The event starts

Emily's fingers hovered over the cheerleader outfit's satin fabric, the material cool and slippery under her touch. The sound of children squealing on the nearby Ferris wheel mixed with the tinny carnival music, making the whole scene feel surreal. "I—I guess it's for charity," she stammered, more to herself than to Kevin, before snatching the hanger from his hand and ducking behind the makeshift changing curtain Maggie had rigged up out of an old shower rod and a bed sheet. The fabric rustled as she shimmied out of her flannel and shorts, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Outside, Kevin's voice carried over the fairground noise as he started pitching the dunk tank to passersby. "Step right up, folks! Twenty bucks for three throws—or make it fifty and pick the next outfit!" Emily peeked through a gap in the curtain just in time to see a group of college boys elbow each other, already pulling out crumpled bills. She swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of how the cheerleader skirt barely covered her thighs when she moved.

The first pitch missed the target by a mile, sending the baseball thudding harmlessly into the tank's padding. Emily exhaled in relief—until she heard Kevin's stage-whisper to the next guy in line: "Aim *lower*, dumbass." Her cheeks burned as the second throw clipped the edge of the target, making the platform shudder. The third hit dead center with a loud *clang*, and Emily yelped as the seat dropped out from under her.

The water was colder than she expected, shocking her lungs into a gasp as she surfaced, blonde hair plastered to her face. Through the dripping strands, she saw Kevin leaning over the tank's edge, grinning like a kid who'd just won a goldfish. "That's the spirit!" He offered a hand to haul her out, his grip warm and calloused against her slick fingers. The cheerleader skirt clung transparently to her hips as she climbed the ladder back up, and Emily didn't miss how Kevin's gaze flickered downward before he hastily handed her a towel.

"Next victim—er, *volunteer*!" Kevin announced to the growing crowd, shaking water off the clipboard where he'd been tallying donations. Emily wrapped the towel around her waist, suddenly shy despite the ridiculous pom-poms still dangling from her wrists. A woman in a Stetson hat waved a hundred-dollar bill. "I want her in the rodeo costume next," she drawled, winking at Emily's startled expression.

Emily clutched the towel tighter around her waist, the rodeo queen costume dangling from Kevin’s fingers like some kind of dare. The sequins caught the sunlight, scattering little prisms across the dunk tank’s platform. "That one’s got *chaps*," she whispered, horrified.

Kevin grinned, shaking the costume so the fringe swayed. "And boots! Real ones—Maggie borrowed ’em from some line-dancing aunt." He lowered his voice, leaning in close enough that she caught the faint scent of sunscreen on his skin. "C’mon, Emily. Hundred bucks for the kids’ ward. You’d be a *cowgirl*. It’s practically your birthright."

She hesitated, glancing at the woman in the Stetson who was now tapping her boot impatiently. The crowd had thickened, a mix of curious fairgoers and—she noticed with a sinking feeling—several men who seemed way too invested in watching her climb out of the water. "Fine," she muttered, snatching the costume. "But I’m keeping the towel on until the last second."

Behind the curtain, the rodeo outfit turned out to be even more absurd up close. The red satin shirt had pearl snaps instead of buttons, and the chaps were… well, *chaps*. Emily bit her lip, wrestling with the snaps while trying not to imagine how much thigh they’d leave exposed. The boots were the final insult—pointy-toed and snug enough that she had to hop on one foot to wedge them on.

She emerged to a chorus of whistles, the chaps flapping against her bare legs as she climbed back onto the platform. Kevin’s eyebrows shot up. "Damn," he said under his breath, then louder: "Yeehaw, folks! Next round starts at fifty bucks a throw—who’s feeling lucky?"