A twinkle lights Jason’s eyes. “Well, that’s going to need to change then. Because I signed you up for the pie toss. We needed a target. You understand.”
I groan in misery. “You tricked me. C’mon, Nate. Do the dunk tank. The dunk tank attracts the hottest twenty-something dudes in San Francisco. Trust me on this.” I give him a you-know-you-said-that stare. “I was more than happy to help on any other game. But you did not say step right up and let anyone and everyone throw the worst dessert ever at your face.”
“And you want to deny a bunch of teenagers the pleasure of hurling pies at you? You’re cruel, Nate.”
“No,” I grumble.
But still . . .
A line of hot men snakes around the dunk tank—hot men waiting to send other hot men into the water. Yes, please. “Yes, but just look at all those options for me. Why can’t I do the dunk tank?”
Jason thumps me on the back of my head. “It’s a carnival for charity. Not for you to pick up dudes.”
“Every outing is a chance for me to pick up dudes. I can multitask. It’s one of my great skills,” I counter.
Jason stops along the path, strokes his chin as a pack of teenage girls weaves past us. “Hmm. Since I’m kind of the carnival king, I could maybe arrange a backroom deal. I’ll get you in the dunk tank if you let yourself be pelted with pie after.”
I’m easy. I hold out my hand. “It’s a deal.”
Jason claps me on the shoulder. “Great. And I promise I’ll find some super-hot dude and send him your way to pummel you with pies.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s how I want to meet my next date. Getting slammed in the face with a coconut cream pie.”
He smirks. “Life is a metaphor, Nate. That might be a perfect one for you.”
I give him the bird. It’s literally required.
But I’m happy to be here, helping out and doing my part. Jason has been supporting the carnival for several years now, and when he asked his friends to volunteer, I raised my hand so fast.
For the kids, of course.
Since I’m already in board shorts and slides, I stride over to the dunk tank, yank off my San Francisco Hawks T-shirt, and toss it on the bench behind the water.
“Come and get me,” I say to the crowds in a taunt since trash talk is my native tongue. “Bet you can’t sink this ship.”
Then I climb up, park my fine ass on the bench above the water, and wait for someone to hit the target.
2
HUNTER
That was an energizing class.
My brain is literally pinging with new words as Reese and I leave the community center. “Do you get this feeling when we’re done like your brain is actually stretching?”
“Yes, but then I also feel like all the new words will fall out of it in, oh, say, ten minutes,” she says as we exit the French language classroom in a small warehouse at the edge of the Marina. I sling my arm around her shoulder, my hands free since our class is conversational French, so I don’t even need to bring a tablet.
“Ten minutes? Good for you. My brain retains new words for a maximum of five minutes, so I’m jealous.”
“It’ll be tres merveilleux if we can hold on to them till next week,” she says.
“Two weeks for me, love. Since I’ll be in London next week,” I say as we head across the parking lot to the path that winds along the water. “So I can’t practice French with you.”
“Poor Hunter has to travel internationally for his big fancy media business.” She pouts, putting on a big frown for effect.
“Yes, it’s so rough spending time in the homeland courting TV producers and writers,” I deadpan.
“That’s why you should practice avec moi maintenant.” She points in the distance. A Ferris wheel turns slowly, framing the San Francisco Bay, a roller coaster next to it. “Come to the carnival with me. I’m meeting Grant there in an hour, but we can wander around and show off our skills with darts and balloons and stuff till he gets there. And parlez en francais.”
“Can we also try to win a stuffed bear?” I ask in mock excitement.
She smacks my arm. “Ha-ha. You don’t deserve a bear.”
“Fine by me. I’m more into jocks anyway,” I say.
Reese tosses her head back and laughs. “Thanks for the info. So does that mean you’ll go with me?”
“Hmm. I do like darts. And roller coasters. And maybe you. Only a bit, though,” I joke.
“Appreciate the ringing endorsement.”
“Of course I’ll go,” I say.
She pumps a fist. “I didn’t even have to pull my trump card.”
“Wait. There’s more than practicing French with you?”
She smiles like she has the most delicious secret. “Ooh la la, there is. The carnival is amazing. I do work for it every year. And there are so many great athletes who show up there.”