Page 37 of Don't Take the Girl
"Dark jeans, gray Wrangler, boots, and no hat," Asha says to the empty space he was standing before turning around.
He steps onto the running board of his truck and looks across the roof. "And here I thought I wasn't memorable." He knocks on the roof. "Glad to hear that was just another lie." She bites her lip, her glare so hard that if it were fire, he'd be ash. Then, with a shit-eating grin, he adds, "See ya around, Laney."
I furrow my brow. His underhanded jab throws me completely. We never exchanged names in the stables, and just now, it didn’t come up. So how does he know it? Trigger's truck disappears around the corner just as Asha lets out a wail of frustration, dragging me from my spiraling thoughts.
"Gah! I hate him!" she says, stomping off toward the car.
"Why didn't you tell me the two of you used to date?" I jokingly provoke.
She said her family and his have had a generational feud, but I couldn't help but sense there was more between them. I don't doubt they are enemies, but there's a chemistry there as well that fuels the hate.
"I'm going to pretend like you didn't say that, because there's no way on earth I'd let a Hale touch me."
I swallow hard at the mention of his last name. It's that name that silences my comeback. What Asha doesn't know is that name provokes her as much as it does me. She might be one of my closest friends, but I've never told her about London or what happened that night of my senior prom. Most days, it doesn't seem like I've moved on. There's not a day that has gone by that I haven't thought of him, but it's hard to live with memories that feel alive.
"He knows he was there. It's why he called you by name. Whydidn't you say something?" She stops mid-stride, and I almost spill my coffee down her front. "I saw that look the two of you shared. He was seeing if you'd rat him out, and you didn't."
Was he? I was too stunned by hearing his last name to thoroughly dissect his eye contact. "Asha, you know I'm not good with confrontation?—"
She waves her hand dismissively, already onto the next thing. "We're going to use that to our advantage. Trigg is utterly deceived by your feigned doe-eyed fascination. It's obvious he thinks whatever moment you shared in the stables overrides your title as best friend, which is fine with me. Let him think that. That's how I'll find out what he was doing in my stables." My eyebrows raise, and she spins on her heel, continuing like she didn't just elect me to partake in a fake relationship with her enemy in the name of reconnaissance.
"Asha—" I start.
"I'm sorry. He just gets me so riled up." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Do you like him?"
"Does it even matter?" I ask skeptically. She had an idea who my mystery man may have been from the start based on the description I gave her. There's a reason for that, and I think it goes beyond a family feud.
"That's… It's not…" She tips her head to the sky. "I know it sounds crazy, but saying his name out loud made it real. Saying his name made it more than a hunch."
"I get that," I admit, leaving off the 'more than you know,' part. Lord knows I have countless reasons to never speak London's name again, but this thing between her and Trigger feels different. It feels like hope, especially seeing how worked up he made her moments ago. I am familiar with those feelings that get you hot and bothered because you feel everything while believing the other person feels nothing.
"I'm sorry." She brings her gaze back to me. "It was wrong of me to pull you into this, to ask you to do my dirty work."
I hear her apology, and I know it's genuine. I've been in hershoes. I've been caught between wanting someone's attention and being torn to go after it, but back then, I had Sydney pushing me out of my comfort zone, championing my relationships when I didn't think I had a horse in the race. It's why I say, "Asha, you're one of my closest friends. You were forgiven before you ever said sorry. Our friendship means more than some trivial outburst. As for the latter, there's no harm in asking. If you want me to get close to Trigger Hale and dig up some dirt. I'll do it." I recapture her arm and link up. "Mates before dates." Plus, helping her is two-fold. I want answers about how he knew my name. Small towns talk. If this place mirrors Willow Creek, strangers become headlines within hours. Still, something about his casual use of it feels too intentional to ignore.
She laughs a deep belly laugh. "Did you forget to tell me you were from Australia?"
Her comment has me snorting with laughter. "No, but I have been binging Australian sitcoms."
"It sounds like you could use a little distraction yourself. Shake things up, live a little, and have fun. It's our last summer before we officially become full-time adults with real jobs, rent, and reasonable bedtimes that support functional a.m. activities."
I feel the amusement on my forehead as my brows pull together, and I silently mouth,wow. "Some of us had all of that in college too." I may have lived on campus during the school year, but I'll be paying for that housing for the next ten years.
"See, that right there"—she gestures to me with her coffee—"that's what I'm talking about. Stop taking things so seriously. That gives me an idea." She pulls me off the sidewalk and into a boutique clothing store.
"Asha…" I draw out her name with a hint of annoyance. "My lunch hour is up. Can't you shop later?"
"Nope, because I'm not here for me. We're here for you. Clothes inspire, give you confidence, and have the power to change your mood, and that's exactly what you need. No offense, Laney, but you've been rocking the same outfits since we met. Youhave a hot little body underneath your dirty jeans and button-downs."
"First of all, I work with horses. They don't give a shit about what I wear, and what I wear is not only out of utility but affordability. My clothing budget is non-existent, which is why you've seen me wearing the same outfits for years."
Her lips part as the corners of her mouth pull into a smile, and she holds up a black card. "A perk of having a bestie with money. You get to reap the benefits."
"I'm not spending your father's money on clothes." I turn toward the door to exit. "Plus, like I said, I have to get back to work. I don't want your dad to think I'm exploiting our friendship to cut out of work."
"Well, then, consider this work. You've seen our facilities. Fairfield has an image and a reputation to uphold, and the people working there need to look the part, so just think of this as a uniform fitting. If you'll be working with our horses all summer, frequenting the main stables, you'll need a wardrobe worthy of being seen."
I pinch my lips together and turn slowly. "Fine," I cave. She does make a good argument. I've noticed the trainers and staff all wear cream-colored riding tights and cute base-layer tees or long sleeves, and I wouldn't mind having a windbreaker—in the name of a uniform, of course.
