The employee swung the bar down, the metal safety bar thudding into place across our laps. He flicked the latch with a practiced movement, then stepped back and waved the operator on.
The car lurched.
“Oh,” I muttered as the ground began to tilt away. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”
“You’re fine, baby,” Sterling murmured soothingly.
My head snapped toward him. “I—I’m not your baby,” I sputtered, heat climbing up my neck.
He didn’t bother arguing. He just smirked.
The wheel paused to let the next set of riders on, our car dangling a third of the way up. The wind was stronger up here, brushing against my cheeks, lifting the tiny wisps of hair around my face. Below us, the carnival spread out like a toy town. The arena lights glowed off to the side, the dirt circle of the rodeo ring
