Page 21 of Plays Well With Others

I don’t have the answer yet, so I flash a grin, then return to the important topic with my friends. “Tomorrow night. I have a date with wine, my dirty imagination andthe Man-inator,” I say, then add a roar for effect.

I giggle.

We all giggle.

“Or,” Elodie says, tapping her red nails on the felt, her impish soprano tone saying she has a clever idea. “Hear me out. Maybe you could get back on the real horse.”

My first instinct is to scoff and laugh. Me getting back out there for a hookup is a ridiculous notion. But my very next instinct is to tilt my head and consider her suggestion.A lot. I raise a glass. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea,” I say right as Carter comes up to the table next to me.

With the champagne in hand, I turn and stare, perhaps a little salaciously. Maybe even enough to bite my lip.

Because…Carter and his chest. Carter and his abs. Carter and his happy trail.

“It’s getting late. I need to take off,” he says, setting a hand on my arm. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

He squeezes my shoulder. It’s friendly-ish. But it makes me tingly, too, right between my thighs.

And since I’m full of good ideas tonight, I raise my glass of bubbly, look him straight in the eye, and say, “You know what? I think I’d like to get back on the real horse after all.”

Juliet hoots. Elodie claps.

And Scotty clears his throat. “I’d be happy to help.”

I freeze.

I was not expecting someone to volunteer as tribute.

I snap my gaze to the flirty dealer, but I don’t even know what to say. It’s been years since I was hit on. How do I respond? I turn back to Carter, and he’s watching me carefully, studying my expression, perhaps asking if I need backup.

I swallow.Gulp.

I’m…at a loss.

Carter holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat, then says to the dealer, “Thanks, but the position is already filled.”

The table is quiet for a few seconds until Elodie breaks the silence by doffing an imaginary hat and shouting, “Giddyap, Carter!”

With a smile, he bends closer. “Need anything else, Sunshine?”

A Girl’s Best Friend, like, right now? Your saddle?

“I’m good,” I croak out.

Before I can say another word, he turns and walks away. I stare at him, slack-jawed and shockingly turned on, until he exits the bar and my sight.

7

BRIGHT IDEAS

Carter

During my run the next morning, I replay the scene at the party. But I am not second-guessing myself.

I’m making sure I did the right thing.

I peel off the miles a little after dawn, jogging down Divisadero Street, then through the Presidio before I curve up to the majestic bridge. Fog rolls across the Golden Gate Bridge, typical for most mornings here, but especially the ones in late September.

I try to outrun it, a game I play in my head. As I race the fog, every slap of my sneakers on the pavement brings me to the same realization—I offered because saving Rachel from the mustache man was the right thing to do. Hell, Ellie told me to look out for Rachel. Gotta follow orders from the pack. After all, that’s what friends are for.

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