“Still afraid?” he teases with a nudge. He pulls me deeper toward a booth with a bar and orders a couple of beers.
My whispered reply is lost amongst the music and the roar of the crowd.
“Terrified.”
I spot an ice cream stand right away, specializing in a cherry syrup topping that looks like blood.
Nine chuckles. “Do you want some of that, or are you just planning on eye fucking the ice cream stand?”
“Can we?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a kid.
Nine takes my hand and walks me over to the ice cream stand. “What flavor do you want, Miss?” The zombie behind the counter asks. He’s got fake blood splattered on his apron and his paper hat.
“I’ll take vanilla,” I reply.
“You want the blood topping? It’s our specialty.”
My smile brightens. “Then, of course!”
The zombie grabs a red cone and swirls the ice cream on top from the machine. He squirts on the oozing red topping containing chunks of cherries and strawberries. Nine reaches over the tall booth and passes me the cone.
“You’re not going to have any?” I ask him as he pays.
His eyes are full of mischief. “They don’t have the flavor I want.”
I take a big bite from the top of the cone, and it tastes like heaven. I close my eyes and groan out loud as the flavors explode in my mouth. When I open them again, Nine’s staring at me like he’s suddenly hungry. “What flavor do you want that they don’t have? I’m pretty sure the menu lists every flavor known to man.” I take another bite and groan yet again.
Nine’s lips are suddenly at my ear. He whispers, “Lenny’s pussy. It’s my new favorite flavor. It’s a pity they don’t have it.”
I choke on the ice cream sliding down my throat. It’s the first time he’s mentioned what happened the other night. I was wondering if he forgot or if he just didn’t think much of it, considering his abrupt departure afterward.
Nine chuckles. “Come on, little bird. There’s more to this place than ice cream.”
But suddenly, I’m not interested in the ice cream or the festival because all I can think about is Nine’s face between my spread legs. How it felt. How much I want to feel it again.
I shudder as a delicious chill rakes over me, and he again takes my hand in his.
We spend hours at the fair. First, we gather around a makeshift stage to watch a zombie show where the zombies fight against the humans for world domination. Spoiler alert, the zombies win. We walk from booth to booth sampling treats, laughing at the costumes, and playing games.
After a while we find ourselves standing in front of a trio of wonky mirrors that distort your height and shape. I laugh as our heads are contorted into stretchy oblong shapes in one of them. “They’re all the same,” Nine says.
“No, they’re not,” I argue, taking a bite of my second ice cream of the night. This time chocolate with raspberry blood topping. “That one stretches your head, that one makes you look like a pencil, and this one makes everything short and wide.” I look up to him. “Do you need glasses? You can borrow mine but they’re back at the RV.”
Nine stands behind me and places his chin on my shoulder looking at our distorted reflection in the wonky mirrors. “I don’t need glasses. They’re the same because in every single one…you’re still you. Sexy as fuck, irreverent, quirky, you.”
My heart melts as the ice cream from my second cone of the day drips down my hand. I search around for a garbage can. Nine takes what’s left of my cone and walks it to a nearby booth to dispose of it. He comes back with a handful of napkins.
A group of teenage girls blatantly stare at him and giggle as he passes. “Here, let me,” he says, taking my wrist he lifts up my arm, and I think he’s going to wipe the melted ice cream from my hand when he brings it to his mouth and licks the drip from my thumb to my wrist. “Hmmmm…delicious.”
I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m pressing my knees together to keep from combusting right here and now. “Uh…thank you.”
“Anytime.” His words laced with wicked promise.
“Come on, I’ve got one more thing I want to show you.” Nine leads me to the back of the fairgrounds, past a running, screaming herd of mini-zombies that almost knock me over. Nine reaches out and grabs me before I faceplant, then pulls me close and wraps his arms around me to protect me from a second herd that screams by in a blur of blood and cotton candy.
His eyes search mine. He lifts my chin, and slowly he lowers his head. “Fuck, you make me…” He doesn’t finish because our lips brush together, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second because we’re yanked apart by a high-pitch voice that breaks through the moment like a familiar shrill battering ram.