Love's Learning Curve (17 page)

I’m not sure I could just forget her.  I know my body won’t forget how it feels to have her hand in mine.  I love the way she unquestioningly follows my lead.  Hell, even the centrifugal force of the ride couldn’t pull away my pure joy when she slid into me.  I could have held the lap bar to brace for the turns, but it’s hard to keep my hands off her when she’s close.  Having her wrapped around me on the back of my bike today left me feeling weak in parts that shouldn’t feel weak, parts I’ve killed myself to shield and protect.  Tonight just proves that wasn’t a fluke.

When the next ride ends and people begin exiting, it takes a lot of effort and self-coaxing to break our embrace and move along, but I get the satisfaction that it’s a mutual feeling when the vibrations of her whispered sigh escapes.

“Ready for the famous fair favorite?” I ask, hoping to ease the ache of loss after the moment passes.  This connection I feel isn’t one sided.  It’s written over her like a skywriter plane drawing me in to read her every expression.  Her eyes flutter when she looks up, and I can’t help the urge to read the signals I see in her body language.  Her glowing cheeks tell me she feels the fire between us.  Her tender smile shows me she might actually like it.  But the tiny tremble I feel when I recover the physical connection between us by taking her hand is everything in that second.  It could mean many things, but I feel it too.  I can’t define it or understand the purpose of it, but I like it. Even without understanding it, I want more.  I think she does too.

We walk down the midway toward the Ferris wheel through the rows of games.  I try to remember the first time I ever experienced the fair and wonder if I ever had the same excitement I see radiating off Charlie.  Maybe coming to the fair for her is the same as what I would feel like walking into Fenway Park.  She still has an eager pep to her step, enjoying the sights of all the attractions and sounds.  I slow my stride toward the wheel, not wanting the night to end sooner than necessary and giving her time to take it all in.

The goading from a game operator breaks straight through my thoughts.  “Hey you, big guy.  Don’t you want to come over here and win your hot girlfriend a bear?” I laugh when I look over and notice that he’s holding a bucket of baseballs.  The thought to correct the man’s assumption at using the title girlfriend doesn’t even register.  I look at Charlie and see that the coincidence of the little intrusion has entertained her too, so we walk toward the man.  He explains the object of the game, and I downplay my expertise and toss down a couple of twenties for us each to play.

“Ty, I know baseball isn’t really your thing, but before you go any further, just know it’s okay if you can’t win me that adorably cute bear right there,” she says sarcastically, pointing at the oversized bear in the corner. I like the playful side of her. She knows baseball is my passion, and she knows I can win that bear. I’d spend a million dollars I didn’t have to try if I wasn’t blessed with the skill, but I am. If she wants that bear, she’s going to get it.

“I’ll try my very best, buttercup.”  I wink, then point at the bucket placed in front of her.   “You play too.  If you win, I want that light-saber.”  Her face erupts with an impeccable ear-to-ear beam as she laughs.  Once again, my damn third arm that is perpetually hard when she’s near becomes stone solid with the melodic sound.  New goal—see if it’s possible to throw a ball when your cock is testing the strength of a zipper.

The man tells me I’d have to knock down the entire pyramid of weighted plastic cups in order to win the large prize Charlie has her eye on.  I have ten balls to do it.  I fully intend for her to walk away with ten of those damn bears.

I pick up the first feeling the weight of the overused cheap ball.  The man stands aside looking smug.  But before I throw it toward the target, I see the asshole in deep concentration raking his dirty eyes all over Charlie’s body.  I’m sure he’s doing dirty fucking things to her in his twisted brain.  Hopefully, she’s oblivious to it, but it doesn’t derail the urge to throw an ace directly at his head and knock his eyeballs to the damn ground. 
Fucker.

Before I’m about to wind up, I glance at her and see that she’s looking at me watching the asshole.  I stop, reach over, and pull her to me, planting a kiss on her cheek.  Her cheek is warm and turns pink with color, as her smile grows even wider.  “I needed some good luck,” I tell her with a shrug.  She steps back to give me space to do my thing.  Thankfully, she doesn’t go too far.

I knock the pyramids down, one by one, going down the entire row without ever moving from my original placement.  The asshole that moments ago was eye-fucking Charlie now has his eyes trained on me.  He watches in shock as I make a complete mockery of his game.  When all eight pyramids are a pile of cups on the ground, and I still have two balls left, I signal him to set them up again.

Charlie doesn’t throw any of her balls.  She watches, cheering me on as each pyramid falls.  The man grumbles to himself quoting the statistics of winning the game as he regroups and sets up the pyramids, taking the time to assure they’re all in the proper position.  I reach out to collect her hand in mine, anxiously wanting to close the distance between us.  She allows the hand-napping and rolls herself into my side while we watch the man work.

“Look at you, Mr. Hotshot baseball boy.  I think you won me that bear,” she says, smartly looking away from the game to me.

Hotshot baseball boy?  I’ll show her a boy!  “Um … babe, so far, I’ve won you eight of those cheap ass bears.  That alone should deem me a man.  Let’s lose the boy title.  I don’t think you’re quite ready for me to show you how much of a man I actually am.”  I smirk.  As soon as I realize what I’ve said, I immediately worry that my forwardness may be too much for her.  But when she takes it in stride and laughs at the comment, I relax.

It’s her rhetorical comment that shocks the shit out of me. “Hmmm … I think it’ll take more than a few bears to prove your manhood, big boy,” she says, patting my chest to placate me.  Holy.  Fucking.  Hell.  I think that was her checkmate.

Reaching across her to my forearm wrapped around her, I close two fingers around a clump of my skin and pinch.  I need to assure myself that this is real, and I didn’t just dream that.  When I feel the welcomed burn from the pinch, and she laughs watching me and is still very much in my arms, my shock takes over.  I look around us for the closest exit as the strength of the urge to toss her over my shoulder and carry her ass out of here overwhelms me.

The loss of the connection snaps me back to reality when she steps away to allow me to resume the game.  She positions herself a safe distance away, but I have other intentions.  I hold up my hand, and with a crook of my finger, I motion for her to come toward me.  She complies, not stopping until she’s close enough that I can feel the pressure of her breath as she’s pushing her tits into my lower ribcage.  I lean my head forward and lay a soft kiss on her forehead then bend to place another to her cheek.  When that’s not fulfilling enough, I continue to her lips, holding it for a few seconds longer this time.

No one can ever question my willpower when I prove that it exists by removing my lips from the softness of hers.  The tenderness of the moment replaces our earlier flirtations.  I silence the growl as she steps back allowing me the space to work my magic—her eyes never leaving me.

With two more pyramids down with my last two balls and ten of the most pathetic bears I’ve ever seen, I point at her full bucket.  “Your turn, buttercup.  I’d only want the blue light-saber, though.  I’ve recently realized it’s my favorite color.” I shrug and ignore the ache in my cheek when I smile at her.  I stand close watching, hopeful she hits even one of those pyramids to knock it down just so the asshole behind the counter has to give me the cheap toy that MY Charlie wins for ME.

She misses on the first two balls.  They both fly wildly into the display, nowhere near the target.  It’s tough not to laugh.  I would say she throws like a girl, but that would be insulting to chicks.  She’s worse than a chick who throws without strength.  She steps with the wrong foot, and her arm is all wonky.  It’s no surprise her throw is wild and weak, but I can’t let this happen.  I’m not okay with my girl not knowing how to throw a damn ball. 
Wait, my girl?
 I shake my head of that thought.  She doesn’t have to throw it perfect or even that well, but the form at least needs to be decent.  I stop her before she can carelessly toss away another light-saber.

Stepping up behind her, I sweep the hair covering her ear to the side and whisper in her ear.  “I can’t let you keep throwing that ball like that.”  She leans her body back into mine unexpectedly, and her ass aligns perfectly with the strained fabric covering my now angry to be unleashed cock. Her body this close to mine fuels the thirst of a release causing a deep ache in my nuts. Hiding the groan, I turn her in my arms to face me.

“Care to give me some pointers, mister?” she innocently teases, but I’m not innocent.  The only pointers I want to give her right now are the direction of my truck and then the big ass pointer in my pants.  The hitch in her breath is a clear indication that she recognizes my situation.

I need to get some space between us before I can attempt to deal with my protruding package between us.  But when she doesn’t pull away from me scared, I find it impossible to convince myself that she’s not affected in the same way.  She has no idea what she’s doing to me with her simple touches.

I groan in her ear, lightly nipping her lobe.  “I need a second, buttercup.” 

Forcing myself to step away and place some distance between us, I bend over and face away from her knowing I won’t be able to fix anything with her in my line of sight.  Taking a deep breath, my head falls and I hunch over.  I’m so turned on by her right now, and I know I won’t get any resolution to the big ass problem hanging between my legs until I have her safely tucked away at home and away from all the things I want to do to her.  Then a cold shower and my fist will have to make do.

I have to get my shit together.  I can’t risk scaring her off.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what’s happening right in front of me.  She’s as innocent as they come and allowing the head of my dick to fuck me over and miss the chance to get to know her is not going to happen.  She’s different from my normal, THANK GOD.

I cringe at the thought of comparing Charlie to the cleat chasers.  Those chicks beg to fall on my cock, hoping they have some staying power or, better, that I knock them up.  They’ll do anything to tie themselves to me even for the couple of hours I sacrifice. 

With Charlie, it’s different.  I welcome and want the opportunity to earn the privilege of her time and affection.  Hell … I’ll work double time for it.  I’m all in on that plan, fully ready to attempt to be and show her I’m worthy. 

I stand, even though I didn’t resolve anything in my thirty-second timeout.  My cock still aches.  When I turn around, I see she’s watching me intently, confused and concerned.  Her eyes are blinking excessively, and her lips press firmly together, highlighting the rush of her conflicted emotions.

I relax my face and allow my eyes to dance across her face.  She’s so beautiful with those doe-like eyes.  The level of innocence within her is obvious, but behind the innocence is the girl who’s lived a sheltered life and is ready for adventure.  I just hope it’s me she’s waited for to help experience some of life’s excitement.

That thought excites me, and I smile, taking the steps closer to her, and in a split second, her face softens.  “Ready to learn to throw a ball?”  I ask.  She shakes her head, but her eyes don’t lose contact with mine.

“No. Actually, I was hoping you would do it for me.  See I really want to win that blue light-saber over there for my friend.” I stop mid-stride caught off guard by the rejection on two counts.  One—she might very well be the first person to reject a coaching session with me, but in all fairness, she’s also the first I’ve willingly offered my services.  Two—I don’t want to be her friend.  If she wasn’t so adorable and I didn’t know I was ‘the friend’ she wanted the prize for, it would be a huge blow to my ego.

“So let me get this straight,” I say, taking the position next to her but leaving some space.  “You threw two of the worst pitches I’ve ever witnessed, and now, you want to give up and let some … what did you call me …?”  I pretend to have forgotten the title, but I’ll never forget.  She fills in the blank, just as I suspected she would.

Her smirk makes me proud, and I’m instantly relieved that my quick timeout to get my shit together didn’t chase away her playful nature.  “Oh … I remember.  I called you a hotshot baseball boy,” she says with a laugh.

“Yep.  That’s the one.”  I’ve already resolved myself to give in to whatever she wants.  If standing here and effortlessly tossing a few balls to win prizes is it, I’ll do this all night.