Page 88 of Electric Touch
“Food.”
“A fucking splendid idea,” Nash gets up and grabs my hands, pulling me up so fast I almost sprawl as my feet tangle in the blankets. He keeps me upright. “Come on, klutz.”
“Hey, that was your fault.”
He takes my hand and pulls me towards the door to the stairs.
“What about all this?” I point back at the blankets.
“We’ll need them in seventeen hours and…” he looks at his watch again. “Twenty-eight minutes. If we’re not ready to pass out,” he drags me into him and kisses me senseless. When he pulls back, he smirks. “I’ve got plans for them.”
“I’ve got plans too.”
“Sexy ones?”
“Depends on how you feel about fairground rides.”
His look of puzzlement is adorable. We grab our things from the apartment and head downstairs.
It surprises Nash to see Blake waiting for us in the lobby. I hand Nash a baseball cap and assure Blake he has sunglasses too. It’s not much of a disguise, but it should work.
Last night I sent my proposed itinerary to Pippa. She’d been concerned but got back to me within half an hour to say it was doable. But Blake has to come. I’d conceded to that. We are going to be in a very open, public space after all. Pippa assured me he would stay out of the way unless we needed him. My concern was it will be more conspicuous having a huge muscle bound guy with us.
Blake is dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and a leather jacket that covers his waist. There is a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of his t-shirt. I try to see if he has any weapons beneath his coat. Clearly getting carried away with the idea of what a bodyguard does.
“I don’t think I’ll need a gun where we’re going,” Blake says, clasping his hands in front of him.
Nash bursts out laughing and I give them both a look.
“Where are we going?” Nash asks.
“What are your thoughts on rollercoasters?”
He stops laughing quickly, his face pales. “About a thousand percent less enjoyable than a zip wire,” he glances from Blake to me.
“Nonsense, you loved that.” I link his arm and Blake gets the front door as we head out to the car.
“No I didn’t,” he says.
“How about I do more than suggest I’ll promise you a certain something?”
“Nope, that doesn’t work for me.”
“Seriously? You’re scared of rollercoasters?”
“All fair rides. And… Clowns.”
Blake snickers, drawing a sharp look from Nash. He opens the rear door for us and I climb in. Nash follows me and Blake shuts the door.
“I don’t think there are any clowns walking around Coney Island,” I tell him. “Are you really scared of the fair?”
“Bad experience when I was a kid. It involved puke, a concussion and nightmares for months.”
“That sounds like an interesting story. You can tell me all about it on the drive down there.”
“I’d rather not remember it. Thanks all the same. Don’t I get to veto this?”
“I want to ride the Cyclone,” I tell him, referring to the famous rollercoaster.