Stinger (A Sign of Love Novel)(8)

I choked on my own laugh and sat up on my knees to glare at him. "You arrogant *! The only way I would crawl anywhere for you is if my very life depended on it." I glared at him for a minute and then fell back onto my haunches. I pointed at him. "Wait. You did it to me again. See, that's the mask. You made me angry so that I'd forget my point. Which is… you're a phony."

He laughed. "Still on that, Dr. Phil? Okay, then, what about you, Miss Perfect Princess? What are you hiding behind that hair pulled back so tightly it's about to strangle you and that high and mighty attitude?"

"High and mighty?" I scoffed. "I'm hardly high and mighty. And I'm hardly perfect either."

"Oh, I don't know. I think that's exactly what you are–perfect. Why? Why do you need to be so damn perfect? What has you strung so tight that as soon as you lost control, you couldn't even breathe? What's under your mask?"

I laughed out loud, over-doing it to show him how ridiculous he was. "My mask? Please. Now you're just making stuff up to distract me. What you see is what you get here, Carson. I hardly wear a mask. Now you…"

He looked at me for a minute, eyes both thoughtful and wary. "All right, Buttercup. I've got a proposition for you. How'd you like to play a little game? It's called, 'Sink one for a Secret.' It's not like we've got much else to do. Especially if you planting yourself on my lap is off the table."

I groaned. "It was never on the table. What exactly does this 'Sink one for a Secret' game entail?"

He sat up. "Do you have anything in your purse like a cup, or a bowl or something?"

I laughed and raised one eyebrow. "No. That's not exactly stuff I carry around in my purse." I opened my large bag and looked inside. "Wait–what about the top of my hairspray?" I pulled it off. It was plastic and roughly the size of a Dixie cup. I held it out to Carson.

"That'll work," he said, snatching it out of my hand. He reached his hand in his back pocket and pulled out a dime and held it up to me. Then he placed the hairspray cap in one corner of the elevator and went and stood in the opposite corner. "The rules are, if one person sinks the dime into the cap, the other person has to reveal a secret about themselves. No lying. No making something up. A genuine, true secret–something they've never told anyone else before."

I crossed my arms over my chest, biting my lip. I looked from the cap in one corner, to Carson in the other. "That's an impossible shot. The distance, and the size of the cap. It can't be done."

He raised one brow. "Are you in, or not?"

I exhaled. "Fine. Whatever. Go."

He paused. "Wait. Do you agree to the rules?"

"Yes, yes, a 'basket' for a secret. I'm in." I knew it was impossible, and so why not? I'd play his game.

He held the dime up, lining up his shot, moving to the right slightly, a look of pure concentration on his face as he tossed the dime overhand. It went straight in the cup, didn't even bounce. A solid dunk. What. The. Hell?

I gasped. "You cheated! That's not even possible!"

Carson laughed. "I cheated? How in the hell did I cheat? No way. Don’t try to get out of this. You owe me a secret, Buttercup. Let's hear it." He leaned his shoulder against the elevator wall, crossed his arms and tilted his chin down, looking expectantly at me.

I glared at him. "I mean, it's not as easy as that! I don't have any secrets." I raised both arms up and let them drop.

He kept looking at me, not saying a word, expressionless now. "Tell me why you're so perfect, Buttercup."

I made a disgusted gurgle in the back of my throat and crossed my arms again, looking away from him. I thought about what he was asking me. Did I really come across like that? Perfect? I felt the furthest away from perfect as a person could get. I was always trying not to rock the boat… trying to be enough… trying to make up for…

"My dad has had enough disappointment in his life. I'm just trying not to disappoint him," I blurted out.

Carson tilted his head, his eyes filling with… something. I looked away. "Anyway, that's all. My dad's had a hard time of it. I just want him to be proud of me. Is that so weird?"

"What disappointment has your dad had?" he asked quietly.

I stared at the wall for a minute, suddenly, inexplicably, wanting to say what came next. "When I was eleven, my little brother died of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. He was the only boy. I have two sisters." I looked down at my nails, studying them. "My dad is a cop… a real guy's guy. I guess me and my sisters always felt like maybe… like maybe…"

"Like maybe one of you were expendable because there were back-ups?" Carson asked quietly.

My eyes snapped up to his and I just stared at him for several seconds. I had never thought about it in those terms but… "Maybe. Yes."

He nodded, still looking into my eyes. Then he walked over to the cap in the corner, plucked the dime out and held it up to me. "Your turn."

**********

Carson



My throat had gone dry and I felt a strange itchiness just under my skin when Grace told me about her brother and her dad. I didn't really stop and think about the feeling. I had never really talked about emotions with anyone other than my granny. But she had passed away when I was seventeen and since then, I didn't go there much. I had initially suggested this game to take Grace off balance. I could throw a dime into a cup from further away than across an elevator. I had hours and hours of practice. It's what I had done to distract my mind while waiting for my mom to get off set.