Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Close

“I can’t breathe,” I gasped, rolling around on the ground for the second time that night. “I think I’m going to die. But at least I’m going to die with the memory of Peter karate chopping a clown in the throat.”

Quinton was laughing just as hard as I was but he managed to stay upright, doubled over and clutching his sides. He was laughing so hard he could have been crying. “I’ll never forget that moment. Priceless.”

We laughed hysterically for at least another twenty minutes. By that time, I had realized something.

“Hey,” I called, glancing around with a frown. “Where did Peter and Mathieu go?”

Quinton shrugged, not the least bit worried about their disappearance. “They probably went to go discuss their favorite childhood cartoon at some churro stand. Matt couldn’t shut up about getting a churro.”

I bit back another laugh. I was sure that, at this point, it would have just sounded maniacal.

Quinton didn’t seem to mind. He laughed at himself so hard that he snorted.

I giggled, poking him. “You snorted!”

“I do that sometimes,” he told me, grinning. “It has nothing on that face that you make when you laugh.”

I gaped at him. “What face?”

He contorted his face into a look that I would have described as creeptastic. I released a fist and punched him in the shoulder, making him burst out into even louder laughter. I scowled at him, my face burning. He was smirking widely, finding something utterly hilarious in my reaction.

“Hardy har, Lancaster,” I remarked, my eyes narrowed. “You’re a riot.”

“It’s my gentlemanly charm,” he told me with a straight face, which just made him laugh again. I snorted.

I brushed the dirt off of myself and glanced around at the carnival, realizing that we had managed to put some impressive distance in between ourselves and the choked-out clown. Somehow we had run all the way to the other side of the carnival, almost to the edge in the back, before we had collapsed from our hysterical laughter. I looked around a little more clearly and my eyes widened.

Of course.

Of course we would both end up at the Ferris wheel.

I don’t know if this was fate laughing at me or something, but this was definitely some kind of cruel joke being played on me. I knew Ferris wheels, and once one passes the age of about twelve, it becomes extremely obvious why most people go on them.

When Quinton turned, curious as to why I was staring at something like it had just murdered my cat, I just wanted to melt into the ground and disappear.

He looked at the ride for a little bit, looking thoughtful.