Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“If we come back next year, I’m entering the pageant,” I whisper to Makena as the little girl on stage answers the MC’s question about her favorite part of the Mudbug festival.
Makena grins. “Of course, you are.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I know you’re not,” she says, sipping her beer. “I’ve always known you had an inner theater kid under that jocky exterior, Leo Parker. Your Halloween costumes were way too elaborate for a kid who didn’t want to be onstage. At least a little bit.”
“Valid.” I laugh as I lean back against the bleachers behind us. “Though, to be fair, being on the ice in a sold-out arena isn’t that different than being up on a stage. You just don’t get to know your lines ahead of time.”
Makena shivers. “Which makes it way scarier. I could never do what you do.”
“And I could never do what you do.”
“Oh, sure you could,” she says, dismissing her bravery with a flutter of her fingers.
“No, I couldn’t,” I maintain. “I’ve always been part of a team. The thought of opening a business all by myself, with no one to back me up, scares the shit out of me. The paperwork alone would probably give me a mental breakdown. You’re a badass, woman. Own it. And promise you’ll enter the costume contest next year, too. I need to see you in a crawfish costume. A pink one. Wearing a blue bikini.”
She glances my way with an arched brow. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“I’m a weird guy.” I shrug. “And if you wanted to model it for me a few times before the competition, just to be sure it’s good to go, I wouldn’t mind that, either.”
“Gross,” she says, nudging my knee with hers. “No crustacean kink for me. But I wouldn’t mind having a booth here next year. My mind’s been full of crawfish recipes all day.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “You wouldn’t get sick of cooking outside in the heat?”
“I’m always cooking in the heat,” she says, glancing around. “It might actually be nice to be outside more. I mean, my location was great for repeat lunch customers, but being trapped inside an office building all day wasn’t my favorite. A mobile set-up would give me more flexibility, and give me the chance to incorporate work with travel in the summer.”
“Sound like someone’s having hopeful ideas…”
Her lips quirk. “Maybe. I still hope that appeal goes through, but…yeah. There’s a spark of hope.”
“All it takes is a spark,” I murmur.
The words hover in the suddenly loaded air. But it’s not just a “spark” with us. It’s the way it’s so easy to be with her, the way we get along like we’ve been friends forever, the way she makes me want to make plans for the future.
Plans that include her…
This isn’t normal for me. In the past, casual was the name of the game. I’ve been a “nice guy” and a decent boyfriend, but it’s also always been easy for me to walk away. Easier to bail than make the extra effort to take something temporary to the next level.
“One more beer?” she asks, peering down into her empty cup.
“Definitely,” I say, rising beside her. “Maybe two.”
As we make our way to the closest beer tent, the sun’s getting lower, painting the festival in a golden, forgiving glow that makes the zydeco music pumping from the stage seem romantic. The crowd’s getting drunker, louder, more committed to the ridiculous. Half the people we pass are decked out in some kind of crawfish paraphernalia, from hats to foam claws to brand new t-shirts. Makena and I take our beers to the vendor area to grab our matching merch. We’re tempted by the “Suck the Head. Pinch the Tail. Repeat.” and “Drink ‘Til the Tail Looks Good” designs, but in the end, we stick with the shirt that first caught our eye.
I change into mine right away, stripping off my sweat-tinged tee in the shadows by the booth, while Makena pretends that she isn’t checking me out.
But she is. I know she is.
So, I take my time pulling my new shirt over each arm, hesitating as I drag it slowly down to cover my abs, making her laugh and slap my hand. “Stop it!”
“Stop what?” I ask, all innocence.
“You know what,” she mutters, fanning her face in a way that makes me happy.
Very happy, indeed.
But before I can suggest we head to the dance floor near the main stage, where I’ll have a good excuse to get my hands on her, someone announces through a bullhorn that squeals with feedback. “Mating call competition in thirty minutes. Sign-ups close in ten! Claim your spot at the Riverside Stage before it’s too late.”
Makena grabs my hand. “Come on. This is our time to shine, buddy.”
“I don’t even know what crawfish sound like.”
“Neither do I. That’s part of the fun!”