Page 73 of A Photo Finish
“I know,” I murmur back.
The lie tastes sour on my tongue. I don’t know that she’ll be fine. I can’t predict that kind of thing. The words feel cheap, but I say them because I know they’re what she wants to hear.
* * *
The traffic headinginto the city is obnoxious. I guess after over a month of living out in Ruby Creek, I’ve grown accustomed to getting anywhere I need to go in mere minutes and without encountering a single other person.
Something I appreciate. Not having people everywhere all the time is preferable to the noise, the mess, the ant-colony feel of downtown Vancouver. Just a bunch of mindless little worker ants scurrying off to their job so they can overpay for rent—or God forbid, a mortgage. The housing market in this city is downright criminal.
I could afford one if I wanted, but it’s the principle. A run-down bungalow on a small lot shouldn’t cost a person over a million dollars. I’ve seen how people live in other parts of the world, and the excess of this city grates on me. It’s wasteful.
Maybe that’s something I’ve come to appreciate about country living and small-town residents. They live well within their means. Hardworking people who aren’t trying to keep up with the Joneses. It’s like another world. A smaller, quieter, more real world where people work to enjoy what they’ve got rather than working to afford something that might impress their friends.
Just a completely different mentality. One I like—that I might align with more than I initially thought.
Since traffic doesn’t appear to be going anywhere—on a fucking Sunday afternoon—I decide I might as well bite the bullet and call Trixie. Something I’ve been avoiding doing because, truthfully, I don’t know how she’s going to react to everything that’s transpired.
Have I gone off the deep end? Is this happening too fast? It feels fast. We haven’t even talked about what we’re doing. Violet kissed me sweetly, deeply, when she left my house this morning and then hopped in her car and drove off.
All she said was, “See you later,” and I’m so fucking out of practice with women that I don’t even know what that means.
I blurted out more to her last night in that bathtub than I’ve said to anyone, other than Trixie, and she didn’t run screaming for the hills. So where does that leave us? I feel like a teenager all over again. Can I just leave her a note like I would have back then?
Want to be my girlfriend? Check yes or no.
I scoff as I jam my finger at the screen of my phone and hear the ringing filter in through my Bluetooth system.
Trixie’s voice booms through the cab of my truck, making me wince and adjust the volume. “Cole. It’s a Sunday.”
“I had sex.” That should change her attitude.
The speakers are quiet for a few beats. “Real sex? Or internet sex?”
Why does everyone keep calling it that?“Real sex.”
She lets out a long whistle. “How was it?”
“Jesus Christ, Trixie. Is that something therapists ask their patients?”
“Ha! I don’t see why not. If you’re going to call me on a Sunday like I’m a guy friend, then I might as well ask the same questions someone like that might.”
I groan. Trixie is anything but your average therapist. Of course, that’s actually what I like about her. Sad as it sounds, she’s also one of the closest things I have to a genuine friend. And I pay her.
“It was . . . overwhelming.”
“Overwhelmingly . . . good?”
“Yes,” I bite out, feeling uncomfortable even though I’m the one who called her.
“Okay. And where did you meet this person?”
“It was Violet.”
I swear I can feel Trixie smile through the phone. She’s spent the last year telling me I needed to bite the bullet and reach out to Violet. Say something.Anything. Rather than pretending she doesn’t exist. That even if it didn’t go anywhere, I might feel better just getting everything off my chest.
But I kept putting it off, telling myself I’d do it eventually. All I’d have to do is drive out to the farm and talk to her. But no, instead I hid out in the owner’s lounge and scowled down at her during every race she ran. I hadn’t missed many since I figured out who she was. The one where Cassel took her down, because I was busy moving out to Ruby Creek, and yesterday, when I was just too tired and too sore from our adventure up on the mountain to make it. It felt wrong not being there. Like I’d been in this secret relationship with her for the last year that she had no idea about.
Because I had. Writing her in the chat, watching her from the skybox, getting updates from Vaughn, who always eyed me suspiciously as he did.You’re so fucking lame, Harding.
