"Does it bother you?" I ask. "The violence?"
The wheel turns again, carrying us toward the ground before rising once more. Our third climb. The ride will end soon.
"Not the way it should," he answers honestly. "I'm good at it. Have been since I was a kid defending Lilly from playground bullies. In the Marines, that capability had purpose, direction. The club gives me the same."
"But?"
His eyebrow raises. "What makes you think there's a 'but'?"
"There's always a 'but' when someone's that self-aware about their relationship with violence."
Tank's laugh is soft, almost rueful. "But... sometimes I wonder what it would be like to use those skills differently. To build something instead of just protecting it or destroying threats."
The vulnerability in his admission catches me off guard. This man, who exudes danger and capability, harbors the same doubts and questions as anyone else. It makes him suddenly, startlingly human.
"What would you build?" I ask, genuinely curious.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. Never let myself think about it too deeply."
Our gondola reaches the top again, and the wheel stops once more, keeping us suspended at the highest point. Below us, I can see Lilly in her own swan several gondolas ahead, chatting animatedly with a little girl in the gondola next to hers.
"Maybe you should," I suggest softly. "Think about it, I mean."
His eyes find mine in the carnival lights, searching for something. Whatever he sees makes him shift closer, the line of his body warm against mine in the cool night air.
"Maybe I should," he agrees, voice low. His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second, then back to my eyes. "You're not what I expected, Katty."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone... softer. More like Lilly."
I smile at that. "Disappointed?"
"The opposite." His hand still covers mine on the safety bar, and now his thumb traces a small circle on my skin. "You're a surprise. I don't get many of those in my life."
The simple touch sends electricity up my arm, more potent than any carnival ride static. This is dangerous territory, this pull toward him. He's Lilly's brother. He's temporary—here to solve a problem, then gone back to his club and his life. He's exactly the kind of complicated I've been avoiding.
And yet, suspended high above the fairgrounds with the stars as witnesses, I find myself leaning slightly toward him anyway.
"Good surprise or bad surprise?" I ask, my voice huskier than intended.
"Definitely good," he murmurs, closing the distance between us by another inch. "But complicated."
"Complicated," I agree, not pulling away. "You're leaving once Dylan's handled."
"I am."
"And I'm Lilly's best friend."
"You are."
We're close enough now that I can feel his warm breath on my face, see the faint scar that runs through his right eyebrow, count the individual lashes framing his dark eyes.
"So, this is probably a bad idea," I whisper.
"Probably," he agrees, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The gesture is so gentle it almost hurts. "I've never been known for my good ideas."
The Ferris wheel jerks back into motion, breaking the moment. We both straighten slightly as our gondola begins its final descent toward the platform.
