Page 32 of Run for the Money

That settles it. The anger in her voice is enough to make things crystal clear for me. I’ve done enough damage for one night, and it’s time for me to go.

“I’m sorry, Melanie. It’s been a long day, and I’m not thinking clearly. This was a mistake,” I say.

All of the warmth between us is gone, blown away on the wind that’s picked up since we got out of the truck. Her anger has wiped out the last of hervulnerability, too. It’s more familiar, somehow. Safer. It’s easier between us when those are the sparks I fan into flame.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” she asks.

“I should go. You’ve got to pack.”

She stares at me, eyebrows raised, like she’s waiting for me to say something else.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’ve got to hit the road early,” I say. “Get some sleep.”

“Sure. See you in the morning, Nicholas,” she spits, then she shoves her way through her front door and slams it closed. A split second later it opens and my suit coat comes flying out before the she slams it again.

I scoop the jacket off her porch and walk back to my truck. The cab smells floral and unfamiliar. I toss my jacket over the slightly battered geraniums sitting in the passenger seat, but it doesn’t dim their smell, or my anger. I couldn’t have fucked this night up harder if I tried.

Chapter 9

Melanie

The tense drive to Cheyenne was a house party compared to the atmosphere in the truck on the way to Salt Lake. When Nick picked me up at seven this morning, he immediately tried to apologize for last night’s kiss. I cut him off, refusing to hear it. The only reason I didn’t burst into tears at the mere mention of the kiss is because I drained every last ounce of water out of my body via my tear ducts last night while I packed.

“Look, I know I fucked up yesterday,” Nick tries again, an hour into this nightmare drive. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

He’s not the only one who wishes the kiss never happened—but for very different reasons. I wish it hadn’t happened, because then I wouldn’t know how unbelievably right it felt to kiss him. If he’d never kissed me, I wouldn’t know what I’m missing. I wouldn’t have to sit in the passenger seat, staring at a stray geranium petal stuck to the floor, remembering how fully that kiss stopped my world.

Kissing’s never felt like that before—all my senses overwhelmed, every nerve ending in my body sparkling with energy and anticipation. I was seconds away from pulling him into my house and turning all of my naked Nick fantasies into reality when he brought everything to a screeching halt.

“You really shouldn’t have,” I say to the flower petal. Then I grind it into the carpet with the heel of my sneaker.

“I got carried away—”

“Stop talking,” I snap. “I can’t discuss this anymore. I need to focus on the competition.”

He makes a frustrated, growly noise, but doesn’t say anything else. I risk a peek at his face, and the gallon of coffee I guzzled this morning swirls in my stomach. Nick looks like hell. He’s got pale purple circles under his eyes, and his frown lines seem deeper than usual. He’s got a massive thermos in one hand—of either motor oil or black coffee basedon the way he winces when he gulps it—and a death grip on the steering wheel with the other. I wish it were gratifying that he’s in bad shape, too, but it just leaves me perplexed.

What’s he miserable for? He started the kiss, and ended it. Presumably he got what he wanted from me. Well, he probably didn’t want a frazzled, upset athlete who couldn’t give less of a hoot about horses at the moment, but he should have considered thatbeforehe kissed me.

I turn on a hype-up playlist that usually forces me to smile, but it falls flat. Every song feels more saccharine and stupid than the last, so I bump the volume down with every track change, hoping it will help. Eventually the volume is so low it’s barely audible over the hum of the truck’s engine.

Nick clears his throat. “Melanie, I’m—”

“Stop. Apologizing.”

“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy kissing you,” he says. “I did. But…”

He drums his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. His eyes dart to mine then back to the road a few times. I don’t help him out. He made this bed, so he gets to lie in it. Hearing that he enjoyed himself doesn’t take back the sting of his rejection, or dull the edge of my anger.

“But, you realize it’s a bad idea, don’t you?” he manages, finally. “We’ve both got a lot going on, and you just started competing again. I shouldn’t be distracting you.”

I roll my eyes, even though everything he’s saying is true. Obviously it’s a bad idea—it was one kiss, and we’re both behaving like spoiled children. But throwing attitude at him is the only thing keeping me from screaming,Why did you do this to me?in his face.

Why did he have to stand up to my parents for me, and get dressed up to impress them, even though he hated every second of it, and couldn’t keep his hands off his tie? Why did he buy my mom beautiful flowers, and give me his jacket, and hold me like he didn’t want to let go? Why did he kiss melike thatand then stop cold?

“I’ve already moved on,” I lie. “How close is the hotel to the arena? I want to make a plan for getting ready tomorrow morning.”

His shoulders sag a little, but he lets the kissing fiasco drop. “It’s walking distance. There’s not a whole lot in the area, frankly. It’s a little west of the city itself, but it’s a nice hotel. We should have everything we need for the weekend onsite.”

---