I sit. The cats watch me like a jury. Lounging on her couch I wait patiently for my girl to get ready for our date. She’d look gorgeous rolling out of bed, but I’ve never seen Sabrina out and about without her make-up on. I don’t wait long before she’s herding me out of the apartment.
“Let’s go before Onyx decides you’re unworthy.”
We leave her apartment, the air crisp with the first real bite of autumn. Leaves crunch underfoot, lanterns glow in shop windows, and the scent of roasted nuts and spiced cider drifts up from the fairgrounds where the festival is in full swing, laughter and music carrying on the cool evening breeze.
Sabrina loops her arm through mine, tilting her head toward the carnival lights flickering ahead. It’s a struggle to walk straight with her warm body pressed against my side. I can’t think about anything but all those soft curves molding to my body while the woman at my side remains oblivious.
“Okay, lumberjack, where are you taking me first? Haunted hayride? Apple bobbing? Or straight to the fortune-teller so she can warn me off you?”
“Like you would listen to an imposter,” I say.
She smirks, squeezing my arm. Her hands are tiny, the tips of her nails biting into the skin beneath my flannel. They might as well be stroking my cock for how quickly my body reacts.
“Smart man.”
The crowd thickens as we step under the banner strung up between a large pair of maple trees. Kids dart between booths with caramel apples, couples stroll hand in hand, and a fiddler plays fast enough to make my blood pulse to the beat.
Sabrina inhales dramatically, eyes half-shut.
“Smell that? Cinnamon. Sugar. Fried everything. This is basically foreplay for me.”
I choke on a laugh.
“You’re something else.”
“Mm. I know.” She gives me a wicked grin and tugs me toward a ring toss booth. “C’mon, big guy. Win me a ridiculous stuffed animal so I can parade it around like a trophy.”
Larry Young, the leader of the historical society, hands me a bucket of rings. Sabrina stands too close, the scent of vanilla clinging to her clothes. When I throw, she leans closer to coach, her breath warm on my neck.
My aim goes wild.
“Terrible,” she says with mock solemnity. “You’re making a fool of us both.”
“Or maybe you’re distracting me.”
She tilts her head, lips curling into a wicked smile.
“Oops.”
The next toss lands, the ring clinking around the metal peg. Sabrina cheers like I’ve won her an Olympic medal. I getanother, then another, and before long the old man is handing her a massive black cat plush with a purple pointed hat.
She hugs it to her chest, smirking up at me.
“Look at you, Daddy. Providing already.”
Heat lances through me at the word, at the way she says it in public like a secret dare. I take the plush from her to keep my hands busy, because if I don’t, I’ll throw her over my shoulder and carry her home right now.
“Did the witch slip one of the lumberjacks a love potion?” someone whispers behind us.
I whirl around to confront the culprit, but they’ve already disappeared into the crowd. Sabrina is still delighted by the festival, and I don’t think she overheard the person gossiping.
Fuck. I hope she didn’t. People can be so casually cruel, and my girl deserves better.
“Hungry?” I ask, my voice rougher than I’d like.
“Always.” She taps her chin with a single finger as she ponders the available choices. “Funnel cake? Or maybe cider? Betty Anderson brewed this year’s batch.”
I buy her both, even though anything one of the Anderson sisters brewed likely has an inhuman amount of alcohol in it. One night the duo challenged the logging crew to a drinking contest. I woke up on the bar floor. It was a lesson I learned the hard way, and I won’t soon forget. Taking a cautionary sip of my own cider, I ignore the cackling laughter of Betty and Barb. The elderly women are up to no good per the usual. One of them is in an on-again off-again relationship with Larry Young and I can’t be bothered to remember which.
