Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,49

called it first.”

“Because you’re twelve?” he shot back.

Pearl rapped her pencil against the edge of her clipboard. “While it’s lovely to see you both so enthusiastic, might I suggest you split the shift? And maybe save your trash talk for tomorrow?”

“I’ll go first,” Benjamin said, but Maya had already taken off jogging toward the tank.

He was hot on her heels. The frame of the tank was made of wood and had a little staircase in the back. She reached it before Benjamin and started to scramble up it, but she had so much momentum from the running that when she made the sharp turn to mount the stairs, her body kept moving in the original direction. Shrieking, she splayed her arms out to try to balance herself, but there was nothing to grab on to. She was going to fall and break her head. So much for back to normal with Benjamin. So much for the grant. So much for Holden Hampshire.

Well, at least she wouldn’t have to live to see the demise of her theater. Her dad could make the floral arrangements for her funeral.

Hands materialized on her body, one large palm splayed over her midback and another, mortifyingly, wrapped around one hip so while Benjamin’s thumb was pressed against her hip bone, he basically had a handful of butt cheek. The little staircase had no railings, so she wobbled back and forth, his hands still on her, while she regained her equilibrium. His hands were warm and strong. Which was exactly what she’d been thinking during their awkwardly long handshake at his place a few weeks ago. Except that had been one hand. This was two hands. And her butt.

“You’re okay,” he said in her ear.

That was the strange thing about Benjamin. He was her sworn enemy. But she knew somehow that he would never let her fall—physically, anyway. There was that movie An Officer and a Gentleman, but was there such a thing as a jerk and a gentleman?

Once she’d righted herself, he let her go, but for a moment his hands hovered an inch above her skin, as if he wanted to make sure she was okay before he fully retreated. She could have sworn she still felt them on her, though, still felt the heat of them.

“Actually,” said Pearl, who had registered neither the butt grabbing nor Maya’s near-death experience, “Jake Ramsey built that dunk tank for Joe Wilkerson, may he rest in peace, to sit in years ago, and if you recall, Joe was a larger gentleman. So if you squeeze in, I suspect there’s room on that seat for both of you!” She sounded delighted with this plan. “I wonder if we can charge double if you’re both sitting in there.”

Could they share the seat? Maya eyed Benjamin. He raised his eyebrows. A challenge.

She sat.

He did, too, and hooboy. Maybe she should have given up and let him have this gig. The seat was technically big enough for both of them, but only when they were smushed together, her right side plastered to his left. Way more than the contact between them that had occurred on the roof of the newspaper building. She tried to do the thing you do on public transport next to a manspreader, to curl inward and make yourself as small as possible, but there simply was not enough room. This was going to be full-contact dunk-tank victimhood.

She steeled herself.

It took a while for Pearl to get the booth officially open—she had to hunt down Karl, who was the one scheduled to operate it, and find him some cash with which to make change. A line formed.

She and Benjamin didn’t speak. It was a gorgeous day. Blue sky, warm sun, slight breeze off the lake, the scent of honeysuckle on the air.

Torture.

The line got longer.

The silence grew heavier.

Finally Karl appeared, rubbing his palms together as he conferred with Pearl. “All right!” he shouted to the crowd. “Here we go! Dunk Maya and Law! A buck a ball or five balls for three. Step right up!”

Their first would-be assailant was someone she didn’t recognize. “Do you know who that is?” she asked Benjamin.

“Eric Handler. He’s from south of town a ways. He’s the—”

Splat.

She was plunged into freezing water.

And shrieking again. She needed to quit the shrieking. It was unbecoming. It did not communicate any of the things she wanted to communicate—to the town or to Benjamin.

She just hadn’t expected the water to be so cold. It was colder than the