Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

“I was, but you said I could do it, so I think I’m ready.” I wasn’t ready. Not to go it alone, and if I wasn’t riding with Manning, I might as well be by myself.

Manning’s expression didn’t change, but he cracked a knuckle. “Maybe it’s better to wait.”

I crossed my arms over myself. When Manning ignored me, everything hurt, but when he looked right at me, like now, the contents of my stomach turned upside down, as if my insides were doing acrobatics. “I’m going to do it now. With Corbin.”

“You like him,” Tiffany teased. “I don’t blame you. All the Swensons are totally gorgeous.”

Manning put a firm hand on my shoulder, physically keeping me where I stood. “I’ll go with you.”

I cocked my head. I had no intention of hunting down Corbin—maybe he wasn’t as intimidating as I thought, but I wasn’t about to approach one of the most popular guys in school for a kiddie ride. Manning didn’t want me to do it, though, and fighting with him was better than being ignored by him. “You already went. With Tiffany. Remember?”

His hand warmed the entire left side of my body. By the look on his face, the sarcasm in my comment didn’t amuse him. “Do you want to ride it or not?”

“Yes. With Corbin.”

Manning shook his head. “You’re too young to be alone with someone his age—”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Tiffany beat me to it. “It’s a Ferris wheel, not Seven Minutes in Heaven. Don’t you remember being sixteen?”

“Too well. That’s why I’m saying no.”

“You can’t tell me no.” I scoffed. “I’m not a kid, and even if I were, you still couldn’t tell me no.”

He looked at me a moment, then pulled me to his side with one strong, heavy arm around my shoulders. It wasn’t an intimate gesture. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took a page out of Tiffany’s book and rumpled my hair. Still, I was pressed against him, surrounded in his soapy scent, his hip against my side, his enormous hand squeezing my shoulder.

“I’m going to win you a prize,” he said. “Anything you want. Pick it, and I’ll get it for you. No matter how big it is.”

He no longer sounded angry or jealous or even cautious, and that was a first. Was this how Tiffany always got what she wanted from men—by doing what they told her not to? “Really?” I asked.

“What’s your favorite animal? Frogs?”

I couldn’t help my laugh. As kids, my friends and I used to catch and release toads in the street. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. “Whose favorite animal is a frog? They’re slimy.”

He shrugged one shoulder and pulled me along with him toward a hit-the-target game. “So, nothing slimy then.”

Manning paid the carnie, received three baseballs and missed the target three times.

I smiled at his effort. Just that alone was worth being happy over. “It’s okay if—”

“No it’s not. I promised you.” Manning called the man over again. “Another round.”

I almost missed Tiffany’s glare, but when I caught it, I just about told her to take a hike. To go find Corbin Swenson, her number one admirer. Being the center of Manning’s attention was as heady as I thought it would be, and I didn’t want to share the spotlight.

Tiffany turned away on her own, though, leaving us to go talk to the man operating the booth.

Right as I turned back, Manning reared back and pitched the ball in a perfect line. It bounced off the cardboard around the target.

“These games are rigged,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“I am worried,” he teased. At least, I thought he was kidding. He spoke lightly but also focused intensely on the target. Maybe something did have him worried.

Gearing up for his second throw, his t-shirt sleeve rode up his bicep. The skin there was whiter than the rest of his arm, smoother. His muscles strained the fabric.

Tiffany glanced over at us.

Manning missed. “God d—” His neck reddened and after a deep breath, he snatched the third baseball. He threw it so hard, everyone jumped when it smacked the target. Manning wiped his hairline with his sleeve and nodded. “There we go.”

The attendant barely looked away from Tiffany. “Pick any from this side,” he said, gesturing toward a wall with small stuffed animals and toys.

“What if I want a bigger one?” he asked.

“You have to hit the target twice.”

“I don’t want a bigger one,” I said immediately, taking a step closer to Manning. I looked up at him, proud. I’d never seen anyone hit the target directly, not even my dad, and he’d played this game before.

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’ll—”

“I’m sure.” I pointed to the first thing I saw, a white-and-blue pelican. “That one.”

Manning leaned over the counter to wrestle the toy off the wall. “It needs a name,” he said.