Ezra and Jessi’s heads are together and they’re whispering furiously. My brothers give my shoulders a squeeze as they nod and then walk away. Before I interrupt the women, whothink they are much quieter than they are, I send Playboy and Sidewinder the picture I took.
“I’m just saying, you should have made your dad listen,” Jessi presses her best friend.
Her face is lined with worry and for a second, I remember the girl she was when she was friends with one of the club kids. They were tight. Then they weren’t.
“I might not have tried hard enough,” Ezra defends herself, “but you know how he is. He had made up his mind, and he wasn’t going to listen to me. He just walked away from me,” the hurt in her voice is clear to hear.
And it pisses me off.
Her own fucking father. That man and I will have some words, but not tonight.
When Ezra turns toward me, I raise my hands and tease, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“Is everything okay?” She looks around and I’m not sure if she’s looking for my brothers or the carnie.
I nod before reassuring her, “My brothers are going to take a look around and try to track down the guy in the photo. They’ll also have someone go and see about rounding up Bobby to,” I pause and clear my throat, “ask him a few questions about what he was up to tonight.”
Ezra narrows her eyes while Jessi’s eyebrows arch up toward her hairline.
“I can’t leave yet,” Ezra admits before catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
Without even thinking about it, I reach up and pull her lip free while my eyes lock on the small indent in her pink flesh. It’ll disappear within moments, but, fuck, in this moment? I want to add to it.
“No problem,” I assure her. “I know you have responsibilities here. I’ll stay with you and make sure you stay safe. We’ll go from there.”
Her shoulders slump and I have to fight the desire to pull her into my arms. Would she come willingly? Would she sink into me?
I’m at her six for the rest of the night and it only solidifies the feeling that Ezra is mine. When it’s time for the winners of the auction and chili cook-off to be announced before the cake eating contest, we move close enough to the stage to see but not be swallowed up by the sea of people. My head is constantly on a swivel.
She glances up at me, something shy crossing her face.
“After they announce the winners, some of the kids will go back to the tent, but most people don’t come by right away,” she informs me like I’m not at this event every year, like I haven’t paid attention.
But she has no idea that I’ve kept an eye on her.
Her cheeks are pink and the Edison bulbs hanging above us make her look soft and sweet. And like mine.
“Jessi showed me the final numbers,” her lips tip up in a smile filled with pride, “as long as everyone follows through, we’ll more than hit our goal. I can find something extra to do with the kids, like a show or something.”
I reach up and brush a few strands of her blonde hair away from her face. It’s as soft as I knew it would be. I want to find out if her lips are too.
“That’s great, Teach,” my voice is like gravel, filled with barely contained desire.
She looks away from me just as they start announcing the winners. The crowd cheers when Stan is announced as the winner for this year’s chili cook-off. I look across the open area and find Whiskey with a scowl on his face.
On Wasted Ridge, the bar and grill Whiskey runs for the club, has been entering the cook-off for a few years now. It always comes down to us and Stan, and it’s been a toss up on who wins. But now he’s won two years in a row.
Vincent, one of our cooks who has been working with Whiskey to tweak the recipe this year, looks disappointed, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me take notice. Determination. He might make a good prospect; Whiskey has only good things to say about the guy.
After clapping through the announcements, the show is on. Playboy struts onto the stage and the brothers who are scattered around cheer for him. I can’t help but chuckle under my breath as he eats it up. Movement has me glancing near the edge of the stage where Lara huffs while rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest.
Playboy must clock it too because he turns her way and winks. I’m not sure how he manages it, but he makes the action look condescending as fuck. Strange.
The whole contest is over in a matter of minutes from everyone taking a seat to Playboy winning. As the contestantswere shoveling cake in their mouths, the MC was trying to call it like a sports game and got more than a few laughs because of it.
Playboy ends up taking down one six-inch round layer of frosted goodness in 1:20. My jaw hits the ground because his time is twenty seconds faster than last year.
Has this man been practicing eating cake in the middle of the night or something? I’m not even sure what to think. He raises his arms in victory, and I can’t help but clap and chuckle. Ezra is grinning from ear to ear and clapping while hooting along with the rest of the crowd.