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I pressed my finger to his chest. “And I would be the one in charge of the menu.”
“You’d choose cheese sticks and corn dogs.” He looked disgusted.
“Hey, I have a little more class than that.”
“Lies.” He studied me skeptically. “What are you thinking?”
“Pop-Tarts, curly fries, and soy burgers.”
“Soy?” He gagged, glancing around, making sure we didn’t have an audience. He lifted a finger between us. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, can know I made those…”
“Dishes?” I smiled brightly.
“Culinary crimes.”
“Shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’m fully prepared to blackmail you with this piece of information when the day comes.”
“It’s not gonna come, since you’re not gonna win.” He worked his jaw back and forth. “Fine. Deal.”
We were up on those swings in seconds. Me, standing straight and clutching the chains in a death grip, and him, crouching down so his head wouldn’t bump against the metal frame.
We ready, set, go-ed, then started swinging. I cheated a little, barely moving back and forth, then gained more speed and force when I realized Row was moving with so much momentum, the entire frame shook. He almost tipped me off with every move of his body.
“Can you tone it down?” I grumbled. “I might need more stitches after this game.”
“Here to win, not make friends.” He swung himself faster and harder.
Dread filtered into my system. I didn’t want him getting hurt. In fact, the idea of Row feeling any kind of pain made me want to scream. Especially after what he’d told me about Doug tonight. “Row. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Used to the pain.”
“Are you serious?”
He shrugged, swinging harder, looking like a boy determined to slay an imaginary dragon, the unoiled cylinders of the swing frame squeaking under our weight. “Why do you think I have so many tattoos? Pain is the only thing that reminds me that I’m alive.”
I want you to remember you’re alive for all the right reasons. Through smiling. And laughing. And kissing. Everywhere. Anywhere on your body.
Without thinking about what a colossal mistake I was making, I hurled myself off the swing, landing face-first on the cool, snow-sprinkled sand. My face was pressed against the ground. The cold felt good on my forehead wound.
I heard the rusty chains of Row’s swing screech, followed by the heavy thump of his body landing next to mine. “Shit, Dot. You okay?”
He rolled me over to my back and covered me with his entire body, lying flat on me, pressing himself against me. His bulging muscles warmed me, his erection nestled between my thighs. Desire shot up my belly like an arrow straight from my center, making my breasts swell, nipples stand on point, and mouth pool with saliva.
“Your heart.” I curled my fingers against his chest, in awe of how warm he was. “It’s going wild.”
His Adam’s apple moved with a swallow. He brushed a finger along a constellation of my freckles. “Yours too.”
“I lost the bet.” I gazed up at him. My lips stung with expectation. My heart was a hummingbird, flapping its wings against my rib cage, desperate to escape.
“I noticed.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. Silvery snowflakes fell from the sky, framing his gorgeous face. “On purpose.”
Gulping, I tried to change the subject. “Speaking of hearts, you know what I don’t get? How anyone ever thought ‘My Heart Will Go On’ is a fitting theme song for Titanic. I mean…how on the nose is that? After Jack literally saved Rose while slowly dying of hypothermia in front of her very eyes—and yes, there was enough space on that door for both of them—they have the audacity to use a song with lyrics that say she will go on, move on, to live her best, rich bitch lif—”
“Dot?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up.”
