Chapter 1

We met in the parking lot of Great Escape in Queensbury, New York, an hour before sunset. The hot air was the consistency of creamy soup, and my polo shirt clung to me like glue; I ran my hand through my short hair, and my fingers came away, sticky and damp.

Under the boiling heat of a late August sun, I felt twitchy, waiting for Devon Ryder, the man I had been chatting with for a month from behind the safety of my computer screen. I checked my watch for the third time. I had only been waiting for ten minutes after receiving Devon’s IM to meet him in the parking lot.

Packing my sweaty hands into my shorts pockets, I leaned against my old car, a 2010 blue Civic, my heart pulsing.

Fifteen minutes later, when his light brown Volkswagen pulled into the congested parking lot, I popped a stick of Juicy Fruit into my mouth and mopped my brow with the back of my hand.

I watched Devon reversing the car, driving it forward, and trying to fit it into a narrow spot between a large SUV and the monstrosity of a bumblebee yellow hummer.

I stared at him with a commiserating look. He glanced over his shoulder and into the rearview mirror for any wandering pedestrians or other slow-moving vehicles. Two old-schooled dudes on a date, I thought, my mind scrambled from the heat and tension of the moment.

Devon approached me, his skintight tee taut against his broad shoulders, his armpits stained, sweat glistening along his buff arms and I could hardly speak when he reached out to shake my hand

I envisioned his handshake to be as weak as his dry humor when we exchanged IMs: His deadpan delivery was oftentimes lifeless. “I want to walk around the world one day, but I don’t own a comfortable pair of shoes.”

It was hard to judge someone from talking to them behind a computer.

We shook hands. Surprisingly, his grip was firm. “It’s finally nice to meet the T.J. Alton I’ve been talking to online,” he said.

* * * *

The line for the Ferris wheel ride was growing around the hot dog and helium balloon stands as we waited to get on.

“What are you afraid of, T.J.?” Devon asked, noticing my hand trembling when he reached for it with his.

“Heights,” I said.

“Are you sure you want to ride a Ferris wheel?” he said, biting off a chunk of his blue snow cone.

I held my half-eaten cotton candy in one hand as I handed my ticket to the Ferris wheel operator.

“Let me lift the bar for you,” Devon said, gesturing me toward the gargantuan wheel of my nightmares. As I passed him, I smiled at his chivalry. Rare these days, I thought. He was soft spoken and had a trace of an accent. Italian? I stared into his sapphire blues, and when I asked him if he wore contact lenses to heighten the color he said, “No, they’re the real thing.” His red hair was neatly combed to the side, his meticulous, well-tended beard, full not bushy, reminded me of an older Ron Weasley. I could snuggle up next to him, I mused.

Devon exfoliated daily, I noticed, because I couldn’t see a single pore on his chiseled face. He was a thirty-five-year old man who prided himself on his good hygiene: His online profile to a tee. His damp skin smelled of rosemary oil as he slid into the seat of the Ferris wheel beside me, the back-and-forth rocking motion clutching my gut, making me queasy.

The humid night air blasted in our faces, carrying with it the mouthwatering scents of hot dogs and candy apples.

Devon wedged his thick, strong body close to me, legs splayed, his free arm reaching behind me as if he was going to hug me. The attendant, a tall dark-skinned twenty-something body builder, inked with tattoos up and down his arms, locked us in place, as a whiff of his bitter body odor wafted in my face.

“Thanks, Pete,” Devon said to the ride operator.

I watched Pete look from me to Devon, and wink. I turned to Devon, who grasped me in his big arms. I blushed at his boyish grin.

Trying to cover my shyness, I tore a hunk of pink cotton candy from the cone and stuffed my mouth with the spun sugar.

The cab started to move. My stomach heaved. I gripped the bar, my palms clammy and shaky.

“Nervous?” Devon asked, a hint of mirth in his low husky voice.

“Are you making fun of me?” I asked, my mouth twisting into a grimace.

Devon grinned reassuringly, his lips parting, revealing a one-inch gap in the middle of his off-white teeth. “Do you still want to ride?” Devon asked, his warm hand falling across my bare leg.