Page 43 of Run for the Money

“Yesterday you said something about having personal stuff going on Wednesday that contributed to the crappy way the night ended,” she says, though her tone is more like a question than a statement.

And there’s the complicated part, right on schedule.

My first instinct is to tell her not to worry about it, but that’s never gone terribly well for us. Last time I used that line, it earned me a slammed door and a suit jacket to the face. I’m reluctant to bring up Paul, though. His Holiness has taken up enough space in my life—and Melanie’s—already.

I don’t need to encourage comparisons. He’s got four years of private jokes, shared memories, and romantic nights with her. And that’s before we get into the fact of him being more wealthy and powerful than I could ever dream of being. It’s just about my least favorite topic, so I take a different, but still honest, route.

“With my mom doing what she does, and my work being what it is, I’ve spent a lot of time with people like your parents, and the folks at the art thing where we met,” I start. “Ninety percent of the time, people like that make sure to remind me early and often that I’m beneath them. I’m only in their world with their permission, and only to do their bidding.”

I don’t look at her, even though I can feel her eyes on me. It’s uncomfortable saying shit like this out loud, especially when I’m criticizing her peers. But I want to be close to her more than I want to be comfortable, so I push on.

“I hadn’t felt like that in a long time, and…I didn’t think I could ever…I wanted you so badly, and I couldn’t imagine a world where you wanted me the same way. It got to me.”

She reaches out and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck a few times. If I weren’t driving, I’d shut my eyes and lean into the touch, let her sweep away the discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. Wasn’t your fault.”

“Not on Wednesday, maybe. But before it was,” she says. “When I came to your ranch the first time and got in your face about your tack, I talked down to you. I assumed you didn’t know what you were doing. I thought of show jumping as my world, and you existed outside of it. I was wrong.”

I shrug. “You didn’t know me yet. Had no reason to like me. I didn’t like you much at that particular point in time, either, but you’ve grown on me.”

I snag her hand off the back of my neck and bring it to my lips to brush a kiss against her knuckles, then put it back. She slips her fingers into my hair again and I nudge the gas pedal down further. I need to get her home, now, where I can give her my full attention.

She doesn’t leave her hand where I put it, though; she’s right back to fidgeting.

“What else is bugging you, baby?” I ask.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says.

“We’ll never know if you don’t tell me.”

She sighs again. “Don’t be mad at him, but Edwin may have mentioned that you’re not really big on commitment.”

“Edwin’s full of shit,” I protest. “I may not have had many relationships, or any that lasted all that long, but not because I’m opposed to the idea. I just don’t see the point in sticking around where I’m not wanted, or where I don’t want to be. But Melanie, believe me when I say that I want to be with you. This isn’t some flight of fancy, or something I started up ’cause I was bored. I’m yours, baby. As long as you want me.”

I’m hers even if she doesn’t want me, frankly.

She’s quiet beside me, my words hanging in the air between us. The sign for the exit for her neighborhood appears on the horizon. A lead weight sinks in my stomach. I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I don’t want to make any assumptions, especially with the turn the conversation’s taken.

“Am I dropping you off at home?” I ask in the most neutral tone I can summon.

She wilts a little in her seat. Thank fuck.

“Oh, uh…I can help you with GT first,” she says.

“Miss Manners, what do you really want?”

I cut my eyes toward her and am pleased to see she’s watching me closely. Eyes back on the road, I smile. She drags her fingers across my shoulder, then along my arm to the elbow before the light, teasing contact disappears.

“I want you to invite me over,” she says. “I want to eat dinner together, and talk strategy for the rest of the season’s competitions. Then I want to go directly to your bedroom and screw like bunnies ’til we’re too tired to keep going.”

My smile turns into a full-on grin. “It’s ‘fuck like rabbits,’ baby,” I correct. “Can’t fool me anymore. I know you’re not as buttoned up as you like people to think. But otherwise, it’s a perfect plan.”

I reach out and she slips her hand into mine.

“Come home with me, Melanie. Have dinner with me. Let’s talk horses, then fuck ’til we drop.”

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