“Yeah,” she breathes next to me. I glance over; she’s looking out the window and has her elbow up on the ledge. Her fingers dance along the top of the half-open window, and her hair is being swept up in the warm wind. “Lots of hours. It’s rewarding, but sometimes it’s a bit much.”
“I hear that,” I say, “I definitely know how that is.”
“What you’ve built with the shop is definitely very impressive,” she says to me. I can feel her smiling. She lights up my whole damn truck with her smile.
But there’s something I need to talk to her about. That fucking text. The text I was never supposed to see.
I’m fucking tormented over it. I’ve thought about her every single day since we said goodbye, but it hasn’t been the kind of wistful, bittersweet nostalgia that burns from the inside in a good way. It’s been heavy and painful to think I was second place. And even worse, I just can’t believe she would have done what she did if she’d had a man back home.
But my disbelief doesn’t comport with the reality of what I saw.
“Amanda, can I ask you something?” I ask, turning the radio dial down a little. There’s a sudden shift, an uneasiness between us in the car the moment I ask my question. I can feel anxiety rolling off her and infecting the air between us, or maybe that’s just my own guts churning inside my belly.
“Of course,” she says sweetly, her small voice reassuring me. Her hand comes down on mine on the console between us and I glance over at her. Her brow is furrowed into a look of concern, and I feel my fist clench under her soft touch. “What is it, Dylan?”
I swallow thickly and I realize that I might be making a mistake. I realize I might be about to make myself look like a damn fool. But I can’t allow this to continue between us. Not like this. Not with this question polluting my soul.
“Amanda, did you have a man when we were together?”
My words are steady and rehearsed. I’ve mulled this question over in my damn mind so many times. So many. And even though I didn’t think she could do that - my sweet girl, my perfection wrapped up in that lingerie just for me, the curves that rose and fell beneath my hands - I couldn’t deny what I had seen.
Those fucking words. They seem so simple, so innocuous. Come home. And they’ve been my fucking curse this whole time.
“No,” she spits out, shaking her head, “I...I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to a guy I was with, and I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I have to believe her. I have no fucking choice but to believe her - because the other option would be pushing her away yet again, and I just can’t fucking do that.
Trust is a funny thing. It’s something you have to give on faith, on the person’s word, on the belief that the person you’re putting your trust in will do right by you no matter what. I know she can trust me, because I know myself. And I think I know her too, which makes me all the more confused.
But I trust her.
Because I can’t help what I feel in this moment.
“Okay,” I reply, “and I’m sorry for asking.”
“Where the hell is this coming from?” she asks, pulling her hand away from mine. “To be honest, it’s a little insulting.”
I swallow thickly, watching the road in front of me, putting my right hand on the steering wheel. I want to be perfect for her, even though I know it’s not possible. I can try, though. I can try to get there.
“I don’t know,” I say, “it was just a feeling.”
I hear her sigh, but I keep watching the road ahead of me. I keep focusing on the road so I can stop myself from going crazy.
To think that I hurt her over my own fucking stupid assumption.
“I have to tell you something,” she finally says, making my damn heart clench inside my chest.
“What is it?” I ask, a dark edge slicing against my words.
“I can’t be mad at you. I was with someone. But it ended before I met you. It was messy and stupid and I should have told you about it, but it didn’t matter because you were the only thing that mattered, Dylan. But if you sensed that I was acting weird, it’s because I was acting weird. Definitely, one hundred and ten percent. I wasn’t in my right mind that night. And I’m glad I wasn’t, because if I had been acting like myself, I would have never met you.”
I feel a lightness permeating my heart. A fucking giddiness.
She was mine that night. All mine.
It’s like the boulder I’ve been carrying around with me on my back has crumbled to the ground around me in just one moment.
“Maybe that was the real you, Mandy,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling it to my lips. She giggles and sighs when I press my lips to her knuckles and kiss her.
“I don’t know,” she replies, “maybe it was.”
But I know nothing can last forever, even if I get another chance with her. I’ve learned that the hard way.
Now, though?
I’m not letting her slip away again. Not without a fight. And now, we’ve got the clean slate I’ve wanted - no, the clean slate I’ve needed - this whole fucking time.
12
Dylan
I cut the engine after we roll into my regular parking spot behind the shop, the gravel crushing beneath the tires.
“You ready?” I throw over to her.
She’s even more beautiful than I ever remembered, if that’s possible. She looks like she has grown up some, and I can still taste her lips on mine and feel her body in my hands.
“I’m ready,” she says, glancing over at me. It feels more meaningful than just an affirmation that she’s ready for our date.
“Good. Me too,” I say as we get out of the car. She comes around to the driver’s side, all confident steps and swinging hips like something out of my dreams as I continue, “now, I know I told you I would take you on the roller coaster, but do you want to eat first?”
“Oh,” she says, scratching her nearly-bare shoulder, covered with only the thin black strap of her dress, “are you supposed to eat before going on a roller coaster?”
“Good point,” I reply, “let’s ride first, then we can grab a bite.”
We walk across the the boardwalk toward the small amusement park, lit up against night falling across the sky. The centerpiece is the big, old wooden coaster situated at the end of the pier, overlooking the rolling ocean.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” Mandy says.
I look down at her and her eyes glide from the rollercoaster in the distance up to my eyes. A smile plays across her lips.
“I’m not gonna ask if you mean something else by that,” I say, throwing my arm around her shoulder.
“I swear I didn’t,” she says, “I meant that in the most literal, serious way possible. It’s bigger than I thought, and it’s more...twisty.”
“Okay, now I know you’re either messing with me, or you’re totally serious. Either way, you’re pretty damn cute.”
She warms against me as she leans slightly into my chest, my arm still draped easily over her shoulder, my other hand shoved into my pocket. It’s a nervous tick I have, the way I put my hands in my pockets when I’m nervous. It seems ironic and my dad and uncle used to always give me shit for it. They said as an apprentice at the shop, I should be proud of my hands, keep them in view, and not hide them away.
I think the real nervous tick is the way I ball them up, not the way I hide them. Hiding them, I think, is just a side-effect of the actual thing I do when I’m nervous.
I keep my other hand draped over Mandy’s shoulder, though, cupping it gently. Her skin feels like pure silk beneath my fingers, and I want to slip my finger under that fucking black strap and watch as it falls down her arm, taking the whole damn dress with it.
“You think I’m cute?” she coos up at me, her sparkling eyes flashing.
“Pretty cute,” I tease, “but since you apparently have a bad memory when it comes to amusement park rides, let’s grab our tickets so I can show you how fun this is.”
/> We make our way over to the ticket stand and I purchase the required number of tickets for each of us to ride once; I’ve been here enough times to have memorized the number of tickets needed to go on each of the rides.
“So what the hell made you decide to come here?” I ask, “you have to admit it’s a little bit random, no? I mean, I know people move out here after they settle down, get married and have kids.”
“Well,” she says, “I guess I was just in need of a change. Plus, it’s not like everyone who moves here is doing it because it’s a better place to raise a family. I was raised in the city, and I came out just fine, didn’t I?”
“Oh man,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair, “I was going to ask you if you’d be available to do some security for my shop on the weekends. Hired muscle. I thought you could bring your own switchblade.”
“Now who’s messing with who?” she laughs, putting her hand on my stomach as I swing my arm around her shoulder again.
“Yeah, you’re right. I know the real reason you’re here is because you couldn’t stop thinking of me. And that little commercial you recorded, that was for me.”
“I swear it wasn’t, but I have to say I was kind of happy you saw it.”
“Keep telling yourself that, princess,” I say, bringing my hand to her neck and sweep my thumb against her chin. “You ready to ride?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking up at me, her eyes awash with want, “show me what I’ve been missing.”
13
Amanda
What the hell am I getting myself into?
His touch is even better than I remembered. I mean, I thought about it enough. His scent, his eyes, the way his teeth nipped my bottom lip. I remember all of it. It all comes rushing back to me over and over, every moment that we’re together reminding me of another touch, another sensation, another kiss.
“My uncle took me on this roller coaster my very first time,” he says, putting his hands on my hips from behind me. We’re standing on line for the ride, the rickety cars rushing along the metal tracks, the wooden supports and beams vibrating above us with the motion of the cars.
“You were close to your uncle?” I ask, putting my hands on his tentatively. “I remember you mentioning him...you know, the last time I saw you.”
I turn my head and peek up at him. His eyes are mysterious and a little smile plays on his lips.
“The last time you saw me?” he repeats my words with a little edge to them. I know that right now he isn’t thinking about the conversation we had after we’d done the deed. I know he isn’t thinking about the fact that we stayed up all night talking about this and that and everything and nothing. Our favorite books, our favorite subjects in high school, our first kisses, our families. Those things came so easily, and he followed up on each of them in the car on the way to our date this evening.
But when I hear that edge in his voice, I know he isn’t thinking about the hours we’d spent talking that night. He’s thinking about how our bodies collided. Fingers. Lips. Other things.
I swallow thickly, my heart thrumming deep inside my chest. I can feel my pulse going lower as he pushes his hands down slightly, bringing my hands with his lower on my hips.
“It’s almost our turn, princess,” he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Tell me what to expect,” I say, turning slightly to glance up at him. “Is it scary?”
“That depends on you,” he replies, putting his lips close to my ear. I feel heat uncurl inside my belly, a heaviness growing between my legs. “You aren’t scared, are you?”
I don’t know what to say. I am scared, but I’m not at the same time, and it doesn’t make sense to me. And I know he isn’t talking about the ride. He’s talking about us. He’s all clever words and double entendres, and the hard ink on his forearms flexes under my fingertips as my eyes trail down from his lips to his chest and then lower. I’m afraid of being with him, but I’m afraid of what it would mean to not try this with him. I’m afraid of what it would mean to get to know him, but I’m also afraid of what it would mean not to.
But I still need answers from him.
“Scared?” I repeat his word to him, “scared of what exactly?”
“I think you know what,” he whispers. My eyelids flutter closed, and the insides of my eyes are awash in the shadows of bright colors.
“No,” I say. It’s a lie and it’s the truth at the same time, “I’m not scared.”
“Good,” he says, “because it’s almost our turn.”
I open my eyes and his hands graze up my arms to my shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I take a few steps forward with him.
“I should tell you, and this is kind of funny, the reason I told you I don’t remember whether I’ve ever been on a roller coaster,” I say, “is because I know I’ve had the opportunity, but I don’t know if I’ve ever gone through with it. My parents took me to Coney Island once when I was a kid, and my dad likes to tell people that my mom didn’t want me to go on the ride because she thought it was unsafe, but then apparently I begged my dad to take me and he did.”
“So you were very persuasive as a kid,” Dylan says.
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t know what’s true. If you ask my mom, she will swear this whole thing never happened.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, “that’s the thing. It’s definitely possible my dad would make that up. He always like to play around like that. And it’s just the thing he’d do to make my mom crazy. Not in a bad way. She’s just always been very overprotective, and she would never want to believe my dad would go around her and do something with me that she’d deemed dangerous, even if it was just her being paranoid.”
“What’s your gut say?” Dylan asks, cocking his chin toward the ride as we prepare to load ourselves in. We’re the first people in line for the new train, and I hesitate as we give our tickets to the teenaged boy manning the ride. “You want the first car or the last?”
“What’s better?” I ask.
“I like the last one. It makes for a more intense ride. You feel the force of the entire train. The first car is good too, because you get to see the track in front of you which is pretty cool, but you don’t feel it as much.”
“Last car it is,” I say.
“Oh, you like a rough ride, baby?” he throws at me with a smirk and a wink.
I roll my eyes and shake my head at the cheesiness of what he’s said. I was never a girl who wanted the cheesy one-liners or the little winks, but I never thought I’d be a girl who wanted to be called princess and have her hair, pulled either.
I’ve always been prim and proper and off-limits to an undeniably sexy man like Dylan. I never thought I’d be a single mom, though, either, and yet here I am, hiding this fact from Dylan.
My heart beats fast as we make our way to the last car of the ride, but my mind feels strangely calm. My heart is a tangle of emotions and conflict, but my head feels clear.
“Let’s see how the ride goes before I decide on whether I like it rough or not,” I reply cheekily.
“Mmh,” he chuckles with a wag of his eyebrow.
He guides me into the last car by the hips, and I feel my stomach flip when his fingers dig into me. I want to get to know him better, and I want to see if we could actually be a couple after all this time, but part of me also wants to jump right into bed with him.
And of course, part of me still wants to close myself off and is still utterly dumbfounded by how we left things.
One by one, pairs of people who were behind us on line for the ride begin to file into the train, some clearly having made their choices about what car they wanted in advance, some debating and negotiating with their partners up to the last second about what car they would decide on.
When Dylan and I are seated comfortably on the hard bench in our car, he carefully lowers the metal lap bar down. It clicks as it gets into place, and he tests it by trying to push it
back up.
“Seems secure,” he says, putting his hands down once he seems satisfied with it. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
My head snaps over and I raise an eyebrow to him.
“You think there’s a possibility this thing could come loose?” I ask, eyes wide.
“Nah,” he says. The ride attendant comes over and attempts to pull the lap bar up, testing it the way Dylan did. He deems it secure with a nod and a tap on the back of the car with an open palm as my eyes follow him, as if I would be able to intervene if something were the matter.
“You don’t really seem very confident,” I say. I am slightly worried. That mental calculation starts to spin in my mind. I’m thirty, Jacob’s almost a year old, and I would be leaving him without a mom if this damn thing were to expel me from it. I know Jacob’s a tough cookie, but he can’t grow up without any parent. I’m sure my parents would take over the child-rearing duties - hell, they would be thrilled to do it even if I were alive and well and just felt like skipping town to go to Daytona Beach - but I kind of don’t want to die today on this stupid carnival ride.
“Confident?” Dylan asks. “If you want to be one hundred percent sure no harm’s ever gonna befall you, may I suggest never leaving the house?”
“You can get hurt inside the house too,” I say. “Fire, burglar, carbon monoxide -”
“Carbon dioxide, don’t forget there are different kinds of oxides.”
I swallow hard and my heart drops down into my stomach like a boulder.
“I think I want to get off the ride,” I say. It cannot be a secret to anyone that I am having a mini freak-out. Thick beads of sweat begin to bloom on my temples and on the back of my neck.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
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