Page 84 of Scoring Lessons

I blinked once when realization hit me right in the chest. “We’re going to the carnival?”

His smile widened. “You want to?”

“Yes!” I replied, a bit more excited than I was expecting to be.

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Get ready. Wear some comfy shoes, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.”

Between getting ready and the traffic in LA (that was no joke), we’d arrive at our destination as the sun was going down.

The Ferris wheel towered at the edge of the pier, its lights cycling through colors that smeared across the ocean surface below. Roller coaster tracks cut against the sky. The smell of funnel cake, cotton candy, and popcorn hit before anything else did, with a hint of salt air from the Pacific Ocean. Kids ran past with light-up toys.

It was loud, cramped, and a little overwhelming, and I immediately understood why people loved it.

“Why this place specifically?” Wesley asked as we walked down a street that had all the typical games—ring toss, Skee-Ball, basketball.

“I’d always wanted to see the Ferris wheel in person.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to ask me to get on it.” His face turned pale when he looked up and stared at it.

“Wesley Hayes, are you afraid of heights?” I gripped his arms and gasped. “Oh my God, yes. You are. I’d forgotten the time you passed out when we rode that roller coaster.”

“I haven’t forgotten, believe me,” he retorted dryly.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

His smile was soft. “Nonsense. We’re here to give you the full experience.”

My body turned warm at his words. God, why was he so thoughtful? Where was the playful asshole I knew? I think I missed him.

No, you don’t, my brain quipped.

“What do you want to do first?” he asked.

I pursed my lips as I tapped the toe of my shoe against the ground. “I want to beat you at some games.”

“Oh, you’re on.” His laugh was mocking. “Get ready to lose, Livvie girl.”

The ring toss had been his idea. And to say I hated him for it was putting it mildly.

The booth was loud and bright, and stuffed animals were crammed into every available inch of space overhead. The man running it had that particular exhausted expression of someone who’d seen too many overconfident people lose their money tonight. Myself included.

“This game sucks.” I groaned in frustration when I missed for the second time. “This is rigged!”

The man running the booth huffed a laugh before moving to attend to other people.

“It’s not rigged,” Wesley said through a chuckle.

“The bottles are weighted,” I countered.

“The bottles are fine. Your aim is the problem.”

I picked up the third ring. “My aim is perfectly⁠—”

It bounced off the rim and rolled under the counter.

Wesley pressed his lips together, arching his brows with a See? expression.

“If you laugh, I’ll kill you.”