Page 42 of A Photo Finish
I nibble at my lip and consider my next move. He’s in a good mood. I think he’s even flirting with me. It makes my chest feel all fluttery.
I laugh and look up at the ceiling. Sad, Violet. I’ve got that new-love-interest, giddy feeling over a stranger on the internet. I’m too old for this. I know better.
Pretty_in_Purple:Tell me more.
Oh, god. I shouldn’t have said that. I roll up onto my knees and stare down at my phone screen like I’m waiting for big news when, really, I’m just watching those dots roll across the screen as he types. I wonder if he’s lying on his bed doing the same thing as me.
Golddigger85:Turn on your camera and I’ll tell you in detail.
Jesus. My finger hovers over that little video camera icon. What would it be like to just throw caution to the wind and do it? Could I handle it? I don’t know anymore.
Pretty_in_Purple:No chance, Butterface.
My response sounds resolute. But I’m feeling anything but. I’m confused. Tempted. Horny. Instead of giving in, I pull my favorite toy out of my bedside table and pretend I said yes.
* * *
I lookaround the expansive owner’s lounge at Bell Point Park. As a farm girl from Alberta turned groom, turned brand new jockey, this isn’t somewhere I’ve been privy to until now. Usually, I’m covered in horse manure and sweat down in the stables. And to be honest, I think I prefer that.
I put on my nicest dress, and I still feel like I’m out of place. One ballet flat, one walking cast, and a pretty, flowy floral dress that’s perfect for a hot day and maybe less so for the amount of icy air-conditioning pumping into this room.
“Here.” Cole comes to stand beside me by the tall windows and holds out a drink with an umbrella in it. I don’t miss the way his cheek twitches when I look up at him.
Now we’re joking around? Cole Harding gives me whiplash. Cold and agitated. Hot and handsy. Friendly and joking. How many versions are there? And why do I like them all?
“Cheers,” I say with a small chuckle as I take the drink and clink it against his glass of water.
I have no clue where we stand right now. I spent all afternoon grooming Pipsqueak in the sun. Practicing picking up her feet. Throwing brushes over her back, so she gets used to seeing something out of the corner of her eye when I eventually swing a leg over instead. It’s probably time for me to get some tack down at the house so I can mess around with trying the saddle and bridle on her. Because she is downright unflappable. Everything is just a fun game for her. Nothing startles her. Even Cole, drilling and hammering away on her shiny new shelter all day, didn’t bother her.
In fact, she often went over there to check out her new digs and to give his elbow a little nuzzle. And I pretended not to see when he’d swipe a wide, gentle palm over her forehead.
Doesn’t like horses,my ass.
I have yet to meet a better judge of character than a horse, and Pipsqueak wouldn’t be hanging around him if he gave off that vibe. As much as I hate to admit it, she might even like him more than me.
Or maybe he just needs her more than I do.
A thought that makes my chest ache.
“Do you usually watch from up here?” I ask, trying to make conversation and fill the awkward void between us.
I sneak a look up at him. The bump of his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he opens his mouth to answer me without returning eye contact.
“I don’t—”
And then I see a perfectly manicured hand slide over the shoulder of his suit jacket.
“Cole,” a woman’s light, feminine voice comes from the opposite side of him as she pulls into view, standing just a little too close to be a passing acquaintance. She’s petite, like me, but that’s where our similarities end. She’s dripping in expensive jewelry, and her perfectly painted red lips are a match for her sleek hair. “Long time no see.”
Cole shifts toward her, essentially blocking me out of the conversation by covering my body protectively with the bulk of his. “Hilary.”
I can tell by the way he’s holding himself—shoulders rolled back, neck held high, chin tipped up proudly—that all traces of the humor from before have dried up almost instantly in this woman’s presence. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been privy to what Cole looks like happy and relaxed.
And this ain’t it.
His knuckles are white around the glass in his hand, and I see his opposite one clenched into a fist at his side. His tells may not be as blatant as my flaming face or bulging eyes, but this is what Cole looks like when he needs rescuing. I can see that he’s struggling, and suddenly I’m feeling very protective of him. I put my drink down on the table beside us as I step around his broad frame. My hand slides over his fist and I push my fingers between his tense ones. They both look down at me, equally surprised by my appearance. But where Hilary looks irritated, I feel Cole’s hand soften in my own and hear the breath that rushes out between his lips in relief.
“Hi. I’m Violet.”
