University is calling my name, but it’s a calling that’s going to be left unanswered. My mom and dad don’t know that, of course. They still believe they’ll be waving to me as I drive off into the sunset in less than two weeks. Telling them the truth isn’t a conversation I look forward to having.

  The blazing hot sun beats against me like I’ve just walked into a cage match I didn’t sign up for, causing a damp layer of sweat to swell against my hairline. Yesterday was supposed to be the last day of the heat wave from hell. It’s going to be a cool night tonight, the weatherman Jimmy Clay said.

  Believing him was my first mistake. The most important lesson I’ve learned since birth is to never trust the weatherman, especially Meteorologist Jimmy Clay. I would have stayed home if I’d had the foresight to know that Mr. Clay was a lying piece of shit, but alas, my senses aren’t so keen.

  I slam the car door shut and take a longing glance at the county fair in front of me. It’s in full swing but at the same time, running on empty. It seems that the majority of inhabitants in this small town were smart enough to avoid the heat. I take one last glance at my car, a two-year-old Civic that my dad handed me right before he dropped the divorce papers on the kitchen table. Talk about spilled Cheerios.

  It’s about six o’clock as I approach the gates. Most of my friends have already left for college. A few are still packing and the ones who aren’t leaving are probably too drunk to tag along. If someone had told me a year ago I would be attending the county fair alone, I would have told them they were full of shit. Who knew that growing up really would suck.

  I take my place in line, stuck between a rock and an overweight man who hasn’t showered in a week. By the way, the rock is a pair of screaming children. Apparently, for them and their mother, the line isn’t moving fast enough. Poor woman. I could plop my ass down on the cracked asphalt right along with them with no shame. It is nowhere near what any intelligent person would refer to as cool. It’s at least ninety degrees. Toss in the hair-destroying humidity of Ohio and you have a clambake of hillbillies and hicks.

  Forced to remain optimistic, I hand over my nine dollars to the aging man with the tickets. An accomplished businessman, I’m sure. As I stroll past him, I catch him biting into his lip, ogling my ass. He’s a creep, and I instantly regret giving him a playful shake.

  The scent of deep-fried obesity and tilt-a-whirl-induced vomit permeates through the air. I wish I could bottle up the wind and turn it into a perfume for that distant day when I finally leave this town behind. It would be the perfect reminder of home, or I could make a lot of cash on the side selling sniffs of it to people who wouldn’t believe it existed.

  From ahead of me, I hear the midway call my name. We have a special relationship, the midway and I. In the past, it has been abusive. When my ever-growing belly and the buffet of unhealthy food choices began to fight, I was a diplomat in those wars. I’m not sure my stomach ever won a single battle. So this time, I’ve narrowed my food choices down to deep-fried veggies or a blueberry-topped funnel cake. That’s a difficult decision…

  Not.

  I toss my half-eaten funnel cake into the trash as I head toward the ticket booth. That’s right. This bitch is riding solo. Call it juvenile or sad. Call it whatever you want. I love cheap thrills and nothing beats being thrown around in a rusted cage.

  The line for the ticket booth is nonexistent. Probably because it’s hotter than the asshole of Satan. “One ride stamp,” I say to the woman behind the yellow caged booth. She’s missing her two front teeth, and I can’t help but take an extended glance. Their dental insurance must be as nonexistent as their lines.

  “Just one?” she has the nerve to ask me.

  “Just one.” I smile as I place my hand into the lion’s den.

  “We’ve got a solo rider tonight,” says a voice from behind me.

  I pull my newly-stamped hand out from the booth and turn around prepared to attack with a sharp tongue. Instead, I just grin from ear to ear, looking like an idiot I’m sure. He’s gorgeous, like a teenage Brad Pitt—tall, lean and muscular, wearing worn jeans and a white t-shirt that clings to the sweat on his sculpted chest. I stare into his eyes and I’m not going to lie, I can feel the sting of Cupid’s arrow in my ass. Those beautiful blue eyes…

  “…are beautiful,” I slip.

  Awkward.

  He chuckles as he rubs the back of his head, his t-shirt sliding up the bulge of his biceps. “Yeah?”

  “No,” I say. “I mean yeah. I was just daydreaming.”

  Oh, my God, stop it!

  “I’m just going to shut up now,” I continue sheepishly.

  “All right.” He extends his hand. “I’m gonna introduce myself.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who introduced that they were going to introduce themselves before.

  “I’m Blue.”

  “I’m Pink,” I say with a laugh as I reach out to shake his hand.

  “What are the chances?”

  Oh, he’s serious. “I thought you were joking.”

  “Most people do. They’re just a little more tactful about it,” he says with a wink. “So, Pink–”

  “Charlie,” I interrupt him. “It’s actually Charlie.”

  “So we both have boy names.” His turn to joke, I guess.

  I’m not sure why I can’t drag my feet to walk away. My only hypothesis? Those fucking eyes.

  “Who are you here with?”r />
  “I’m actually here alone,” he says, which is exactly what I want to hear. “Want to go for a ride?”

  “Sure. What’s the worst that could happen?” I can’t believe I just said that. Talk about stiff dialogue.

  “Want to start with the tea cups?”

  “I think you should start at the ticket booth.” I point to the stamp on my hand.

  “Oh, I don’t need a stamp. I know everybody here.” He flashes a wide grin. “I’m kind of special.”

  Whatever. If they don’t let him on the ride, I’ll just have to leave his ass behind.

  My new acquaintance and I make our way to the tea cups: a ride that so many times as a child had thrilled me, shook me, and at times, sent me into embarrassing fits of vomiting. I lost my first boyfriend to that damn ride. We were both seven and on the fast track to marriage. It was a love so strong that only regurgitated pizza could break it.

  We take our place in line behind two gossip queens I recognize, but can’t place the names to the faces. They’re sophomores, I know that much, and they have about thirty-six months before they discover they’ll never amount to anything. Harsh, I know, but I’ve been on the long tail of a dream that ends abruptly.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” I ask in a bid to strike up a somewhat intelligent conversation.

  “I’m staying here.”

  “All night?”

  “All week.”

  “You must really love the fair,” I say.

  “Like it’s my job.”

  I can’t help but think that’s some sort of foreshadowing, but I laugh anyway. “Are you a carnie?”

  There’s a short pause before he replies assuredly, “No.”

  The short line begins moving, and we make our way to the entrance, our feet padding along the metal floor. I’ve always been fond of the pink cups, but Blue has another color in mind as he leads me to the blue one. He climbs into the cup as I take a parting glance at the empty pink one behind me. Combustible laughter and excitement from teens and young children fill the air around us. They cackle and cheer. They argue over who’s going to spin the wheel. The gossip queens are too busy grimacing to enjoy the magical ecstasy around them. They’re the perfect reminder to use condoms until you’re thirty.

  Face to face, I sit across from Blue. Those damn oceanic eyes pierce my soul. The slight slant of his jawline cuts off boundaries before they even begin. Razor-edged brown hair hangs just above his eyes.

  He grabs the wheel with rugged hands as the hydraulics pump and swoosh. The metal platform beneath us begins to move at a glacial pace, and I don’t know what I’m more excited about—the ride or him?

  Probably him.

  He has a certain glow, bright enough to take you out of this world.

  Definitely him.

  His hands handle the wheel with force as he stretches his arm across it, spinning it to the right then repeating. His forearms tighten with every movement. He lets out the cutest little grunt as he meets resistance, but at least we’re beginning to spin.

  “Need some help there?” I question with a curious smile.

  “It’s tight,” he says with his eyes focused intently on the wheel.

  “Should have picked the pink one,” I mumble under my breath.

  We begin to spin faster and the world around us begins to blur. The force of the wheel is no match for his strength, after all. Everything escapes focus, except him. Both of us move at the same speed in the same direction. It’s as if we’re the only two people in the world. I want to say something, but I’m afraid how distorted my mouth will look against the wind. I’ll just wait.

  Blue lets go of the wheel and gravity pushes him firm against his seat. He stretches his arms out over the tip of the cup and relaxes. His shirt wrinkles in the wind—the hem rising over his bare stomach revealing a has-to-be-airbrushed set of abs.

  I catch him staring at me. “You just gonna sit there and let us slow down?” he asks.

  Challenge accepted.

  Gravity fights me as I hunch forward and I reach my arm around the wheel, grabbing it with my sweaty palms. I pull as hard as I can, but can barely turn it. Blue bites into his lip, amused, before reaching forward and grabbing the wheel again.

  “I told you it was tight,” he says, his beautiful but slightly uneven teeth beaming through a grin.

  Our arms cross and brush against each other. It’s sensationally soft, even as we’re both pulled tight fighting against the wheel. The pumping hydraulics scream as we spin in increasingly rapid circles. I thought I was the queen of the cups, but I’ve never gone in circles so fast.

  The random people on the ground and in neighboring cups are nothing but flashes of blurred colors, all bleeding into each other. Even Blue begins to fade away until the ride comes to an abrupt end. The wheel locks up and the cup jerks. Both our arms are gripped to the top of our seats as we slow down and come back to reality. In the distance, everything becomes clear again—people, rides, and wide-striped circus tents.

  Blue stands up and steps out of the cup. He’s light on his feet and almost trips on the platform. Still dizzy myself, I need a second to recover. The last thing I want to do is attempt to walk in a straight line and trip. I don’t need another relationship cut short at the hands of a carnival ride.

  “Need a hand?” He extends his hand to assist me.

  At this point, I could probably manage to walk on my own, but I’m not about to turn down an opportunity to brush my skin against his. Also, chivalry’s not dead, but it’s rare. I grab his hand and notice the roughness of his fingers. They’ve definitely been worked. He pulls me up onto the platform with one hand. The other steadies me at the waist.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah. Kinda hungry, though.”

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  His lips are pursed. “I know where we can get some free grub.”

  My hand pats against my chest. “You’re stealing my heart,” I say with a smile, and I’m only half joking. My heart rate is well above a physically fit, eighteen-year-old girl’s normal rate. I could blame Blue, but a doctor would probably blame the thrill ride we’ve just exited.

  We sit on a spoiled park bench. Half of it is covered in half-eaten fries and spilled ketchup. Screams echo behind us as red cages tumble against the setting sky. The entire scene isn’t as chaotic as you’d expect for a small-town carnival. I suspect that once the sun disappears to harass another continent, it’ll be a different story.

  “Where are you from?” I ask Blue.

  “I’ve been a lot of places but never really been from anywhere, you know?” He wipes fry grease off his hands with a napkin.

  “So you’re a gypsy?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What brings you to Lakeview?”

  “I like to travel. It’s a necessity of the job.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

  “Never been anywhere else.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I say and ball up a napkin, tossing it into the trashcan that sits beside the table.

  “That’s because you’ve never been anywhere else.” His eyebrow arches.

  He’s right. I’d love to leave this town to find something new. I’ve spent the past eighteen years in this place, and every time I think about leaving, I’m reminded by the reality that I’ve already given up my first chance to leave it all behind.

  “Someday,” I say without conviction.

  “Someday what?”

  I look straight into his eyes. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

  “The first step is to want something and the second is to act on it. Where you wanna go?”

  An actual conversation with a handsome stranger? The kind where they ask questions and actually want answers? That shit just doesn’t happen anymore. Well, it does, but the question is usually phrased as such ‘my parents are out of town. Want to fuck?

  “Got a map?”

  �
�Just a second.” He slides his finger against the screen of his phone. “Right here.” He pushes his phone over to me. There’s a world map on the screen. “Close your eyes and point to a random place.”

  I close my eyes as told. A light laugh escapes my throat because I know this whole thing’s kind of silly. My finger circles above the phone before pressing against the screen. I can hear his jeans brush against the bench seat as he stands up. He circles around to stand behind me and leers over my shoulder. My eyes open and he gets closer. His arm comes around me, brushing against my arm as he pinches and zooms in on the screen.

  “Las Vegas,” he says. “Never been there myself.”

  His breath smells like fair food, which is a mouth-watering scent, but it’s the last thing you want to smell coming from the mouth of a gorgeous man. However, the way his breath catches my neck ignites me. The heat so close to turning into passion, I want to reach around his neck and pull him close to me. Pull him in to kiss me. Now, I don’t tend to kiss strangers, but damn if I’m not about to make an exception.

  “That’s a long way from home,” I say, resisting the urge to pull him to my mouth.

  “Well, let’s go there. You and me.” His warm breath continues to taunt me. “Someday.”

  The way that word rolls off his tongue excites me. It almost sounds like a promise.

  “Let’s just go now,” I say, fully ready to run. You can’t live in the moment much more than that.

  “Right now?”

  “Right now. I’ve got a few bags packed for college, and I’m not in the mood to unpack. I can pick them up on the way out of town.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than to jump in a car with you, a perfect stranger, and follow the sun until it sets, but I can’t right now.” He stands back. “Sometime soon, though.”

  I swing my feet out from under the bench and stand up in front of him. “Feels like eternity.”

  We talk as if what we say is the truth, as if we’re not aware that we’ve got a few good hours together and that’s it. Still, playing make-believe isn’t the worst thing I could be doing on this miserable Saturday afternoon—I could be working in a fried veggies concession stand like that poor Romanian behind me.