Broken Kingdom (Royal Hearts Academy #4)(71)

It’s obvious Oakley doesn’t know me like I thought he did, because I don’t do carnivals.

The rides—wild death traps they are—remind me of the car accident that killed my mom.

However, I don’t want him to think I’m a coward, so I simply gesture to my outfit and say, “I’m not dressed for this.”

It’s not exactly a lie. I chose a cute, short black summer dress and my favorite deep purple crop jacket to pair with it.

Oakley doesn’t look at all put off. Quite the contrary actually…it’s almost like he was expecting me to reject being here.

Leaning down, he skims the shell of my ear with his lips. The action sends warm tingles over my breasts and along my thighs.

“Baby girl.”

Closing my eyes, I soak up his addictive scent. “Yeah?”

The deep rasp of his voice rolls through me. “Stop being a pussy.”

When I look up there’s a knowing smirk on his face.

Dammit. I hate when he calls me on my shit.

I start to protest, but he grabs my hand and leads me to a zeppole stand where he promptly orders a small bag of them. “You have to have one.”

Despite them smelling like little drops of heaven, I decline. “Do you have any idea how much fat is in that? It’s like a heart attack waiting to happen.”

He takes a huge bite out of one and it takes everything in me not to lick the remaining powdered sugar off his lips. “They’re so fucking good.”

Going back for another bite, he moans around the dough and—holy hell—I have to remind myself we’re in public because I seriously want to jump his bones.

I sweep my eyes up and down his glorious body in wonder. “How do you have a body like that when you eat like crap?”

Laughing, he slaps his flat stomach. “I have a fast metabolism. I also do a hundred push-ups a night.”

That makes sense. God knows I have to work hard at maintaining my figure by not only eating healthy, but staying active.

“Come on,” he urges, holding his zeppole to my mouth. “One bite.”

The eager, almost childlike, look in his eyes makes me fold like a cheap lawn chair.

“Fine.”

Jesus. I can see why Oakley moaned before. The little ball is so warm and crisp yet super tender with the perfect amount of sweetness.

Calories be damned.

“Holy shit.”

His lips twitch. “Told you.”

I hastily finish it and much to Oakley’s delight devour another one.

I can feel him studying me as I lick the remaining sugar off my fingers. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just nice to see you have fun for a change.”

I’m about to remind him I have plenty of fun when we’re in his bed, but he tugs on my hand again. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Ferris wheel.”

Record. Fucking. Skip.

I swiftly plant my feet into the ground. “I don’t do rides…ever.”

Turning to face me, he frowns. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He takes a step closer. “How about we make a deal?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not trying to be a bitch and ruin our night, but…” I close my eyes. “I can’t do it.”

Rides scare me. Hell, almost everything scares me.

His brows crash together. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to die.”

He runs the edge of his thumb along my cheekbone. “We’re all gonna die someday, baby girl. But it’s still no reason to miss out on all the fun life has to offer.”

He has a point—a valid one—but it still doesn’t ease my anxiety.

“I’m scared,” I admit, loathing the way my voice shakes.

“I get that.” He tips my chin. “But know that whatever happens…I got you.”

I know he does.

And that’s the scariest part of all.

I trust Oakley with everything I have in me.

Somehow, he’s broken all my locks and climbed all my walls.

I vaguely recall what he said before. “You mentioned something about making a deal earlier?”

He fishes a small piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote something.” I go to snatch it, but he holds it out of my reach. “But you can’t read it until after the ride is over.”

That’s not fair.

He knows how much I’m dying to read whatever he wrote.

“Fine,” I begrudgingly concede. “Let’s go.”

He interlaces his fingers with mine and I let him lead me to the Ferris wheel of doom.

My knees buckle as we wait in line, and by the time it’s our turn I almost chicken out again, but Oakley squeezes my hand.

And he doesn’t let go.

The moment the ride starts moving I close my eyes, latching on to the safety bar for dear life with one hand and his with my other.

My stomach churns with every stop and I say a silent prayer the ride ends quickly.

His rough voice touches my ear. “Open your eyes.”

I give my head a stubborn shake.

His bottom lip trails along my cheekbone. “For me.”

Dammit. He’s not playing fair.

Hesitantly, I do.