"And what about our classes? We just blow off the rest of the day?" I fold my arms across my chest, though it's mostly for show He laughs and leans toward me, his lips grazing the side of my neck as they form the word-Yes.
And as I pull away I'm amazed to hear myself answer with how instead of no.
"No worries." He smiles, squeezing my hand as he leads me through the gate. "You'll always be safe with me."
Sixteen
"Disneyland?" I climb out of my car and gaze at him in shock. Out of all the places I thought we'd end up, this never cracked the list.
"I hear it's the happiest place on earth;" He laughs. "Have you been?"
I shake my head.
"Good, then I'll be your guide." He slips his arm through mine and leads me through the gates, and as we wander down Main Street I try to imagine him coming here before. He's so sleek, so sophisticated, so sexy, so smooth-it's hard to imagine him trolling a place where Mickey Mouse rules. "It's always better during the week when it's not so crowded," he says, crossing the street. "Come on, I'll show you New Orleans, it's my favorite part.".
"You come here enough to have favorites?" I stop in the middle of the street and stare at him. "I thought you just moved here?"
He laughs. "I did just move here. But that doesn't mean I haven't been," he says, pulling me toward the Haunted Mansion.
After the Haunted Mansion we head for the Pirates ride, and when that's over, he looks at me and says, "So which one's your favorite?"
"Uhm, Pirates." I nod. "I think." He looks at me.
"Well, they're both pretty cool." I shrug. "But Pirates has Johnny Depp, so that kind of gives it an unfair advantage, don't you think?"
"Johnny Depp? So that's what I'm up against?" He raises a brow;
I shrug, taking in Damen's dark jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirt, and those boots, his easy good looks dwarfing every Hollywood actor I can think of, though it's not like I'll admit that.
"Wanna go again?" he asks, dark eyes flashing.
So we do. And then we head back to the Haunted Mansion.
And when we reach the part at the end, where the ghosts hitch a ride in your car, I half expect to see Riley scrunched in between us, laughing and waving and clowning around. But instead, it's just one of those cartoon Disney ghosts, and I remember Riley's appointment and figure she must be too busy.
After yet another go on those rides, we end up at a waterfront table in the Blue Bayou, the restaurant inside the Pirates ride. And as I sip my iced tea I look at him and say, "Okay, I happen to know this is a really big park with more than two rides. Rides that have nothing to do with pirates or ghosts."
"I heard that too." He smiles, spearing calamari with his fork and offering it to me. "They used to have this one called Mission to Mars. It was known as the make-out ride, mostly because it was very dark inside."
"Is it still here?" I ask, my face turning every shade of crimson when I realize how eager I sound. "Not that I want to ride it or anything. I was just curious."
He looks at me, his face clearly amused. Then he shakes his head and says, "No, it closed a long time ago."
"So you were going on the make-out ride when you were what-two?" I ask, reaching for a sausage-stuffed mush
room and hoping I'll like it.
"Not me." He smiles. "That was way before my time."
Normally I'd do anything to avoid a place like this. A place so congested with the random energy of people, their bright swirling auras, their odd collection of thoughts. But it's different with Damen, effortless, pleasant. Because whenever we touch, whenever he speaks, it's like we're the only ones here.
After lunch, we stroll around the park, going on all the fast rides and avoiding the water rides, or at least the ones where you get soaked. And when it gets dark, he leads me over to Sleeping Beauty Castle, where we stop near the moat and wait for the fireworks show to begin.
"So, am I forgiven?" he asks, arms snaking around my waist, teeth nipping at my neck, my jaw, my ear. The sudden burst of fireworks, their booming crackle and snap, seem faint and far away, as our bodies press together and his lips move against mine.
"Look," he whispers, pulling away and pointing toward the expanse of night sky, a profusion of purple color wheels, golden waterfalls, silver fountains, pink chrysanthemums, and for the grand finale-a dozen red tulips. All of it flaring and blasting, in such quick succession it vibrates the concrete under our feet.
Wait-red tulips?