I think about him holding me on his chest after, his heart pounding against my cheek. And how he saidI love you, in that ruined voice, while I rifled through his bag for a condom in nothing but his wool socks.
I know it was just an off-the-cuff slip, but it still felt good to hear.
My phone starts buzzing on the nightstand like a hornet in a Mason jar.
I pick it up and see notifications for three missed calls and six texts. And the little red bubble on my mail icon is in the double digits, which is enough to give me hives.
It's barely seven a.m.!
Then again, maybe these are finally coming through from yesterday’s loss of connection.
The first text is from Lark.
ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?
OR DID YOUR BOSS KILL YOU WITH HIS DICK?
I close my eyes.Jesus, Lark.How did she—? I’d only sent a quick text the first night, and it only mentioned Beck in passing.
Man, she’s good.
Laurel
Laurel
Laurel
LAUREL
I send back:alive. talk later.and switch to email before she can demand more.
The first one is from the owner of Walker Performance Horses in Marble Falls, Texas. The subject line says:OFFICIAL OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT
They’re offering me a job!
I'd put my name in the hat for them six months ago when I was newly separated, half-drunk on box wine, and convinced I needed to firebomb my entire life. They'd called twice in thespring. We'd had two interviews. Then it had gone quiet, the way these things can, and I'd assumed I was out of the running.
But they want me as head trainer at their barn! And with a salary that makes me actually choke on my spit. I’d be housed on the property and havehealth insurance!Plus, there’s a signing bonus that covers the cost of my divorce attorney's bill. Their string includes two NCHA futurity hopefuls, a stallion I have followed on Instagram like other women follow celebrities, and a bunch of clients who fly in from three different countries to ride with the Walkers, personally.
This isthejob.
Beck’s flannel slides down my shoulder, and his smell hits me again.
Suddenly, my eyes sting. "Stop it," I tell them. "Stop it right now."
I skim down the rest of the letter.
They want me on the property in three weeks for orientation. They need an answer in seven days.
That’s enough time to finish out the month here with Beck and Riot. It works out so cleanly it feels as if the universe is telling me something.
Take the job.Start your life.
It's the kind of offer I’d normally have answered before my coffee got cold.
But now, I’m sitting here in a man's flannel, my heart creeping into my throat, thinking about how we made love last night.
I need to get out for a bit.
