Winger (Seattle Sharks 3)

He shifted his eyes to me for only a moment. “There is nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

Heat flushed my cheeks, but I blamed the hot-flash on the bun in my oven. It had nothing to do with the sexy man with all the right words behind the wheel.

Off-season, remember? He wouldn’t be doing any of this if he had games to play.

It wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop the thought.

I had to be careful.

Warren’s help was temporary. We both knew it. His career was everything to him, and I couldn’t blame him for it. That is how I used to be, too, before…everything changed.

Ten minutes later, he’d parked the SUV in a giant grassy parking lot.

“A carnival?” I asked as I got out of the car. My boots squished in the grass that was half-soaked in last night’s rain. The Seattle sky was a beautiful slate-gray, but not a rain cloud in sight.

“Number six on the list. I was lucky. This is its last day before they pack up and move on.” He reached for my hand, easily intertwining our fingers as he tugged me toward the entrance.

He paid for our entry and walked us onto the grounds. Several colorful rides, including a Ferris wheel, were scattered about, kids screaming and running back and forth.

“You know I can’t ride any of these, right?” I asked as we walked through the crowds.

“Jeannine,” he said, chiding. “I may be a Shark, but I’m not dumb.”

I chuckled. “Just double checking.”

“This is on the list,” he said. “And there are more than just rides.”

“Like?”

“There are food trucks,” he said and motioned toward the left where a line of trucks sat. “And games.” He glanced to the right where row after row of game booths lined the grounds, all complete with the gaudy and brightly colored stuffed animal prizes.

He stopped in the middle of the two paths. “Which do you want to do first?”

I smiled up at him, totally out of my element. I hadn’t been on a real date since high school, and even then, I’d cut out early. Though, I supposed this wasn’t exactly real was it? It was an item off a list and a way for Warren to prove his worth for the baby.

It wasn’t for me.

“Food,” I said.

“Yes!” He tugged us to the left. “I’m starved.”

“You are?” I laughed as he stopped us in front of the first truck. “I could eat enough for two, maybe three.”

He jolted, his eyes widening as they focused on my stomach. “Is it…are they…twins?”

I laughed at his panicked expression. “No,” I finally said. “Not twins.”

The breath that released from him made his tight shoulders loosen. “I mean,” he said quickly. “That would’ve been fine. I just needed a minute to adjust.”

I gazed up at him, trying to read his eyes. There was no bullshit there. Only true panic followed by true acceptance.

Maybe Warren was being real.

Maybe he wanted this.

I focused harder on the chalkboard menu.

“Fried oreos?”

“Have you had one before?” He asked like everyone was eating them.

“Yeah, no.”

He gaped at me. “Buckle up.”

I laughed as we moved up in the line. A few minutes later, he’d ordered us two. He handed me the deep-fried circle wrapped in parchment paper, and we stepped into the next line for the next truck.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping his oreo against mine.

Timidly, I brought the dessert to my mouth and crunched. The combination of the chocolate cookie and crispy, slightly salty, outer shell was explosive.

“Oh,” I moaned, devouring the rest of the cookie. “Holy hell.”

“Right?” He finished his off, taking our empty papers and wadding them up in a ball. He tossed them in the trashcan that separated the lines for the different trucks.

“I’ve never thought of deep frying a cookie.” I laughed.

“What about that crispy brownie thing on your menu?” He asked as we waited. “Isn’t that deep fried?”

I snapped my gaze to him, shocked he knew one of the items off my menu. “You’ve had my filo-dough brownie before?”

“It’s my favorite,” he said, tilting his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s mine too,” I said, and blinked a couple of times, replacing my shock with a genuine smile. “I didn’t realize you’d eaten at my place enough to find a favorite.”

He shrugged. “You do remember that my boys are madly in love with your two best friends…right?”

I laughed. “How could I forget that?” I glanced down. “Bailey’s celebrate-Warren-going-to-the-Olympics-party is when this happened.” I held my tummy with both hands.

He gazed down at it, a sense of wonder glazing his eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, and he blinked out of his daze.

Likely he’d traveled back to that party and put a condom on after I’d asked him not to.

The thought made a flare of grief shoot through me, and I’d never been more certain that I was always meant to have this baby than I was in that moment.

“Why?” He asked as we moved up another space in line.

I shrugged. “I didn’t know if…if it bothered you for me to bring up that night.”

“It doesn’t.” He retook my hand, squeezing it. “I promise.” He sighed. “I know it’s going to take time for you to believe that, but that’s what we’re here for.”

I smirked. “Here, at the carnival…”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I did.

That was something I’d never had trouble with before.

Reading Warren had always been easy back when we’d hang out at the numerous group functions when our friends got together. But now, I found myself floundering. Sometimes it was just as easy. Others it wasn’t.

“So,” he said, stepping up to the truck’s window. “What will it be? Crab wonton sandwich with sriracha coleslaw, or the pulled pork sandwich with the sweet potato fries?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You try one. I’ll try the other.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said and placed our orders.

Easy. Fun. No drama.

For two people not used to dates, we were doing pretty good so far.

One sandwich, a basket of fries, and half a funnel cake later, I had to throw in the towel. “Okay,” I said. “Game time.”

“What?” Warren teased. “The pregnant lady gives up first?”

I laughed, holding my stomach. “If baby-ball here decides to do somersaults, you aren’t going to like what you see. I need to quit while we’re ahead.”

He chuckled. “Noted.”

We walked to the other side of the carnival, dodging kids, pre-teens, and their parents as we made it to the line of game booths.

“You a good shot?” He asked, stopping at the first booth. It had a row of guns facing a wall of various sized targets.

“Not that I know of,” I said.

“Let’s see what you’re made of.” He paid the attendant, and I picked up the gun that was attached to the table with a chain. His muscles flexed under his shirt, and paired with the light laughter in his eyes, I had a hard time breathing.

Finally, I picked up my gun, the thing heavier than my cast iron skillet.

“Bring it,” I said, finding my voice and aiming at the first target.

A whirring sound flew through the booth, and the freaking targets started moving.

“Oh, hell,” I said, laughing as I pulled the trigger. I missed every single target.

Warren hit five, but you had to hit them all to win a prize.

“Maybe next time,” I said as we sat the guns down and moved on to the next booth.

“How’s the food settling?” He asked as we waited our turn at the dart booth.

“Good so far,” I said, glancing down at my belly like it would tell me if it had other pla

ns.

“Good,” he said, stepping up to take our turn. This game had a wall of balloons. Pop four and win. With only five darts, the odds were slim.

“Damn,” I said as all my darts stuck into the felt-covered wall behind the blown-up balloons. “I’m no good at these games.”

Warren popped three but missed the other two. He chuckled as we moved on to the next one. “Winning isn’t the point. It’s just about having fun. They’re all rigged anyway.”

I arched a brow at him. “How is it one of the most competitive Sharks is totally chill about losing?”

“Maybe it’s because I win when it matters.”

A zing of electricity bolted down my spine with the sincere look in his dark eyes.

I tilted my head, stopping at the next booth. This was the one with the hammer and the bell at the top. You had to ring the bell to get a prize.

“So,” I said, a smirk on my lips. “You’re saying if I made this important to me...you’d win?”

“Yes,” he said.

I glanced upward, my eyes on the array of colored prizes. It was like a stuffed animal rainbow. I pointed to a fluffy purple puppy. “I want that.”

He cocked a brow at me. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I said, challenging him. “It would mean a lot to me. It’s super cute and purple is my favorite color.”

“Good to know,” he said, strutting up the booth and handing the man his money.

“Good luck, dude,” a stacked bearded guy said as he handed him the hammer. “I tried three times.”

Warren raised his eyebrows, surmising the huge man. If he couldn’t hit it…