Page 42 of Hotshot
“Trinsky. What’s up?” I answered.
“Yo, you’re coming tonight.”
“Where?”
“To Meyer’s barbecue. I’ll pick you up at five.”
I switched lanes for no real reason. “Uh…I can’t?—”
“You cannot bail,” he insisted. “You’re the newbie, the rookie, the baby. As your older, wiser mentor, you gotta listen up and go to this one. Meyer’s wife is an awesome cook. She makes killer ribs and potato salads and shit. You’ll love it. Oh, and she has a fewverynice, very single friends and—oh, shit. My bad. Don’t tell Mary-Kate. She’ll think I’m a dick. And I want us to be buds when I see her this summer.”
I was used to Trinsky’s bulldozer, rapid-fire monologues now. No doubt we got along so well because we were complete opposites. I was quiet, and he never shut the fuck up. Sometimes I just nodded and grunted till he got tired of the sound of his own voice. But every once in a while, he stumped me.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you I’m doing that camp with you? Vinnie Kiminski called me, man! Can you fuckin’ believe it? I’m stoked. I’ve never done the Elmwood camp. I feel like the only one in the league who hasn’t gotten the invite. That’s totally on Jake fuckin’ Milligan. That turd hates me.”
True. Jake did kind of hate Trinsky, but I doubted he’d blackballed him from coaching summer camp. I was just surprised Trinsky was interested at all. He was a California boy and a surfer off-season and…okay, fine. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a teammate who was also a friend hanging out in Elmwood this summer. I couldn’t even verbalize why.
“That’s cool,” I said, flexing my fingers on the steering wheel.
“I can only do it for a couple of weeks at the end of summer, but it’ll be fun. Oh, and I may need a place to crash. We can talk deets later. Remember…I’m picking you up at five tonight. Later, man.”
I sighed heavily. No, I didn’t want to go to a team barbecue, and I definitely didn’t want to think of Trinsky in my guest bedroom. One caused immediate social anxiety and the other, future anxiety and general unease.
I blasted some metal music to drown my thoughts. I didn’t want to think, period. If I did, I’d wonder what the fuck I was doing. So I hummed loudly, beating my thumbs erratically on the wheel and the dashboard the way I did when the ghosts sat with me for too long.
The goal was neutrality. No unwelcome emotions, no recriminations. Just static.
I’d almost achieved my desired detached mindset, but the familiar billboard cresting the hillside in the distance fucked me up. No shit. My mouth watered on cue, same as always, but different.
The cowboy wasn’t a mystery anymore. He was a flesh and blood, sexy man. Now that I knew what it felt like to touch him, I needed more. Hank’s hands on me, his body pressed to mine, his mouth on my cock…
Maybe it wasn’t smart and maybe I shouldn’t be on this road, but I wasn’t turning around now. I was going to let it happen. Zero expectations—just a simple give-and-take arrangement.
At least that was the idea. It had been two weeks since we’d agreed to try this “exchange of favors,” but I didn’t have anything new to report. I’d been on the road or at practice, and Hank had been busy at the mill. We’d texted a few times, and that had felt more like an awkward schedule sync than sexy correspondence.
Hank told me he’d missed Grams at the bakery, and I gave him permission to avoid her. He congratulated me on my hat trick in Edmonton, and I thanked him…after staring at my cell, wondering what I could add that wouldn’t seem too enthusiastic.
I thought about Hank all the time, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t text that to a guy. I wanted to see him again, if only to test this out and see if it was a fluke, a dream, a one-off, never-to-be-repeated anomaly. I had a feeling he was waiting for me to make the next move, and fuck, that didn’t come naturally. I sweated over what to say, typing and deleting messages till my fingers cramped.
This morning, I’d finally settled on,I’m in town this weekend. Can I see your horse?
The dark-chestnut horsewhinnied as she meandered to the fence. She bent her head and leaned into Hank, grazing his shoulder as if in greeting. Hank flashed a wide, toothy grin, petting her neck affectionately.
“Hello, beautiful. I brought you presents, and I have someone I want you to meet. Be nice to him. He’s a little”—Hank’s Stetson tipped, sending a shadow across his handsome face as he whispered into the horse’s ear loud enough for me to hear—“skittish.”
True. I was very skittish. Bess was a regal-looking beast with a beautiful chestnut coat and a white patch between her eyes and nose, but damn, she was huge.
I bristled anyway. “I’m not. She’s just…big.”
Hank pretended to cover the horse’s ears. “I’m sorry, sugar. That’s no way to talk to a lady…or anyone. I know it. I’ll give him a piece of my mind. Don’t you worry.”
I barked a laugh. “I meant tall and enormous…all over.”
“Rotten to the core he is,” he drawled mournfully. “Let’s give him some slack, though. He hasn’t spent much time in the company of a real lady like yourself. Come closer and say hi, Denny.”
“Hey, Bess.” I inched forward and waved like an idiot.