Playing Matchmaker

chapter twenty four

t h i s i s t h e p a r t w h e r e

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Picture: the feels you'll be feeling

Dedicated to @proclaimed because I know that I would have the exact same kind of luck as you would!

Her most embarrassing moment was: 'I was on a date with my boyfrien and was trying to impress him by climbing this tree faster than him, but ended up getting pooped on by birds'.

Gurl, I feel for you.

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"This one," I pointed to the humongous rollercoaster in front of me, full of spirals and loop-de-loops. If looks could kill, Tyler's expression would have me six inches down in the ground in the local cemetery. "C'mon, it's not even that bad!" I bed, not ashamed that I sound like a little kid.

Tyler had taking me to an amusement park. The same one that Emily, Nate and I go to every year. It's the best amusement park in a 100 mile radius, and only a fifteen minute drive away in Halston. Halston may be our rivals, but that doesn't mean we won't go here. Nothing is stopping me from riding their rides.

Halston's carnival slash amusement park is known for their killer rides. There's about fifteen to choose from, with about seven of them being the kind of rides I love. Scary, fast and dangerous.

"No fucking way," Tyler shakes his head. Maybe it's the name that's scaring him; after all I would feel a little nervous to get on a rollercoaster named 'Coaster of Death'. Yet, I'm so excited I'm about to pee myself. Rollercoaster give me so much adrenalin, and I love it. "Eres una perra loca," he grumbles under his breath as I grab his arm and pull it so hard it nearly falls out of the socket.

That ass, I am so not a crazy bitch. "Su mamá es una perra loca," I retorted. That's right, I just said a 'your mom' joke in Spanish. Speaking two –no three, sarcasm, remember? – Languages really come in handy sometimes. It's a form of communication where other people don't know what you're saying . . . unless they google it.

Tyler gives me another 'look could kill' scowl, tempting me to just reach out and force his face into a smile. He should be proud! I'm extending my vocabulary to your mom jokes. "You're going to pay for that," he warns, "Now hurry up and get on the ride, if I vomit, I'll make sure to vomit on you first."

"Naw, how sweet," I practically race to the line-up for 'Coaster of Death'. Surely they were on some kind of drug when they named this ride? Surely. The line was short and sweet, and we were ready to get on the ride in about five minutes. Meanwhile, Tyler hyperventilates beside me. Apparently, he had a bad experience on a ride when he was little and nearly fell out, and since then, he has a prodigious hatred for them. I don't blame him, I would be a little petrified to get on a ride again if I nearly fell out. But I haven't.

"Calm your tatas," I tried comforting him, but it came out more like an insult. I practically forced him onto every ride so far that involved heights and spins. He hasn't vomited yet, which is a plus. After this ride, he said we are going to the Sideshow Alley – his favorite part because it doesn't involve death-rides – then once his stomach has settled from riding this death trap, we'll go and get something to eat.

He said that the only ride he can go on comfortably is the Ferris wheel. I thought that was cute, but only got another warning for calling him the 'c' word again. Apparently, every time I call him cute, he can call me masculine and see how I feel. Ass.

The ride coordinator straps Tyler and I in. It's one of those rides where it's just seats, and our legs dangle in the air since there isn't a foot rest underneath. The handlebars go over our shoulders and there is a huge lump in-between our legs that connect to the padded handlebars. It's a perfectly safe ride, yet Tyler thinks otherwise.