A slight breeze came through, whirling the loose waves around her face and wafting her coconut scent all around.
I soared at her words, sailing passed relief into full-blown excitement.
“You're not such a Debbie Downer, after all,” she teased.
“I try not to be. Sometimes it's hard.”
“I know. Especially in the office.”
I took a nervous breath, unsure of where things were headed. “I like you as a person. I don't want my position to get in the way of being friends.”
I was lying through my teeth. I didn't want to be friends. I wanted her. Thoroughly.
One good fuck was all it would take. That was the usual deal, at least.
She relaxed, unaware of my secret lust. “It shouldn't,” she replied.
“Hey Jason?” she murmured, voice hushed, a breathy octave reminiscent of phone sex.
“Yes?”
“Can you do me a favor?” she asked.
I swallowed hard. “Anything.”
“Forget about Croft.” She glanced up with a slight smile, smoky eyes heavy with desire. “This isn't about that place. This is about us.”
“Absolutely.”
There was a loud screech to our right, a roar of laughter following.
A rowdy race of bumper karts was heating up, the squeak of tires and shrieks of delight piercing the night air.
“Let's do it!” she dared, rubbing her hands together. Another breeze lifted her skirt enough to reveal the creaminess of her thighs.
I gritted my teeth and stood, tearing my eyes from her skin to her face, determined to pull myself from the gutter. “Let's go, Keebler.”
We weaved through the crowd to the ride entrance, a few straggler children dotting the line ahead. Each pass of the cars sent a burst of air whipping by, exhaust combining with cotton candy, bringing back memories of nights at the racetrack with Pops.
Round and round, the racers went until there were two contenders left: a dad with his freckled son and a preteen girl. While the dad played it safe, sticking close to the center of the track and avoiding his opponent, the girl was wild, weaving to take him out. A bold strategy, but reckless as she found out, resulting in her spinning out and the daddy duo completing the last lap for the win.
As the riders filed out, the gate opened, ushering in the new wave of competitors, including us. Without a ticket or a wristband, I slipped the operator a twenty, and all was forgiven.
Elena strolled to a purple kart while I hopped in the nearest one, a green beater with a squeaky steering wheel. I filled the tiny kart to capacity, knees bent toward my chest. As I buckled in, something told me it wouldn’t be the comfiest ride, the shoulder strap more than snug.
At the sound of the horn, we were off, a redheaded kid taking the lead. I was on his tail, wanting to get the damn ride over with as my legs began to cramp from the angle.
There was a ruckus behind me, tires squealing and maniacal laughter, other racers having a battle royale. Elena was somewhere back there, likely picked off by a preteen, but with each pass of the track, I didn't spot her.
Our redheaded leader continued to taunt me, blocking the road with a back-and-forth sweep. If I were willing to take a gamble, I'd bump the little shit and risk one or both of us going off course, but I refused to lose to a kid that drove like ass.
I still didn't see Elena as we powered on, passing countless kids stranded, a few red-faced and crying in defeat. I steered clear of the outside of the track, avoiding catching one in a drive-by collision.
By lap eight of ten, I was ready to be free, cramping to my thigh and growing tired of the friction of the band across my chest. I was way too old to be stuffing myself into amusement rides.
It was smooth sailing once I hit the final lap, the redheaded kid finally in the dust after wrecking on the barrier. It was full speed ahead, the steel pedal flush against the floor as I jutted towards victory. I couldn't be going more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour, but it was invigorating, the wind lashing my hair.
There were karts in the distance, the low horsepower machines sounding more like lawnmowers than traditional go-karts. The laughter was gone, a hushed silence prevailing as my triumph loomed. I zipped by stranded riders looking on in defeat, including my redheaded nemesis.
As I rounded the final corner, I fought off the urge to showboat, focused on the final prize, never one to let a win slip away.
Out of nowhere, there was a squeal of tires and a flash to the left, my kart taking a vicious blow from another rider.
I tried to maintain control, but the strike proved fatal, the cart taking a dive into the center barrier. My knees hit my chest as the nylon strap squeezed tight, my body folding like a well-muscled lawn chair.
“Motherfucker!” I hollered, whipping the belt off to face my attacker, only to see a purple kart crossing the finish line.
Elena.
Someone played dirty. She likely followed me the whole damn time and waited for the perfect moment to strike.
Dangerous indeed.
Jason
I drove to the starting point, earning a glare from the attendant for my lack of a seat belt, but I didn't care. My body wasn't stuffing back into that thing again.
Elena was waiting, still beaming from her win.
“Long time no see,” she teased, a few more locks of hair freed from the confines of her updo courtesy of the ride. “Didn't see you back there.”
All I could muster up was a lopsided smile, my ego dinged from falling for the oldest trick in the book. I slipped right into amateur hour.
“You must have been a palm tree in a previous life,” I declared, taking her arm in mine as we exited the track.
“Why's that?” she asked.
“Because that was shady.”
She grinned ear to ear. “That was terrible.”
“Not as bad as that dirty move, Keebler.”
“Boohoo!” she
